Stories
"Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to hold me back, no one who cared or even noticed."
-Rose DeWitt Bukater, The Titanic

Every word that comes out of one's mouth is a story they are telling others. It could be a mindless conversation over a lunch break at work or a lecture in a University class. They are all stories. Stories that are passed on from one's knowledge to another. Teachers pass on the story of their knowledge they have learned from previous educators down to the students sitting in front of them in a classroom. Friends and coworkers share stories about their workload and their life.

Everything is a story.

Now, how one presents their story is a entirely different thing. Some choose to verbally express it over a coffee and a bagel while some prefer doing so after a few drinks of alcohol. Some are brave and confident enough to stand in front of hundreds and thousands of listeners in the audience to present stories they want the world to listen to. Stories that they feel so passionately about.

Then there are those who prefer to keep their storytelling to themselves first. They like to be able to read over what they want to share before placing it down onto a silver platter for the rest of the world to see. It takes days, months and even years before one can collect their thoughts to something they are comfortable with sharing.

The stories these people write have no limits. They are able to let their imagination run wild because who is there to judge them as they write? Whether it be with ink and a piece of paper or words on an electronic screen, they are all the same. They have the choice of choosing between a fictional story, a non-fiction, a story about their own lives or about someone that inspires them enough to write an entire book.

Some people bask in the attention they receive when telling stories because everybody listening has their eyes on them. They could lace in all the lies they want and anybody would believe them as long as their tone and hand gestures did not prove themselves to be untrustworthy.

Cunning.

He despised those who enjoyed telling fake stories simply for the enjoyment. Those people, he thought, were the reason rumours and other bull got around. People like that should be deprived of attention rather than being given it.

What good would it do to give the little boy the satisfaction of attention when he cries falsely for the wolf?

That was how the music industry worked. The more famous one is, the more inclined they are to gain more recognition. They could do it through false dating rumours, scandals and other means simply for greater fame. He could list off more than his fingers could hold of newspaper articles he read in regards to this within the past few days.

Instead of more pressing concerns in the world like the unpaid doctors in war-torn countries or the unethical labour for the clothes these highly-placed humans wear on a daily basis, the media chooses to address the issue of who is in a relationship with who.

Does that really matter to the general public? Does it do the general public any good? No. Not even in the slightest.

He used to enjoy sharing his stories with people who he considered his friends. He shared them with coworkers as well. Rarely did he ever share stories with his father but he had done it before. However, now that he looked back at those memories he found that it was unsatisfying.

Sure, he was able to see their reactions in real time but is that what he wanted? He wanted to be able to write as much as he wanted with no time limits and without input from people until they heard the whole story. What good did it do for him when his friends gave him some quick input about how terrible his volleyball coach was? Did it really change anything for him? For maybe a few days and perhaps a few months but in the long run it did not help him alleviate anything. Nothing.

Being able to write out all his thoughts online was a luxury he wished he knew about before. His grammar and writing skills were never the strongest in school. It did not matter. There was no one to grade the quality of his work because for once in his life, he had control over everything.

He looked at himself in the mirror and tilted his chin left and right to inspect his appearance. A small but confident smirk made its way up to his lips as he ran his hand once more through his hair for good measure. He was not a vain man but was it not human nature to observe one's appearance? Some people could live without a mirror and be fine with how they look after waking up but for him, who worked in a business that valued looks more than raw talent, he was conditioned to take care of his exterior.

Rather than looking like all the celebrities on stage today with street clothes, he had taken the time to put on a proper suit and tie to return to his work position. He enjoyed the professional look of a suit but he found the aspect of a suit suffocating. It was not because of the clothing. It was more of the fact that he had to smile and look professional at all times once he walked into the office building.

Handshakes, smiles, nods of approval, nods of disapproval and fake courtesy conversations was something he had integrated into the very depths of his mind. He was taught that a gentleman should act as such. Even if the person they have to converse with is a complete nuisance. It was called being a gentleman.

