Choi Jun Hong

Born October 15, 1996

My parents gave me up for adoption when I was born. I was moved into foster care when I was three years old, and I've been moving around from foster home to foster home since then. So, it's safe to say, that I have felt lonely and left out for most of my life. And as a result of that, I did acquire a few imaginary friends when I was younger, but never one like her. No, I never made her up, I just noticed her.

I first noticed the girl when I was in kindergarten. She had been sitting at the back table of the room during lecture time, so I just thought she was shy. But, when it came to playtime, I noticed her sitting at the edge of the room, not even attempting to make any friends. After a while of glancing back at her several times, I realized that she was watching me and my friends play, so I invited her over to play with us. When she didn't respond, I walked over to her and asked her what was wrong. When she still didn't respond, I called the teacher over because I figured that the quiet girl must have been sick. Instead of helping the girl, the teacher brought me to the nurse's office and I was sent home.

When I went back to school the next day, and I saw the girl sitting alone again. I tried to get one of my friends to go and talk to her, since maybe she just didn't like me, but they just ran to the teacher crying. The teacher spoke to my foster parents because she thought it would be best if I switched schools. So, the next day I was taken out of that elementary, and put into a private school.

Those foster parents didn't like having to pay for school. As a result, I was on my way to a different set of parents and a different elementary school within two years. I didn't make any friends, and often times I thought of that girl in kindergarten, but I never saw her. So, I eventually got over that girl. I told myself that she just must have been imaginary, and I believed it.

Another foster home later, I was in my first year of middle school. A few elementary schools joined into the middle school, including my first elementary school. My friends from kindergarten, surprisingly, remembered me, but they stayed away from me, and so did everyone else. I soon figured out that the story of my invisible girl was being spread around the school rapidly, and I was being labeled “the crazy kid.” I didn't really mind that they thought I was crazy because I thought I must have been pretty crazy to see the girl. I hadn't seen her at all since I switched to a different elementary, and she definitely wasn't one of their classmates. The loneliness did eventually catch up to me, and I attempted to get my old friends back. After much joking around, and turning their hushed whispers about me into hilarious jokes, they finally apologized and took me in again.

In seventh grade, however, I kept getting the feeling that I was being watched. I tried to play cool, but I was truly a paranoid wreck. I was always checking behind me in the halls, staying inside the classroom with a teacher on breaks, staying close to my friends at lunch, and rushing out the front door when school was over. All to try and convince myself that I was safe, which worked, until one day I saw her. The girl I saw in kindergarten was just sitting at one of the empty tables in the food hall at lunch. I was sure it was the same girl, just more grown up, but I didn't say anything because I didn't want anyone to start saying I was crazy again. After a few days of watching her in the food hall, my friends asked me who I kept checking out. So, after a moment of consideration, I pointed her out. Even though I wanted to, I didn't tell them that she was the same girl I saw in kindergarten. But when no one else saw her, I brushed it off and tried to ignore the girl.

But I couldn't just ignore her; I knew she was the one I saw when I was little. I didn't know why no one else could see her, though. With her black hair and dark eyes, she just seemed creepy. After a while, she was everywhere I was. I always saw her out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned my head to look at her, she wouldn't be there. I always felt like her dark eyes were watching me, it was eerie. Sometimes, I was even sure that she was following me. But sometimes soon turned into an all the time.

One day, when I'd finally had enough of the creepy girl following me, I turned around and confronted her directly. At first, I was calm and tried asking her what her problem was. Then, when she didn't respond, I started screaming at her. I screamed at her because she was the girl who I saw in kindergarten; I screamed at her because people were stupid and didn't notice her; I screamed at her because she was driving me crazy. I was so consumed by my anger, that I barely noticed everyone around us backing away with frightened eyes. But my stalker remained unaffected; she stood in front of me, indifferent to my accusations.

