The Notes

When I counted to three, I heard the sound of laughter like a hallucination. The next moment the young me passed by holding someone's hand. I looked back quickly, but there was no one there except my classmates staring at me.

"Hoseok-ah," the teacher called my name. Only then did I realize where I was. It was a class field trip. I was counting the fruits that were drawn in the textbook. Five. Six. I kept counting, but as I did my voice trembled and my hands grew sweaty. The memory of that time kept surfacing.

I couldn't clearly remember my mother's face that day. I only remembered the chocolate bar she gave me as we looked around the amusement park.

"Hoseok-ah. Count to ten and then open your eyes." When I had finished counting and opened my eyes, my mother was gone. I waited and waited, but she never returned. I had only counted to nine. If I counted one more it would have been fine, but my voice wouldn't come out. My ears were ringing and my surroundings grew cloudy. The teacher kept pointing, telling me to keep counting. My friends were staring at me. I couldn't remember my mother's face. It seemed like if I counted one more, my mother would really never come back for me.

Just like that, I collapsed to the ground.

I entered the living room after taking off my shoes and dropping my bag, and my dad was inside. I didn't think of how long it had been since I last saw him, or where he had been. I just ran into his embrace. I can't recall clearly what happened afterward. Did I first smell the alcohol, hear him curse at me, or get slapped by him? It didn't know what was actually happening. He reeked of alcohol, his breathing was rough and he had foul breath. His eyes were bloodshot and his beard was unkempt. Then he used his big hand to hit me, asked me what I was looking at, and hit me again. Then he lifted me high up in the air. Although his bloodshot eyes were scary, I couldn't cry because I was too scared.

That was not my dad. No, he was, but he didn't feel like it. I kicked my leg in the mid-air. In the next moment, my head hit the wall and I fell to the floor.

I felt like my head was going to explode.

My sight became blurry and gradually darkened, and all I could hear in my mind was my dad's breathing.

I walked out the entrance of the arboretum alone. The weather was cloudy and a bit cold, but it still felt good. Though it was picnic day, my parents were still busy. So, in the beginning, I was a bit sad. But in the flower drawing competition, I received a compliment, my friends' mums said that I was dependable. And so from then, I thought I was a bit cooler.

"Jimin-ah, wait here. The teacher will come soon." After the picnic, as we were to leave the arboretum, the teacher warned me but I did not wait. I was confident I could do it alone.

I grabbed onto the straps of my backpack tightly with both hands and I walked purposefully. It felt like everyone was staring at me so I straightened my shoulders more. This was a long time after the rain had started falling. My friends and their mums had already gone, there was nobody to look after me, and my legs hurt. I used my backpack to cover my head and I crouched down under a tree. The rain fell harder and there were no people that walked past. In the end, I ended up running through the rain. I could not see a house or shop. And the place I arrived at was the back entrance of the arboretum. The side gate was open, and I could see something like a storage space within it.

The red flames spiraled high. The house that I lived in until this morning was in a blaze. Those who recognized me raced towards me screaming. The neighbors were frantic. There was no way to get in, the fire engine could not access it they said. I stopped in my tracks. It was the end of summer. It was the beginning of autumn. The sky was blue and the air was dry. What was I supposed to feel, what I was supposed to do; I didn't know. And then, the thought, Mom. That next moment, with a crash, the house became rubble. The house was taken by the blaze, no, the house, the ceiling, the pillars, the walls, the room I had lived in had become the blaze itself, and like a house built of sand, it collapsed. I watched it, dumbstruck.Someone pushed me aside to hurry forward. They said the fire engine had got in. Another grabbed hold of me and spurred me to answer. That person stared me into the eyes and screamed something at me, but I couldn't hear anything.

"Is someone inside?"
I watched that person dumbly.
"Is your mum inside?"
That person grabbed hold of my shoulders and shook me. I didn't know how I answered.
"No. Nobody's inside."
"What do you mean." A mother from the neighborhood asked.
"What about your mum? Where did your mum go?"
"Nobody's inside."
The words I was saying, I didn't know either. Someone pushed me aside and hurried forward...

I followed my father into the principal office, it had a damp smell. It had been 10 days since I had returned from America, I had to start a year lower because the education system is different.

"I am leaving him in your hands." My father said. I flinched unintentionally when he put his hands on my shoulders.

"School, in general, is a dangerous place, we need order and control." The principal said staring dead into my eyes. Every time he spoke, the fat around his wrinkly cheeks and area around his mouth would shake, and the inside of his black lips was dark red.

"Don't you think so as well?"

I was hesitating at the abrupt question and my father squeezed my shoulder harder. The strength caused shocks to go up and down the muscles of my neck.

"I trust that you'll do well."

The principal persistently continues to make eye contact and my father squeezes me tighter. He clenched his fists around my shoulders to the point that my bones felt like they would shatter. My body was shaking and dripping with cold sweat.

"You have to tell me right now. You have to be a good student for your dad." The principal told me with a straight face. "Yes." I squeezed out a response and the pain disappeared. I heard the laughter of my father and the principal. I couldn't raise my head. I could only see the brown shoes of my father and the principal's black shoes. I didn't know where the light was coming from but it twinkled. I was scared of that twinkle.

"What are your dreams, Hyungs?" I asked. My hyungs looked back at me. "I need to write a research paper about the future," I mumbled.

Seokjin Hyung spoke first. "I do not think I have any dreams. Maybe I just want to be a good person..." Seokjin Hyung trailed off in embarrassment.

Then, Yoongi Hyung spoke. He was lying on a piano chair. He said in a gentle voice, "It's okay if you don't have a dream. I don't have a dream either. I'll just be a nobody." Everyone laughed at Yoongi Hyung's words.

"I'm going to be a superhero." Taehyung Hyung stood up on his chair and
stroke a pose, as if he were going to fly. Hoseok Hyung held his arm.
"If you don't get down you're going to fall and get hurt, Taehyung."

"I want to find my mother and live happily," Hoseok Hyung added. "To be happy will be my dream."

"So, does that mean you are unhappy now, Hoseok?" It was Jimin Hyung who asked that.
Hoseok frowned, and seemed to really think about Jimin's question. "Is that how it works?"

"What is your dream?" I asked Jimin Hyung.

"What is your dream? Me?" Jimin Hyung looked embarrassed. "I wanted to be a president in kindergarten, but now I don't know what I want to do," he confessed.

Namjoon Hyung was the last person left who had to answer. He shrugged and answered, feeling everyone's expectant gaze on him. "I want to say something good, but I haven't really dreamed at all. I just want my wage to increase my parttime job."

I looked down at the assignment paper I had gotten, nodding. The future career section was divided into students and parents. I had no idea what I wanted to be. I didn't know what to write down on the paper.

I thoughtlessly ditched school, but truthfully I didn't have anywhere to go. It was hot. I had no money, and I had nothing to do. It was Namjoon who said we should go to the beach. The other guys seemed excited, but I didn't particularly feel like it, nor did I dislike the idea.

"Do we have money?" At my question Namjoon made everyone shake out their pockets. A few coins, a few bills.

"So we can't go."

