(What’s on your mind?)

Pain is good. Pain is good. It reminds us that we’re still breathing.

(Enter)(Click)

::::

#10

“What’s the name of the girl again?”

“Bomi – Yoon Bomi,”

(silence) (clears throat) (sounds of paper turning)

“Multiple cases of self-injury, three cases of shoplifting in two months, and she – had once stayed in jail for less than 24 hours for throwing tantrums in a local pharmacy,” Half-glasses, the middle-aged man reads the details – lines by lines, before resuming, “Hmm – so she lost her mother at the age of fourteen?”

“Yes – it was a tragic one. Her mother committed suicide and she was left at an orphanage for a couple of years before she ran away,”

(sounds of paper turning)

“Has she been hospitalized before?”

“Multiple times including the most recent, and severe one, which was a few months ago,”

“What happened?”

“Slit wrists and overdose of sleeping pills. The tenant found her lying helplessly at the bathroom; bloods were seen everywhere; various kind of sleeping pills scattered on the floor – but luckily, she was saved by a minute of difference,”

He scoffs (sarcastically) and shakes his head, “Luckily,”

::::

It is a peaceful, quiet evening that winter, and Howon decides to stay in. Outside, are trees and frosted leaves; as the chilling winds blow leaving the bleak windows; frost-coated. At the dining table he sits; his attention is depleting; as meaningful words are hardly vomited – and blank, his pages of word are blank. Sighs – he sighs inwardly and ruffles his (non) messy hair.

“What are you doing?”

A small, familiar voice interrupts the winter-silence; as he feels her breath tickling down his already reddening ears. He his head to his right – only to find Bomi suddenly peering at his laptop’s screen. The proximity of their faces surprises him – and flabbergasted; he quickly dismisses it with an awkward chuckle, “Nothing,” he says as he folds the laptop down and puts it to the side.

“I’m hungry,” She says as she sits down at the vacant spot next to him.

When he hears her stomach growls, he lets out another chuckle and shakes his head, “Hmm – so you’re hungry too?” And she nods meekly. Silence fills their gaps for a moment.

“Tonkatsu!” She suddenly screeches, clasping both of her hands.

He raises a quizzical brow, and repeats in a faltering tone, “Tonkatsu?”

It takes that one word and his thoughts are somehow lost in a giant pool of mess. He falls into a quick silence – and it’s only when she nudges him on his elbow quietly that, Howon finds his thoughts back into its pieces.

“My dad owns a tonkatsu restaurant,” He replies shortly, when he finds his voice again.

“Oh?” She gasps, “You should have told me earlier! We should go there!”

He chuckles, showing his toothy grin at her, “It’s in Busan, B-U-S-A-N”

He sneers, and Bomi retorts by sticking out her tongue, “Besides, I can’t go there,” He resumes.

“Why?”

(silence) “Just because,”

Their conversation stops there; and he doesn’t reply anymore.

::::

Howon finds himself lying in the bed that very night with millions of thoughts scattering through his mind. He tries counting the greyish spots on the darkened ceiling; each time he would succeed but he’d do it over and over again until he’d fall asleep. He’s accustomed to this loneliness, and it doesn’t bother him as much as it used to but tonight (and perhaps many other nights) – the loneliness somehow always find its way to kill him.

So, he gets up and unknowingly reaches the second drawer of his bedside table. Slowly — slowly, his hand reaches a picture; an old picture of what seems like a content family.

He clutches his chest; his eyes b with salty tears,

“I’m sorry,”

#

She wakes up. Her shirt is soaked wet. White, everything is white. Then, she looks up; the clouds are drifting almost too slowly. Drop, liquid drops from above and falls abruptly onto her cheek. A drop, a two and more – but she wipes it in an instant – only to find that it’s the sickening crimson blood. She screams in desperation; but nothing comes out from . Paralysed, she tries to run, but she is paralysed in this blood suffocating paradise.

“You belong to us,”

“You belong to us,”

“You belong to us,”

(poof)

She wakes up for the second time. Her shirt is soaked wet. Dark, everything is dark. She clutches her chest; sweat trickling profusely down her forehead, as she swallows her tears,

“Let me go, just please— let me go,"

::::

(What’s on your mind?)

If you close your eyes to the cruel reality; you’d find yourself living in a hopeless world of fantasy.

(Enter)(Click)

*tonkatsu = pork cutlets

i hope this doesn't :/