When the teachers came they tried to calm me down, but I couldn't calm down because none of them would listen to me. Screaming and waving my arms around, I frantically tried to show them the girl who was standing just a short distance in front of me. By the time one of them actually listened and looked for the girl, she had run away. No one saw her or saw where she went.

After my foster parents were called, and there were several discussions about what happened with me earlier, I got suspended for frightening my classmates and throwing an unnecessary fit. One day later, my parents brought me to see a counselor. He came up with a theory which involved my non-existent desperate need for attention and nurturing. That counselor referred me to a troubled-child psychologist, but once the bills got too high, my foster parents gave me up, so I didn't end up receiving any help with my troubles.

My next set of parents, believing my problem was a social aspect, took me out of public school. I was home schooled for the rest of middle school, and for the first year of high school. Those were some of the best years in my life. I finally felt like I belonged in a family that loved me. My parents didn't tiptoe around me, they treated me like I actually was their child. Their daughter didn't reject me, she treated me like the big brother she always wanted. My parents adopted me, so it became official; I finally had a family. During those two-and-a-half years I was mentally healed, and since I hadn't had any problems, I got to return to public school.

I started my second year of high school in a completely different school district than I had been attending previously. I got to start over, without the rumors.

I decided to try something new and joined the basketball team. Even though I was younger than almost everyone on the team, I was very competitive and I earned myself the nick-name Zelo. I made all of my friends from being on the basketball team. We were all very close, we still are now. Last year, we all died our hair blond because we made it to state and I've kept dying my hair since then. Everything was finally right.

Now, I'm in my third year of high school, and my second season of basketball. Everything is going well. Everything will always go well, as long as I have her.

By now, I know that only I can see her. I like it that way; she's mine. She's been helping me these past few years. On my first day back in public school, I saw her. She was standing at the front door waiting for me, but I wasn't frightened because I knew she would be there. I knew she would be waiting for me because she wants to help me. She watches over me and I consult her on almost everything I do. I trust her judgment; she was the one who suggested that I join the basketball team, and that's turned out to be one of the best decisions I've made. We usually talk in the sports locker room after practice, when everyone else is gone.

Since my parents are going out to dinner and my sister is at a friend's house, I'm taking the opportunity to go to her.

I sneaked into the back entrance of the school and walked through the hall that leads to the boys' locker room. When I got to the locker room, she wasn't there. So, I sat on the bench in the section where my locker is, and waited for her. After a few minutes of staring at the floor, I felt her presence in the locker room.

Suddenly there was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach; I was nervous. To avoid seeing the girl, I got up and began to unlock my locker. I wasn't sure why I was nervous, or why I wanted to avoid seeing her. I've seen and spoken to the girl countless times before but, for some reason, there was an upsetting nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I had to try to open my locker a couple of times because my hands were shaking so badly. When I finally got my locker open, I glanced over to where I was just sitting and I jumped, startled by the sight.

I saw her sitting with her back towards me. Her long dark hair that reached down to the middle of her back contrasted against her pale skin and white clothing. Her frame was very small and frail; it was one of a malnourished girl. Her head hung like dead weight, falling to rest on her right shoulder in an un-earthly way. I could see her bony fingers tracing up the side of her pale broken-looking neck.

I gasped and I quickly stuck my head in my locker. For some reason, today, the girl looked very dead. After a moment of consideration, I grabbed my duffel bag from the hook. Then I closed my locker and turned back to face her, but she wasn't there. I hesitated, a little confused, for a moment then walked quickly into the bathroom area of the locker room.

I looked down at the duffel bag in my hand; I didn't know why I carried it with me, or why I even got it from my locker. “It must have been her controlling me” I thought to myself. But I quickly shook the thought because she couldn't possibly control me. I threw my bag onto the counter; it's long strap hung off the edge. I bent over and rested my elbows on the counter top, putting my face in my hands. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I shouldn't be thinking negatively of my girl. She helps me—I depend on her. I was sure that she had done everything good and right for me, and her existence is fueled by my need for help. But the more I thought on the subject, the more I doubted myself.