The one who said we could just walk was probably Taehyung. Namjoon made a face begging them to reconsider, but they just chattered away laughing and pretending to roll around on the road before starting to walk. I wasn't in the mood to talk back so I just fell behind. It was midday, so even the gingko trees couldn't provide shade, and the cars kicked up dust as they passed us on the sidewalk-less road.

"Let's go there." It was Taehyung this time too. Or was it Hoseok? I didn't care so I didn't look carefully, but it would have been one of them. I had been walking along with my head down, kicking dirt. When I almost collided with someone I lifted my head. Jimin was standing there as if frozen in place. The muscles in his face trembled as if had seen something terrifying. He was staring at a sign that said "Flowering Arboretum, 2.2 kilometers."

"I didn't want to walk." I heard Jungkook's voice. Sweat dripped from Jimin's face. He went pale as if he might collapse at any second. What is it? I had a strange feeling.

"Park Jimin," I called, but as I expected he didn't budge. I lifted my head again and looked at the sign.

"Hey, it's so hot. Why would we go to an arboretum? Let's go to the beach." I said as if dragging my feet. I didn't know what kind of place the arboretum was, but it didn't seem like we should go. Whatever the reason, Jimin's expression was strange.

"We don't even have money," Hoseok replied.

"That's why we're walking." And Taehyung added,

"If we just walk to the train station we can probably make it." Then Namjoon said,

"Instead we'll just starve at dinner." Jungkook and Taehyung pretended to cry, and Seokjin laughed. Jimin only started to move again once it was decided that we would take the road toward the train station. Walking with his head down and his shoulders trembling, Jimin seemed like a small child. I looked up at the sign again.

The characters spelling "Flowering Arboretum" were gradually getting further away.

In the warehouse classroom I saw a pot on the window. I had no idea who had brought it, but it certainly looked like Hyung's. I pulled out my cellphone to take a picture. The classroom was dull since the electricity was off. The green grass outside contrasted painfully with the dark classroom and the dirty glass windows. I didn't get a good picture. It wasn't the cellphone's fault, though, because any camera could simply not see
things the same way our eyes could.

When I approached the pot, I lifted it and turned it upside down. It was a flower pot.
I caught the scent of figs. If one of my Hyung's bought this pot, I wouldn't be able to resist giving it a closer look. I noticed the window frame was covered in graffiti. So was the wall and the ceiling. Pass or die. People's names. Ineligible handwriting.

This classroom would not have been a warehouse from the beginning. Students would have cleared out at the end of every day and been in class again late afternoon. It was empty throughout the holidays, but students would have flocked the minute class started. At that time, there were students like us who were perceived and punished. We dropped out of classes. There were endless examinations and homework from that ruthless, violent teacher.

And there were people like me: People who talk to the principal about their friends. People who tell on their friends. I was wondering if my father's name was there. This was also my father's alma mater. My father was a man who believed that attending the same high school, same university, after his father gave dignity to the family tradition.

I skimmed through all the names on the wall and finally, I found his name. It was in the middle of the left wall, among several other names names.

Below that he'd written a short sentence: "Everything started here".

While Hoseok was answering a call, I played around by stepping on his shadow. Hoseok burst into laughter and said, "Jimin has grown up."

It took 2 hours to walk home from school. If you took the bus it was less than 30 minutes. It would be too little if you said it took 20 minutes. He always leads me through shortcuts, alleys or even old bridges. We would stubbornly walk this route. It had been a year since I was discharged from the hospital and transferred schools. The school was far from home and I didn't know anybody. I thought it was fine. I had transferred schools many times and who knew when I would be admitted to the hospital again. I thought that this would be nothing much.

At that time I met Hoseok. It was just after the start of the new semester. He approached me and stayed with me for 2 hours. I only found out a long time later that our houses weren't even in the same direction. I didn't ask why he stayed with me. I was hoping in my heart that the 2 hours under the sun could be lengthened.

After teasing Hoseok during his call and stepping on his shadow I ran away. He hung up the call and chased after me. Under the heat of the sun, my ice cream melted. I heard the song of the cicadas. I found that I was suddenly scared.

How long would these days last?

I slid down the corridor, a rhythmic sound on the floors. And then I stopped. I could see Namjoon standing in front of our classroom. Our classroom. Though nobody knew, I called that place our classroom. Me, and the others, the classroom for us seven. I approached silently. I was thinking of surprising him.

"Principal!" As I took my fifth footstep or so, through the slightly open classroom window, a hurried voice could be heard. It seemed like Seokjin.

Was it that Seokjin was speaking to the principal? In our classroom? Why?

Then I could hear Yoongi's and my name, and Namjoon sucking in a surprised breath. As if he could hear my noiseless footsteps, Seokjin threw open the door. I couldn't see Namjoon's expression. I hid and watched them. As Seokjin opened his mouth, as if to deny something, Namjoon held up his hand and spoke.

"It's okay." Seokjin made an expression as if confused.

"There must have been a reason for you to say." With those words, Namjoon swept past Seokjin.

I could not believe it. Seokjin told the principal about the things Yoongi and I had done in the past few days. He explained everything, that we had skipped class, jumped over the barrier, and had fought with some kids. But Namjoon had told us we would be okay.

"What are you doing here?" Turning around in surprise, I realized it was Hoseok and Jimin. Hoseok pretended to be even more surprised as he hung his arm around my shoulder. Suddenly, he dragged me into the classroom. Namjoon and Seokjin were speaking to each other before looking back to see us. Seokjin awkwardly stood up before saying he had to take care of something, then left. I studied Namjoon's expression. He watched Seokjin's back as he left, and then looked at us with a smile as if nothing had happened. At that moment, I realized something. There must be a reason why he is acting like that. He knows more than me, is smarter than me and is way more of an adult than me. And this is our classroom. I posted a square smile on my face, the one everyone laughed at me for saying I looked like an idiot and walked into the classroom.

I decided not to tell anyone that I had heard that conversation.

I went to the warehouse classroom that we claimed as our secret base. We always went there. I picked up a few chairs and I made my way in. I set the toppled-over table upright and patted off the dust on top of it with my palm. To humans, separation is always sentimental. Today was the last day of school and also two weeks until we'd move away. I didn't know if I would ever come back here or whether I would be able to see my friends again. I folded the paper in half and placed it on the table. Although I held a pen in my hand, I didn't know what to write. Time passed by. After writing some meaningless words, the pencil lead broke with a sound.

"You must survive".

I unconsciously doodled those words onto the paper. Among all dark lead powder and doodling, I was suddenly reminded of poverty, parents, friends, moving, and other messy things.

I folded the paper into a ball, put it into my pocket and got up from my seat. Dust was everywhere again when I put the table back. As I got ready to leave I fogged up the window with my breath, and wrote 4 words. It was not enough at the moment, but it could be conveyed to everyone even if unsaid.

I gently touched the piano keys with my fingertip, leaving my finger smudged in the dust. As soft as I could I pressed my finger to the keys, the piano let out a sound different from the songs Yoongi would play. Yoongi has not been to school for ten days. Today I heard that he had been expelled. Namjoon and Hoseok didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything because I was too scared to hear the answer.