He did not look forward to going back to work. There was no joy in his job. Unlike many others he had the choice of picking another job but he knew that abandoning the company would be selfish. Selfish and immature of him. He had spent countless nights thinking about the workers who spent all the time in their day to prepare and plan for their own positions at work. If those with a lower pay and less fortunate than him could do it, then he sure as hell could do it as well.

He grabbed his keys off the hook on the wall perpendicular to the door and walked down the three steps into his garage. He settled himself into the driver seat before turning on the ignition to pull out.

His mind and thoughts reached a blank state as he began driving along the highway. With a foot on the gas pedal and both hands on the steering wheel, he kept his sole focus on the road that lay ahead of him.

He steered into the company parking lot and drove to the spot that was designated his own. Taking his foot off the gas and pressing onto the brake pedal, the car came to a halt. He grabbed his briefcase that had his laptop and papers before exiting the car.

As he walked towards the main door of the building, he saw some of the workers who had just gotten off the public transportation bus. They gave him a bow and he nodded at them in acknowledgement. As they walked in, he could tell they were whispering about him. They were most likely surprised they were actually able to see him at work.

How fortunate was he to have his own car that he is able to drive as he wishes?

Upon entering the main hall, he walked towards the elevator without checking in with the receptionist because there really was no point. Everybody in the company knew, or should have known, who he was. Many faces greeted him and commented on his absence of work. He simply nodded and replied with a simple excuse.

His personal office was on one of the highest floors of the building. He stood in the elevator and watched as people came in and out. Once again, they all greeted him and by now, he simply turned to look at them and gave them a tug of his lips.

He reached his floor and stepped out only to be greeted by his own personal assistant. She let a small gasp escape her lips before she got out from behind her reception desk and came over to bow. “It's good to have you back, sir.”

“Likewise,” He replied and without sparing another glance at her, he walked towards his office.

It felt unfamiliar to be in here again and he vaguely wondered who had kept it clean and dust-free. He walked over to his table and took off his coat. He draped it over the back of the leather chair and sat down. He looked around at his desk. Everything was just as he had left it a few weeks ago. He looked at his phone and he let out a mental sigh once he realized he would soon receive phone calls about his return to work.

Mindless conversations about useless subjects made him dread waking up and facing people each day.

He took out his laptop and placed it onto his desk to begin his projects he had left off with. Before he could even type in his password to unlock his computer, his phone rang. He reached his hand over and picked it up. He didn't even bother with a simple greeting as he listened to who was on the other side.

“You finally decided to crawl out of your hole of depression?” His eye twitched in annoyance at the condescending tone of this man on the line. He continued. “I expect you to finish all the reports you left hanging. I will send my assistant with a portfolio of some others that I want you to follow up with. Understand?”

He did not bother with a reply either as the man decided to talk again. “Considering your current state, I wouldn't be surprised if the work done is not of your highest quality.”

He poked the insides of his cheek in slight anger. “My sincere gratitude for your consideration.”

“Don't get all snarky with me, Jung Hoseok. Have some respect.” And with that, the man hung on from the other line, leaving him to sit there listening to the dial tone.

He slammed the phone back onto the desk and leaned against the chair. The leather squeaked with the sudden movement. He twisted his chair around to stare out at the large window of open space with a hand through his hair.

“ that crooked old man,” He whispered.

A notification sound of a new email from his laptop brought him back to reality and he turned around in his chair. He settled his fingers on the keyboard. He was writing again but not for the reasons he wanted to write.

This was the mindless and useless work he wish he didn't have to write about.

He stopped the car by his mailbox and reached an arm out of the window to check for any mail. His fingers grazed over a few paper slips and he pulled them out. He placed them onto the empty passenger seat and continued to drive up and into the garage.

He hooked his keys onto the wall and walked into the kitchen to read his mail. He placed his folders onto the table and went to grab a knife to cut open the letters. One was his monthly bill, one was for work and another one was a postcard. His eyes rounded in slight interest once he turned the card over to read the contents.

