He could hear laughter around him. A velvety voice starts to sooth his ears, filling his heart with so much joy. The sweet melody that surrounds him is engulfed by a rhythmic hum from a man; her voice and his humming are working together to produce a music so beautiful that it can be painted on a blank canvas. He stares at the couple in front of him, wanting to take a grasp of them.

But even before he could lay a finger against their skin, he feels himself sliding off the back seat of the car. His face slams on the front seat, blood starts dripping slowly at the corner of his forehead. He tries to lift up his head, his hands voluntarily rising as well. He opens his mouth to speak, but it ends up as a struggling gasp instead. He opens his mouth again to mutter a word, but the only thing he could hear is his labored breathing.

“There’s a wounded kid at the back. Go get a stretcher and transfer him as gentle as you can!”

That is the only audible noise he could hear before loud sirens filled his surroundings. It is the total opposite of the singing he adored just minutes ago.

Chan Yeol starts to thrash around his bed, clutching the pillows and blankets around him. He turns his head left to right hastily as if he is trying to swat an insect from touching his face.

It is all coming back to him again.

Sitting up as fast as he can from the bed, Chan Yeol covers his ears and opens his mouth to scream. But nothing comes out of his mouth aside from a throaty sound that he always hears every time he pictures the same nightmare that fills his mind every day.

He stands up from the bed and opens the top box of his drawer, pulling out a thick notebook. Skimming through the pages, Chan Yeol takes a pen from his night stand and starts writing on a blank page.

It all happened again. I saw these scenes once more. This time, it’s more vivid. I can hear the sounds more clearly. I can see my surroundings better. But I’m still not sure why these images keep haunting me.

Isn’t being a mute enough? Why do I still have to get tortured by these things I don’t even recall at all?

My existence is already enough for me to die in it. Everyone says they love me, they care for me, and they are there for me. But they only say that because they pity me. My parents don’t even have another child because they are scared of having another kid that has a disability like I do.

Who wouldn’t, right?

I’m already 18 years old and I still can’t speak. I’m pretty much at home all my life, staring at lifeless objects who can probably speak better than me if ever they are granted mouths.

I think I’m more lifeless than these inanimate objects around me. And it’s adding to the torment I’m experiencing called my life.

“Thank you so much for making it today in such short notice. We appreciate your time and effort but we really have to go in an hour.” Mrs. Park Tae Yeon paces in front of her, screwing an earring in her right ear. A maid approaches her and hands her handba