Two weeks ago, before the teacher had come to the secret location, there was only me and Yoongi here. There was an open inspection that day, and I didn't want to stay in class so I ran here. When I came in, he didn't even look back, just played the piano as I lay on the desks to take a nap. In theory, Yoongi and the piano exist as two separate things, but it was hard to see them apart. I don't know why, but hearing his playing made me want to cry. When it felt as if the tears would soon fall, I hastily turned onto my back. Just then, the door opened with an explosive bang. The piano music stopped. I was slapped so hard I fell to the ground. I huddled on the ground, listening to the barrage of angry words thrown at me, only for it to suddenly stop. I turned and saw that Yoongi had punched the teacher back, then sheltered me with his whole body. Past his shoulders, I could see the anger on that teacher's face.

I pressed the piano keys again, trying to play a tune Yoongi used to play. Had he really been expelled? Will I ever see him again? He has said before that getting a beating was routine for him. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have hit the teacher.

If it wasn't for me, Yoongi would still be here playing the piano.

I opened the door with a loud slam and took out the envelope from inside the last drawer of my desk. As I turned the envelope around a piano key fell to the floor with a sound. I threw the half-burned piano key in the trash can and laid down on my bed. The emotions that were brought up hadn't simmered down yet. My breathing was a mess. My fingers suddenly covered with singe.

After the funeral ended there was a time when I returned to that house of ash left behind from the fire. When I entered my mother's room, the piano that was burnt to the point of nonrecognition caught my eye. I sank to the floor. I sat there as the sunlight shone through the window. In the midst of the last glimmers of sunlight, a few keys rolled around. What kind of sound would I hear from the keys if I pressed on them? I thought about how many times my mother's fingers had touched them. From the pile of piano keys, I put one of them in my pocket and left the room.

It had been four years since then and the house was always quiet. The silence made people go crazy. After dad went to sleep at 10 p.m. everything became increasingly quieter. It became suffocating. This was how everything functioned. I was tired because I had to live in such silence. I was tired because I had to follow a predetermined time-table. It wasn't simple to follow such a form. But what was significantly harder was living in that house, taking pocket money from Dad, eating dinner with him, listening to his scoldings. Whenever I had an argument with him, I always considered abandoning him and running away from home to live by myself. I never had the courage to actually do so.

I got up from the bed and picked up the piano key from the dustbin under my study desk. I opened the window and the night breeze came in. The things that happened felt like a night breeze slapping me in the face. I used all of my strength to throw the piano key into the cold air. It had been 10 days since I last went to school. Even if I didn't want to, I assumed that I'd be kicked out. I didn't know if it was because of my deteriorated hearing, but I didn't hear the sound of the piano key dropping to the ground. No matter how hard I tried to imagine it, I didn't know what that piano key dropping to the ground sounded like. No matter how much time passed, that piano would not make a sound again.

I told myself I would never play the piano again.

As I stood at the entrance of the school, the sound of cicadas was stinging. The sports field was buzzing with children smiling, joking around, and running around competitively. The beginning of the summer holidays, everyone was terrifically buoyant. In the midst of them, I bowed my head and stepped past. I wanted to slink out of school quickly.

"Jin." Someone's shadow appeared. With a jump, I lifted my head. It was Hoseok and Jimin. Like always, shining their big and pure smiles and watching me with their mischievous, young eyes.

"It's holidays today, and you're just going to leave?" Hoseok spoke, dragging my arm. I agreed, saying a couple of meaningless phrases before turning my head back.

What had happened that day was definitely an accident. It had not been planned. I had not thought that at that time in the storage classroom, Jungkook and Yoongi would be there. The principal had a suspicion that I was defending my friends. He said that he could say that I wasn't a good student, I had let down my father. I had to say something. I spoke of that hideout because I thought it would be empty. But Yoongi had gotten expelled. Nobody knew that I was involved.

"Spend your holidays well, Jin! I'll call you." However he noticed my ignorance, Hoseok furtively lets go of my hand and said goodbye even more brightly. This time, too, I was not able to respond in any way. There was nothing I could say. As I came to the school gates, I remembered the first day at this school. We were late, and all were punished together. And so we were able to laugh.

I ruined those times.

Jimin's mother paced back and forth in the emergency room after checking that the name on the head of the bed and the IV drop were properly placed. She brushed a strand of grass from Jimin's shoulder with one finger. I approached hesitantly, feeling that I should tell her why Jimin was in the emergency room, about the seizure at the bus stop. Jimin's mother seemed to notice me only then, and she looked at me with a long evaluating case.

I didn't know what to do. So I stood still. Jimin's mother only said, "Thank you." and then turned back to him. The next time Jimin's mother looked at me, the Doctor and nurses had started to move the bed, and I moved to follow. Jimin's mother said thank you again and pushed at my shoulder. Rather than pushing, it was more like she touched me slightly and then pulled her hand away. But I suddenly felt an invisible line being drawn between Jimin's mother and myself. That line was sure and solid. It was cold and sturdy. It was a line that I could never surmount.

I had lived at the orphanage for 10 years. Something was off with my whole body, my sight, the air. In a moment of bewilderment, I took a step back and fell to the floor. Jimin's mother looked vacantly down at me. She was a small and beautiful person. But her shadow was large and cold. That shadow fell over me as I collapsed on the emergency room floor. When I lifted my head Jimin's bed had left the emergency room and could no longer be seen.

After that day Jimin didn't come back to school.

I stopped counting a few days after I was hospitalized. Counting was something you'd do when you wanted to get out. Counting was something you'd do when you thought there was hope of getting out. The trees and leaves, far off outside of the window, still looked like a colorful painting. Due to this observation, I knew not that much time had passed. At most, a little more than a month could have passed. The medicine made everything boring and dull. Even so, today was a special day. The kind of day you'd have to write about in a diary. But I didn't have a diary. I didn't want to have any problems to write about anyway. Today I lied for the first time. I looked into the doctor's eyes and pretended to be gloomy.

"I don't remember a thing."

"Jeon Jungkook, you're not still going there are you?"

I did not respond in any way. I stood, looking at my shoes. I was hit over the head with the attendance sheet. But I still did not open my mouth. It was the last place I had been in together with my friends. From the day I discovered the classroom, there has not been a day that I have not entered it. Even the others didn't know this. There were times they didn't even come, saying they had some activity or were busy with part-time work. Yoongi and Jin would sometimes not show up for days on end.

But not me. I went to the classroom every day without fail. There were days in which not a single person came. But it was still fine. The fact that this place exists means that if not today, tomorrow; if not tomorrow, the day after; My friends would come – so it was okay.

"Because you hung out together, you only learned bad habits." I was hit once more. I raised my eyes and stared the teacher down. I was hit again. I remembered Yoongi getting hit. I grit my teeth and bore it. I did not want to lie and say I hadn't been to the classroom.