His face softened after reading it and he placed the piece of paper back down after some thought. His eyes returned back to the same emotionless state and he picked up his mail along with his folders to head upstairs. He passed by the family portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs and he let out a sigh.

He stopped to look at the girl in the photo who stood to the right of the man sitting in the middle. She had long brown hair and bright eyes. She was smiling and so was her. With her formal attire of a white-collared shirt and black pants, she looked like a mature and grown woman. The heels she wore only helped to showcase her perfect figure. She looked like a model.

Such simple words could do her beauty no justice. He could spend hours writing about her.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom and flipped on the lights. He put the things he had in his arms down onto his table and took off his jacket. He walked over to his bed and sat down. Turning his head, he picked up the small photo frame with another family picture.

There she was again, smiling by his side. Oh, how he longed for her to be back beside him. He wanted to see her face, ask how she was doing and eat her cooked meals.

It had been more than five years since she was gone. Five years may seem like enough time for a person to forget about someone but it's a lot harder said than done. It is difficult to forget about someone when everything you do reminds you of them.

It's a lot more difficult when this person used to be a family member that lived under the same roof as you.

Without her in the house, he had no home to come back to. In fact, he had no home for the past five years. There was nothing to look forward to once he got back because she was gone. She wouldn't be there to greet him once he walked through the doors and ask him about his day at work.

It was never always just sunshine and rainbows with her, though.

She was the adopted one of the family and she never really made the connection with his father. Her father passed away on a business trip long ago. His father was assigned to the same trip alongside his partner but something else had come up and he could not make it. For that, his own life was saved and ever since then, he felt the nagging responsibility that he should do something about the now orphaned child. Her mother had also left, meaning she was left with no one.

That was one of the things he had in common with her. They both had no mother figure in their lives.

His father saw great potential in her for the entertainment industry. She had different views from him which was why more often than not, they got into arguments. She wanted nothing to do with the work he was involved in because she knew how dark and unethical it really was.

Another thing they had in common with each other. They both despised the work their father was involved in.

Even though she did not get along with her adoptive father, she did get along with her brother. In fact, the two of them had grown close to each other ever since she moved into the family over ten years ago.

He watched as he grew more and more protective over the years as she grew up into a beautiful woman. He watched as she would come home and show him the perfect test scores from school. He watched her fashion sense change and mature as she grew. He watched as she learned how to cook for the two of them in place of their forgotten mothers.

He remembered all the times they stayed up together to finish their homework. He remembered all the times she brought his lunch to his school because he left earlier than her in the morning.

He remembered running home through the rain with her in the spring. He remembered eating ice cream out in their backyard with her in the summer. He remembered raking the leaves into giant piles with her in autumn. He remembered teaching her how to ice skate in the winter.

Memories of her were precious to him. If he could, he would have wanted to transfer all of this into videos that he could rewind. He wanted to see her smile, her tears and the different expressions she had shown him over all the years. The only physical storage of these memories was through the stories he's written. He had started writing ever since she left. All memories of her were written down so he would never forget them.

He watched himself as he fell in love with her each and every day.

He watched as she would come home later than him. He watched as she would stare down at her mobile device and smile. He watched as she would stay up late to exchange phone calls.

He watched as she fell in love with someone that wasn't him. 

✍  a u t h o r 's   n o t e

I know it's been a while and I'm so sorry! I'm in the process of managing everything in my life right now and it's pretty difficult. University applications have to be sent in soon and that's stressing me out a lot. Thanks so much to everyone for the comments and words of support. It means so much more than I can put into words!

If anyone was wondering, I removed the poster because I didn't like it anymore. And AFF decided to change the layout of the background so now my background is messed up too, omg. I'll try to make a new poster soon or request one, but if any of you have a poster shop in mind- it would be so helpful if you linked them for me!

Thanks for reading and leave a comment on your thoughts!