“I couldn't have lost my faith in her, could I?” I mumbled to myself.

Upset by my thoughts, I filled my hands with cold water, splashed it all over my face, and scrubbed my face with my hands. Then I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser to my right and rubbed my face dry. When I was done, I slowly peeked over the towel and into the mirror to see my reflection.

There were two figures in the mirror. One was me, and one was her. As I was standing there, silently observing our faces side-by-side, I couldn't help but notice striking similarities in our complexions. Our faces had the same long rounded shape; our noses looked almost identical; and our eyes were both set high above our cheekbones. Our hair color differed only because I dyed my hair to a lighter color, but underneath lies the same dark color her hair had. I didn't know why I hadn't noticed the similarities between our faces sooner.

I quickly looked down to throw away the paper towel I was using. When I looked back up into the mirror, she had disappeared. I spun around to look for her, but I didn't see her. Slowly turning back, I looked up at the mirror again and she reappeared. I tried to catch her gaze and make eye-contact, but instead of eyes, there were only dark sockets.

I felt the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach well up into my chest as I averted my eyes. I felt complete dread come over me and I turned to see where the girl was, but she was no where to be found.

“No, no.” I heard myself murmur.

I was shaking my head and backing up while trying to find her. Suddenly, my back hit the cold metal door of a bathroom stall. I tried to push through the stall, but it was locked from the inside, even though there was no one else in the locker room.

Frantically, I scanned the room for a place to hide, but my eyes only found the girl. She was standing where I just was, facing me, and her hand over the long strap to my duffel bag. I looked up into her socket-eyes and suddenly felt immobilized and mesmerized. I felt calm, but still frightened, like I subconsciously new exactly what to do.

“I still...” I let my voice trail off because there was no point. She always got her way. There was nothing I could do but wait for her request.

As I stood there waiting, my mind wandered back, and I began to see clearly. All the things I did—the things I did for her, they weren't like me. Those things were just suggested to me, but I felt compelled to do them. I loved her and admired her; I followed her every order. But for what reasons?

My mind was pulled back because she was suddenly right in front of me, glaring at me harshly. Though, I don't understand what I ever did wrong. I only listened to her. She was still gazing into my eyes when her features softened and she opened up to me. Her arms wrapped around my waist and her sick face nestled into my chest. She relaxed into me, but when I didn't accept her, I felt her frame tense, and her grip tightened until I felt her fingers digging into my back.

“I don't want to live for you anymore.” I whispered, though I could only barely hear my voice.

I felt her release me, and suddenly my duffel bag was in her place. The bag felt extremely heavy, like there were weights from the training room stuffed in it. Despite the weight of the bag, I felt compelled to start lifting it up. I soon had the heavy duffel bag over my head and above the top of the stall, as I could tell by the reflection in the mirror. My eyes traced over my position up against the stall. I could see and feel my arms shaking from the burning feeling of holding the heavy bag up, but I didn't put it down. My eyes didn't leave my reflection. I looked over the dangling strap of the duffel bag, then up to the actual bag. I observed how the bag peaked over the top of the stall door, and how if I just tipped my arms back a little bit...

My eyes were suddenly torn away from the reflection because my girl appeared right in front of my face. She was furious at me. She wrapped her fingers up around my neck and tried to threaten me into listening to her. But I never heard her because my arms trembled and I lost my grip on the duffel bag and it fell over my head. I was suddenly very disoriented, and all I could see was her twisted face as I felt her bony hands as she pushed me up into the stall door in a fit of anger. Because she knew I wouldn't live for her anymore.

The last thing I remember was trying to work the strap off my neck as I choked for air.

Maybe I wasn't supposed to live, then.

Choi Jun Hong

Born October 15, 1996

Died December 13, 2013

Suicide

Choi Jaera

Born December 13, 1992

Died October 15, 1996

Murder