Now, I stand in front of it once again. I feel like if I open the door, my friends would be inside. That they'd be gathered playing a game, turn to look at me, and ask why I was so late. Seokjin and Namjoon would be reading, Taehyung would be playing games, Yoongi playing the piano and Hoseok and Jimin would be dancing. But as I open the door, all I see is Hoseok. He was packing away our remaining items in the classroom. I clutched the door handle, just standing there. He came over to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. And he took me outside.

"Let's go, now." Behind our backs, the classroom door shut. I realized it then.

Those days were gone, and they would not come again.

I danced, not being able to take my eyes off of myself in the mirror. Everything became peaceful. Moving my body along with the music everything, apart from my feelings, was quiet.

The first time I danced I was 12 years old. I think it was for a talent show or retreat I went to. I stood on stage with all of my friends. The thing I remember the most from that day was the applause and the feeling of actually feeling like myself for the first time. Of course, back then I thought it was simply thrilling to move my body with the music. It was bliss, and I found out later on that that bliss wasn't coming from the applause but from within.

I was tied to a lot of things outside of the mirror. I couldn't stand having my feet touch the ground even if it was for a few seconds. Even if I hated it I smiled. Even when I was sad I smiled. I took pills that I didn't need and fainted no matter the location. That's why when I danced I tried not to look away from my reflection in the mirror. It was a time when I could be myself, fly and drop all of the heavy burdens. It was a time when I gained hope that I could become happy.

I was at peace with the idea of looking at myself during those times.

Waiting for the bus, the people around me rubbed their hands together to try and warm them up as a cold breeze brushed their cold fingers. I tightened my grip on my backpack's straps and looked down at the ground. I tried to avoid making eye contact
with those around me.

This was a country town. Only two buses came past every day. The first bus started to come into view. I followed everyone onto the bus, not bothering to look back. When you're desperate enough for something... where you can almost place it in your palms... when all you can do is escape... take the bus and get out. And don't turn back. If I turned back, all the effort I'd put in would be in vain.

To turn back:
To be suspicious
To yearn to give up
To be afraid

I had to overcome these doubts in order to escape. The bus departed. I had no plans after I'd escaped. I wasn't so desperate to chase after what I wanted just yet. I just wanted to run away. I didn't have a goal driving me forward after that. Mom's tired gaze. My troubled sibling. My dad getting sick. Our family was getting harder to be around with as every day passed. Our family emphasized peace and sacrifice. We stayed unknowing and tired to get used to carrying on. We tired to get used to poverty.

Is poverty a sin? Nobody would dare say it is. I say it is. Poverty is a sin, indeed. Poverty gnaws away at so many things. Things we treasured became meaningless. Things we could never give up, we let go of. You then become resigned and scared. You become suspicious.

In a couple of hours the bus will stop by a place I'm familiar with. I left that place a year ago, didn't say my goodbyes, but I'm here again. I'd lost all contact with my friends. What are they all doing now? Would they be happy to see me? Would we be able to meet again and laugh like old times?

The frost on the bus window made it hard to see much outside. I placed my finger on the glass and started writing.

"I need to survive."

I liked being among people. I started a part time job at a fast food restaurant, but I had to deal with a lot of people and always had to smile and be active. That was good for me. In fact, my life was neither jovial nor energetic. It was also evident that I saw more bad people than good ones.

Maybe it was better that way. If I forcefully laugh, talk loudly, and cheerfully respond, I feel like I am in such a mood. I was laughing so much, I felt good. I was friendly and kind, and I had a hard time. It was hard to take a step when arranging the store and returning home. Still, it was a little easier to endure those things when I had friends.

Sometimes I thought of my friends while I was watching a customer entering the store:
SeokJin hyung, who had gone away without a word, Namjoon hyung, who disappeared one morning, Yoongi hyung, who I had not contacted after he was expelled, Taehyung where the the accident was, and finally, Jimin...

I have seen a few times in front of the window wearing uniforms and leaving school, but somehow I did not go to the store. I thought that those days were gone now. I was greatly welcomed by the guests as I was broken out of thought. Then I turned to the door with a bright and healthy smile.

The owner of the gas station spat on the floor and left. I laid crouching on the floor still. I graffitied the back wall of the gas station and was caught by the owner and got hit. I rolled on the floor. Being hit was a familiar thing, but it still hurt.

It was a while ago when I started graffiti art. I had picked up the leftover spray. It looked like it was yellow. I just sprayed it at random and bright yellow on the gray wall. I gave the wall another spray. I only stopped my hand after all the spray cans were empty. I couldn't wait to go back. I did not know significance of the colors I'd put on the wall yet. What I did... why i did it... I did not know yet.

Just one thing I could say as that I felt the colors in my heart. At first I thought I was ugly. It was stupid, useless and pitiful. I did not like it. I rubbed off the undried paint that was on my palms. I wanted to erase everything. Instead of the paint being erased, it mixed into different colors and formed into different shapes.

I sat against the wall. It was not the matter of heart and soul. It was not the problem of being beautiful or not. It was just me. I coughed when lifted myself up. Blood poured out from my mouth. And then I saw someone's hand pick up the spray can. As I followed the hand, I saw his face. It was Namjoon Hyung.

I laughed. I couldn't believe my eyes. I thought it was an illusion. I must've been hit pretty hard. Hyung extended his hand. I just looked up. Namjoon Hyung took my hand and pulled me to my feet. His hands were warm.

I stopped walking at the clumsy sound of a piano. The only sound in the empty construction site was the popping of a fire someone had lit in an oil drum. I knew the sound of the song that was playing. But why? My drunken footsteps stumbled. I closed my eyes and walked carelessly. As the heat of the fire grew, the piano sound, the night air, and my intoxication all grew fainter.

I opened my eyes at the sudden sound of a horn as a car grazed narrowly past me. In the confusion of the headlight's brightness, the wind of the car's passing, and my own drunkenness I stumbled helplessly. I heard the driver curse at me. As I came to a stop, prepared to curse right back, I suddenly realized I could no longer hear the sound of the piano. Amidst the sound of the blazing fire, the wind, and the silence left in the wake of the car, the piano sound was gone. It seemed to have stopped. Why had it stopped? Who was playing it?

The sparks from the fire surged forth from the drum barrel with a sharp noise. I looked at it for a long moment, spaced out. My face became hot with its warmth. It was at that moment I heard the clanging sound of a fist slamming down onto piano keys. On instinct, I looked behind me. For a moment my blood rushed so rapidly that my breathing became erratic. The nightmares from when I was young. It was like a sound I'd heard there.

Suddenly I was running. Against my own will, I ran towards the music store. My body turned of its own volition to look behind. I felt somehow like that was something I had repeated countless times before. It was a sensation of having forgotten something important.

The music store had a broken window. Someone was sitting in front of the piano. Although many years had passed, I recognized them in an instant. The person was crying. Their hands curled into fists. I didn't want to be involved in someone else's life. I didn't want to comfort anyone else's loneliness. I didn't want to become a person who meant something to anyone. I had no confidence that I could protect them. I didn't have the confidence to be at their side until the end. I didn't want to hurt them. I didn't want to be hurt.

I walked slowly. I wanted to turn back and leave, but I approached them without realizing. A wrong note rang out of the piano. Jungkook lifted his head and looked at me. "Yoongi."

With a screech, the car stopped. Having fallen into thought, I had not seen the traffic lights change. Students with familiar uniforms stared at me through the car window as they crossed the road. There were even people pointing at me. I gave a strained smile as I drooped my head.

I knew what I had to do. But that did not mean I was not afraid. Would I truly be able to end all this misfortune and pain? Don't repeated failures mean there can never be a success? Shouldn't I be giving up? Isn't our happiness only a vain hope? So many thoughts came and left.

Without realizing, I had reached the road of the petrol station and I could see Namjoon working there. I drank a deep breath in before exhaling slowly. I thought of Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon and Jungkook's faces, one at a time. And with that, I changed lanes and entered the petrol station. I could not give up. Even if there was only a 1% chance, I would not give up.

Over my window, I could see Namjoon come closer.

I finally fulfilled my wish. When I saw the delinquents on the street I purposely bumped into them and got beaten up. I couldn't help but laugh as they beat me. My laughter leads them to call me crazy and hit me harder. I leaned against the shutters and looked at the dark sky. It was late at night. There was nothing to see in the sky. I saw grass that reminded me of how I felt— easily blown over by the wind. I felt the tears coming and purposefully made myself cry.

When I closed my eyes I saw an image of my stepfather clearing his throat. My stepbrother continuously kicking me while laughing. My stepfather's relatives would look elsewhere or talk about meaningless things. It was as if I didn't exist as if I was nothing. In front of them, my mother stood helplessly. I started coughing from the dust. My chest hurt as if someone had taken a knife to it. I climbed up the roof of the construction site. The dark colors of the night seemed to overshadow the city. I walked on top of the railing, holding out both of my hands for balance. At that moment I nearly stumbled and fell. The brief moment reminded me that I could easily die if I just took one more step. Would death bring the end of anything? 1

No one would be sad if I wasn't around.

I walked, not really caring about Jungkook's coming situation. Containers followed the long stretch of railroad tracks.
"It's the fourth container from behind," Jungkook said. "Namjoon and Taehyung are meeting me here," he added.

"I know," I replied. I wasn't really going to go. It was disgusting to get involved with other people. That fact was set in stone.

I would've never thought I'd get as far as to come with Jungkook to this place. As Hoseok opened the door from inside, he looked surprised. When I saw Jungkook behind me, I assumed that I was crossing over as a person who over exaggerated. I side stepped past the two and walked inside the container. I heard the gentle voices of Jungkook and Hoseok trying to coax me into staying for a while. Within minutes Namjoon brought Taehyung. His T-shirt was torn.

"What happened?" Namjoon asked, squeezing Taehyung's shoulder.

"I'm late because I got caught by a police officer. I ran away," Taehyung explained.

Everyone could see Taehyung was nervous that the T-shirt had been torn. Namjoon gave Taehyung a new T-shirt to put on as he put burgers and drinks on a tray. The rest of us stood around awkwardly, not knowing what to do with ourselves. I remembered when we were back in high school, Namjoon was teased. We used to say he'd become an older version of Taehyung. Jungkook moved to the city. We didn't know any other details besides that at the time. There weren't so many occasions when we'd all to been in the same room together.

I don't really remember well. It wasn't like what had happened with Seokjin and Jimin. When Seokjin had snitched on Jimin to the principal and they'd fought in the classroom after school. We'd all been there that time too.

Even though this is our first peaceful gathering we'd had
in years I was strangely comfortable

I was digging through a cheap t-shirt sale when Taehyung reached from behind and took a shirt. It had the same phrases printed on it as my shirt. Nirvana. Taehyung smiled at me and took his ripped shirt off. Hoseok looked at me with shocked eyes. Taehyung wore my t-shirt and looked at himself through my dirty mirror. He laughed.

"I was late because he wanted to do graffiti and got caught by the police. I had to pull him out." I pretended that I was getting angry at Taehyung, and Taehyung acted like he was really sorry. Yoongi, who was sitting in the corner of my trailer, walked towards us and patted Taehyung on the shoulder.

The current plot of the webtoon circles in this date. Seokjin first opened his eyes on April 11, but he was watching the events of May 22. At that time, Seokjin saw Taehyung standing alone on the beach observatory where Taehyung looked down at his friends and jumped from the observatory. It was April 11th when Seokjin opened his eyes again. The same loop appears in the first or second chapter of the webtoon Save Me. Seokjin continues to suffer from meeting Namjoon at a gas station, Jungkook falling out of a building, and Taehyung being taken by the police for the murder of his father. However, Seokjin continues to fail to stop the same situation from being looped.

I knew what happened to Taehyung all those years ago.
Even if I pretended to be oblivious an uneasy feeling would come over me unexpectedly, whether it be in a momentary action, expression or tone. I went to the police station frequently and saw wounds on my body.

It was a nightmare. I'd had a nightmare. It was because I was waiting for Taehyung to speak for himself. On the other hand, I was wondering if I was even entitled to go through such troubles. I pretended to be older and mature, but I wasn't even able to protect myself when my friends became more guarded to the world around them. Everyone thinks they are mature, but I wasn't a real adult. I wasn't able to comprehend the reality before me.

"Yoongi Hyung is dead." Taehyung had a nightmare too.I sat with my shoulders hunched for a long time. I didn't even think of wiping away Taehyung's tears and comforting him.

"The dream was so real, Hyung," he said.
"But it seems like it's only a dream..."
"Don't go where you are," he said, his voice trembling.

The sheet burnt instantly. Everything was surrounded by the unbearable heat of the fire. The apartment was no longer damp. It no longer smelled damp and moldy. All that was left was pain. The physical pain of the fire burning my fingertips open. My skin was so hot it felt like blisters would
form only to be melted off by the heat.

My father's expressionless face came to mind. Music scattered through my thoughts.
My father and I were so different. He didn't understand me. I didn't understand him. If I tried, could I persuade him? Probably not. All I could do was hide, rebel, and run away. Then there was a time when I thought whether I was going to get out or not. Then came the fear of cliffs.

What on earth am I running away from? How can I escape from myself? Everything seemed impossible. It sounded like someone was calling, but I did not lift my head.
I could not breathe because of the heat and the pain. I had no will to move. I was still able to remember Jungkook. He must have gotten angry. Perhaps he will mourn for me.

I just wanted to sit down and let the fire take me. Both the smoke and heat, pain and fear wanted it all to end here.

I lifted my head to see Namjoon in front of the container. He opened the door and stepped inside. He gathered all the garments scattered around the floor as a blanket and huddled there. The chill came. As my whole body shook badly, I felt like I wanted to cry. But I couldn't even do that much.

When I opened the door and entered, Yoongi was standing on top of the bed. The train of the sheet was blazing on fire. At that moment, an anger and fear that I could not contain enveloped me whole. I was not someone who could speak well. Expressing my feelings, persuading another; I was awkward at both. As tears gathered and I began to cough, it became even harder to speak. The only words I could spit out as I ran into the blaze was

"We said we'd all go to the sea together."

"Why are you like this? Did you have a nightmare or something?" Due to someone shaking my shoulder, I opened my eyes. It was Namjoon. Strangely enough, a feeling of security fell upon me. He lay his hand on me and said I had a fever. It really felt like I did. The inside of mouth felt like it was boiling, but it was intensely cold otherwise. I had a splitting headache and my throat hurt. I could barely have the medicine he gave me.

"Sleep more. Let's talk later." I nodded my head. And then I spoke.

"Would I be able to become an adult like you?" Namjoon turned to look at me.

@Smeraldo_Books: My narcolepsy occurred anytime, anywhere. I always ended up having dreams about Mom when I blacked out. The dreams were all alike. I was heading somewhere with Mom on a bus.

I opened the emergency exit door and literally leaped down the stairs. My heart beat so fast I feared it was about to burst. The face I saw in the hospital hallway was obviously a mother. When I turned around, the elevator door opened and people walked out. Desperately pushing past people, I saw my mother go through the emergency exit. I ran down two stairs at a time, in a frustrated state of mind. I went down several floors without resting.

"Mom!"

My mom stopped. I took one more step. She turned around.I went down a step further.
My mother's face began to be seen. It was then that I stumbled and my heel slipped off the stair. I closed my eyes to the thought of going down in the future. Someone caught my arm. Thanks to that, I was able to regain my balance. 3

I looked back and saw a surprised face. I turned my head again without a moment to say thank you. I saw the woman I thought was my mother. She wore a surprised expresssion on her face. The young boy next to me, Jimin, blinked his big eyes and looked at me. I stood on the stairs avoiding looking at the woman's face. She wasn't my mother...she was Jimin's mother. I don't remember what Jimin did next... I did not ask how Jimin appeared just in time to catch me before I fell. My mind was too busy trying to make sense of what had happened to wonder about the details.

She was not my mother. Maybe I knew it from the start. More than 10 years have passed since I was left alone in the amusement park. My mother would have been older and would be different from my memory. I will not recognize her now even if I met her. No, I almost looked back at Jimin's mother's face now. JiMin was following her silently. When I was in high school, Jimin stayed at the hospital after he left the emergency room.

When I asked him if he wanted to go out, he did not know what to do. He might have been too caught up in his own memories . I got close to Jimin. I grew up with him. He was so much like myself...

When I opened my eyes, I saw Hoseok standing above me. I looked up at the familiar ceiling in the darkness. I sat up and placed my index finger roughly onto his lips. Everyone was sleeping around us. It was quiet. Hyung put on his t-shirt. I then pointed outside the room with a finger.

Namjoon Hyung looked at the net, and Yoongi had said that he was holding time for the nurse. He said that he would join the elevator after a while. At first, I could not understand what I was talking about. The day I left the hospital, I had a dream. I wanted to go out of the hospital and meet with my friends and spend time laughing and chatting like we all used to.

But now I do not know. Is it a good thing to get out of this place? My parents treat me like they want to hide me in here. They are people who say I have mental illness. Hoseok Hyung might think so too. In the depths of my heart, I might have thought that it was hard to get along with a strange guy.

I do not have time to think. I was suspicious because of the knocking we heard on the door... The knocking was fast.

"Tuk-tuk tuk-tuk"

Hyung and I looked at the door at the same time and looked at each other. His hand remained on my arm.

The stone house was in a very high area. Walking for a long time on the main street, winding down a narrow alley, I spotted the roof of Hoseok Hyung's house. I went into one of the rooms with Hoseok.

"You can see where we grew up from here," Hoseok said as we sat on the rooftop.

In the distance we could see the train station and the containers along the railway tracks. Namjoon Hyung was living in one of the containers. If we looked a little further into the distance we would find the school that we used to go to. I looked up at the school, turned my head and looked at the other side of the city. There were large apartment complexes along the mountains. It was our home, not our parents' house. I ran away from the hospital without saying anything.

I would have contacted my parents saying: "You may be looking for me by now."

I was not confident to face my parents yet. I left the hospital but could not go home. I never wanted to go back to the hospital, but there was no place to go and I had no money. I stood up and walked ahead with Hoseok Hyung.

"Don't follow me," Hoseok said. "I'm going to Hyung's place."

I opened my eyes and looked at the apartment complex again. One day I had to go there. I had to tell my parents that I would not go back to the hospital. The thought alone seemed to cause seizures. In fact, I could not believe myself if I could endure well in places other than hospitals. I can go back to the hospital again. But I was unbearably afraid.

In the end, I had to go to the arboretum. I had to give up on the lies that I did not remember what had happened there. Hiding out in the hospital, having seizures; I had to stop all these things. And to do that, I had to go to that place. With that decision in my heart, I had come to this bus stop for days on end. But I had not been able to ride the shuttle bus to the arboretum.

Yoongi plopping down on the seat next to me was after three buses had already come and gone today. When I asked why he'd come, he said it was because he had nothing to do and was bored. And with that, he asked why I was sitting here like this. With a bowed head, I hit the ground with the edge of my shoe. I thought about why I was sitting here like this. It was because I had no courage. I wanted to pretend I was okay now, pretend to know something now, pretend that I was able to easily deal with such things now, but I was actually afraid. What I'd run into, whether I'd be able to bear it, if I wouldn't have a seizure again; I was afraid of all these things.

looked at ease. As if there was nothing in the world deserving to be rushed, he said that the weather was good, and other useless things. Only once I heard this did I realize that the weather really was good today. I had been so anxious that I had not been able to survey my surroundings. The sky was so blue. A warm breeze blew intermittently. And the shuttle bus to the arboretum was coming. The bus stopped and the door opened. The driver looked at me.

I impulsively asked.

"Hey. Can you come with me?"

I looked down at my hands. There was blood on them. My legs suddenly lost their strength. I was going to crouch down but someone hugged me from behind. Through the windows, a misty sunlight was filtering through. My sister was crying and Hoseok was standing there without speaking. Dirty household goods and blankets were, like always, spread around. Where my father had stood, nobody was there. How he had fled the room, I could not remember.

The anger and sadness that I could not contain as I rushed towards my father still remained. I personally did not know what it was that had allowed me to control myself as I charged to stab my father. I also did not know how to calm my turbulent heart. It wasn't that I wanted to kill my father; I wanted to kill myself. If I was just able to do it, I wanted to die right now. I didn't even have tears. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to kick and break everything, I wanted to break, but I couldn't do any of those things.

"Hoseok. I'm sorry. I'm okay so. Go." In contrast to my turbulent heart, my voice came out dry. It did not seem like my voice. I sent away my friend that was loathing to leave and I looked down at my hands. Blood was seeping through the white bandage. Instead of stabbing my father again, I hit the floor with the liquor bottle. As the bottle shattered, my palm ripped. As I closed my eyes, the world spun.

What I was supposed to think, what I was supposed to do, how I was supposed to live. As I came to my senses, I was looking down at Namjoon's phone number. Even in such a situation, no, more so because it was such a situation, I was desperate for his's presence. I wanted to tell him. Namjoon. I, my father, the father that bore me, the father that beat me up daily, I was about to kill him. I was seriously about to kill him. No, in actual fact, I killed him. I killed him countless times. In my heart, I killed him repeatedly. I killed him. I want to die. What I have to do now, I don't know at all. Namjoon.

I just want to see you now.

Taking Taehyung, we left the police station.

"You did well." Lowering my head, I spoke with spirit but didn't really feel that way. From the police station, it wasn't so far to Taehyung's house. If he lived much further away, would there be less reason for Taehyung to enter the police station so often? Why did Taehyung's parents decide to live so close to a police station? To such a boy who was so kind to the point of idiocy, the world was too unfair. I put an arm around his shoulder and asked,

"Are you hungry?" Pretending nothing was wrong. Taehyung shook his head. I asked him,

"Did the men at the police station say it was good for you to buy food?" but Taehyung didn't answer.

Into the sunshine, the two of us walked. Within my heart, a cold wind blew. If my heart is like this, how is he be feeling? Would he have any of his heart left? How much pain would be in his heart? Because I was thinking such things, I could not look him in the face, and instead turned up to the sky. Through the faint sunshine, a plane was passing by. The first time I saw the scars on Taehyung's back, it was when I met him in Namjoon's container hideout. Though nobody could speak because he smiled so cutely at his excitement in receiving a shirt, part of my heart had broken.

I had no parents. I had no recollection of my father, and my mum too, I only knew until the age of seven. If we were speaking about the pain received by parents in one's childhood, I myself had received enough. People say this. That you have to overcome your pain, that you have to accept it and get used to it. That you have to reconcile and forgive them. That it's the only way to live. It's not that I don't know. It's not that I reject it out of hatred. Some things can't be done just by trying. Nobody told me how. Before I became hardened enough for this world, it gave me new wounds. I do know that there are no people with no wounds by the world. But why is it necessary to have such deep wounds. For what reason is it necessary. Why do we have to live such a life?

"Hoseok. It's okay. I can go alone." He spoke at the crossroads.

"I know." Without concern, I took the lead.

"It's truly okay. Look. I'm fine." Taehyung smiled at me. I did not respond. There was no way he could be okay. He's so not okay, but once he acknowledges that, it would be hard to go on. So he's ignoring it. It's become his habit. Taehyung flipped over his hooded t-shirt and became to follow me.

"You're really not hungry, right?" I asked him as we reached the corridor of his home. Taehyung gave a dumb smile and nodded his head. I watched him walk through the corridor with his back turned and then turned myself. The corridor that the kid was walking through, the street I was returning by, they were both narrow and desolate. My friend, and myself, both alone.

I was just about to turn around when the phone rang.

@Smeraldo_Books: I wanted to kill myself instead of Dad. I could, I wanted to drop dead right then and there.

"We're only a year apart. No, apparently someone said so. I'm the older one of course. I know. But they can't be a young kid forever. Isn't it time that they deal with it alone? Fine. I said it's fine. No, I'm not getting angry. I apologize."

Hanging up the phone, I looked down at the floor. The lukewarm sea breeze shook the pine forest as it passed by. I felt like my heart was going to burst. On the ground, half dirt rather than sand, ants lined up to head in some direction. If someone had the ability to understand me, both in the material and symbolic sense, would they be able to see where I was going – and why?

It's not that I don't love my parents. It's not that I'm not worried about my younger sibling. If I could, I'd ignore them, but because I can't be anything other than myself, I definitely can't do that. So if that's the case, what was the point in struggling like this anyway; getting angry, frustrated, and wanting to leave?

I saw the back of someone in the distance, standing as if holding a grudge, much like myself. It was Jungkook. There was a time Jungkook had said this.

"I want to become an adult like you, Namjoon." Back then, I could not respond. That I'm not such a good adult – no, that I'm not even an adult. Back then, it felt like that would be too cruel to say. I had to receive his trust and interest somewhat; I could not tell such a young friend who had not received affection that just because one grows older, taller and lives a bit more, it did not mean they became an adult. I had wished that Jungkook's future would be a bit kinder than mine, but I wasn't able to promise that I would help that to be the case. Approaching him, I put my arm around his shoulder.

Jungkook raised his eyes and looked at me.

I passed by the area of trees again where I received Namjoon's call. Recently that thing had continued to happen. I moved to a place where no one could hear me. I purposely slowed down my pace and hid near the sea. He didn't see me and simply passed by.

"Aren't you just one year older than me? Whatever. It's not something you have to be responsible for anyway. I'll take care of it."

There was something cold that climbed up my back only to disappear. Everything in my world seemed to have collapsed. It was as if I was struggling in the deep sea, making others feel cold and scared, tragic and lonely. I was angry. I felt that I couldn't tolerate it anymore. I wanted to stop everything. I wanted to hit him, but that smaller part of me was still scared. My Dad's blood inherently flew in my veins as well. His DNA was my DNA. Was there violence in me too? There was something that wanted to burst out of my tightly wound body.

I was lightheaded. I struggled to stay upright. My body was numb. Heavy. My eyelids were too heavy to open, my mouth unable to move.
I couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe. I started losing my conscious and everything around me started fading. My body was in shock. I was shaking. Where did this pain and thirst come from? Was there sand across my eyes or was I blinded by something else?

Something big and light appeared in the distant. It was unclear. The haze moved away and suddenly, the realization shocked me even more. It was a moon. My head might've been tilted backwards, maybe not. Either way the whole world seemed to be upside down.

I tried to cough. Nothing. I tried to move. Still nothing. Then the cold came. I was so scared. I desperately tried to speak, but nothing came. My vision started to fail me as darkness crept through the corners of my eyes. As I lost consciousness a voice, cold, started to speak.

"To live will be even more painful than dying."

Suddenly, I felt breathless and I avoided my own gaze. After dancing for a long time, I was breathing hard. But I don't think that was the reason. I thought she resembled my mother. No, I shouldn't have thought that. I have not been able to look straight at the face of a friend I've known for over a decade. Together, we learned how to dance, failed, got frustrated, and became empowered. I was sweating on the floor as she threw me a towel jokingly. At the time, I felt an emotion I had felt once before. But I got up from my seat in a hurry. As soon as I turned the corner, I stood with my back against the wall. I try to sort out my breathing when I hear:

"Hoseok-ah, where are you going?"

A voice. I think it was a voice. "Hoseok-ah", a voice calling. Now I haven't even thought about it, the voice that goes back to when I was seven.

I put on a new t-shirt. The me that I saw in the mirror didn't look like me. I was wearing a t-shirt that said "dream" on it, and in all aspects that just wasn't my style. I didn't like that it was red, the word dream, or the way it fit tightly against my body. I took out a cigarette in annoyance and looked for my lighter. It wasn't in the pocket of my jeans. I looked in my back pocket and realized that they took it. Without care, they had taken it out of my hands and threw a lollipop and this t-shirt at me.

I ruffled my hair and stood up from my spot. I heard the sound of a message notification. When I saw the three letters on my phone screen, all of my surroundings around me became brighter and my heart dropped. I broke the cigarette in half as I checked the message. The me in the mirror was smiling. I didn't know what was so great, but the me wearing a tight red colored t-shirt that had the word "dream" on it was smiling like a fool too.

Back then, after returning from the sea we were all alone. We didn't keep in touch as if we had specifically planned not to. We merely assumed our existence by the graffiti left on the street, the brightly lit petrol station, and the piano sound from the old building. This was when the afterimage of that night came alive like a vision. Taehyung's eyes looked as if they breathed fire, the way his eyes watched me as if he had heard something unbelievable. Namjoon's hand tried to stop him, and I, who couldn't suppress it, threw a punch at Taehyung.

Failing to find Taehyung, who ran out, I returned to the dorm near the beach. No one was there. Only a broken glass cup, blood stains, which began to dry up, and cookie crumbs brought me back to what had happened a few hours ago. There was a photo lying in the midst of this. In the photo, we stood together smiling while we posed with the sea as our background.

I continued to walk past the front of the petrol station. The day when we would meet again would come. Someday we'd smile together just like in the photo. The day when I had the courage to face myself entirely would come. However, right then, that very moment was not the right time. The damp wind blew similar to how it did that day. My phone began to ring as if in warning. The photos I hung on the room mirror began to shake. I saw Hoseok's name on the screen.

"Jin, Jungkook was hit by a car."

I wasn't aware of anything other than the sound of music playing in my head. Not how much I had drunk, nor where I was, nor what I had been doing. I didn't know, and it wasn't important. When I went outside, stumbling, it was already night. I swayed as I walked. I bumped into pedestrians, news kiosks, walls. I didn't care. I just wanted to forget everything.

Jimin's voice was still ringing in my ears. "Hyung, Jungkook..." My next memory was of running like crazy up the hospital steps. The hospital hall had been strangely long and dark. I passed people wearing hospital gowns. My heart pounded. Everyone's faces were too pale. They had no expressions. They all seemed like dead people. The sound of my breathing was harsh inside my own head.

Inside the slightly opened hospital room door, Jungkook was lying there. I turned my head without realizing it. I couldn't look at him. At that moment I suddenly heard the sound of a piano, of flames, of a building crumbling down. I clutched my head and sank down. "This is your fault. If it wasn't for you..." It was my mother's voice- no my voice- no someone's voice. At those words, I was tormented by countless moments. I wanted to believe it wasn't so. But Jungkook was lying there. Jungkook was lying in a hall full of corpse-like patients passing by, I was utterly unable to go inside. I couldn't check for myself. When I stood, my legs threatened to give out. I left with tears flowing. It was funny. I couldn't even remember the last time I had cried.

I went to cross the street, but someone grabbed my arm and I came to a halt. Who was it? No, I didn't care. No matter who it was, it was all the same. Don't come near me. Go away. Just leave me be. I don't want to hurt you either. I don't want to be hurt.

So please, don't come any closer.

I purposely slowed my footsteps and perked my ears up at the sound that someone walking behind me. Today was the third time we had met at the convenience store. If there was something that was different, it was that today they had run away as soon as they saw me. Then they hung around in a small vacant lot behind the store. As soon as I appeared they hid again. They hid well, but their shadow was reaching far towards the front of the abandoned lot. I laughed. I passed by pretending not to see. They started to follow me.

I entered a narrow alley. This was the only place in our neighborhood where the street lamps weren't broken. The alley was long and the streetlamp was located somewhere in the middle. When the source of light was ahead of my shadow stretched behind. My shadow probably stretch all the way to the feet of the person who was following me with bated breath. As I passed beneath the streetlamp, my shadow disappeared beneath my feet. I started walking a little faster. Not long after a shadow that wasn't mine appeared on the cement road. I stopped my steps. The presence behind me stopped too. The two shadows of different heights stopped side by side.

I spoke. "I'm going to wait until you come here." The shadow jumped. It held still as if saying it wasn't there. "I can see everything " I pointed out the shadow. The sound of footsteps started to grow closer, purposefully noisy. I laughed.

I looked a little strangely at myself in the mirror. As if my hand had its own control, I pressed the 'open door' button. There were moments like this. Moments that felt like I had repeated countless times even though it was obviously the first time. The elevator door that was closing opened again and a bunch of people pushed in. A person that had their hair tied in a yellow rubber band caught my eye. I didn't press the 'open' button knowing that the person would be there, but I thought that it was obvious that the person should be there. I moved back, one step at a time. As my back hit the cold wall I raised my head. The yellow rubber band caught my eye. 1

A person's back told a lot of stories. But I only understood a few of them. Some I had been able to faintly guess and some I couldn't understand. I suddenly came to the realization that you could only really know a person when reading everything just from their back. Were there people who could read who I was just by looking at my back? I raised my head and made eye contact with her through the mirror. She looked away. There were many moments like this. I raised my head again, but all I could see was my own face. I couldn't see my back.

In the end, I sprawled out on the floor. I turned off the music and all at once my surroundings were quiet. I heard nothing except the sound of my breathing and my own beating heart. I pulled out my phone and played the choreography video I learned previously that morning. In the video, Hoseok's movements were smooth and accurate. That was the result of countless hours and sweat. It was the result of practice. Since I was nowhere near that I was incredibly jealous. Understanding and hoping were different. I was discontented often. I suddenly stood up again. I imitated the turn as he'd done it, but my steps kept getting tangled. I kept making mistakes at the part where we had to match our flow when moving positions. We had decided to try again tomorrow, but until then I wanted to show that I was serious. Rather than the playful praise of "that was better than I expected" I wanted to be recognized as a serious and equal partner, one who could match breaths with Namjoon.

I stood in the hallway the whole time she was receiving first aid. Even though it was night, the hospital hallway was bustling with people. Moisture dripped from my hair, wet with sweat and rain. I dropped the bag I had taken off of her. A variety of things tumbled out of it. A few coins rolled away, and a ball pen and a towel. In the middle of it, all was an airplane e-ticket. I picked it up and scanned it.

At that moment, the doctor called me. He said it was a mild concussion and nothing to worry about, and after a moment, she came out as well.

"Are you okay?" She said that her head just hurts a little, and she took her bag from me. Then she spotted the e-ticket peeking out and looked up at my face. I shifted my bag to my other shoulder and said that we should go, pretending that it was nothing. As we left the hospital it was raining as hard as ever. We stood side by side outside the door.

"Hoseok-ah," she said. It looked like she had something to say. "Wait a second. I'll get an umbrella." I ran off thoughtlessly into the rain. There was a convenience store in the distance. I knew that she had auditioned for an overseas dance team some time ago. The plane ticket meant that she had made it. I didn't want to hear her say it. I didn't have the confidence to congratulate her.

By the time I returned to my senses, I had washed my arm so much that I was losing skin. My hands were trembling and I was short of breath. My eyes were bloodshot. What had just happened came back to me in fragments.

For a moment I had lost focus. I was dancing with a girl from the dance club, a collaborative dance, but I had lost my flow and we collided. I fell to the rough floor and my arm started to bleed. At that moment I had remembered what happened at the Flowering Arboretum. I thought that I had overcome it. But that wasn't the case. I had to run away. I had to wash it away. I had to look away. The me in the mirror was the same eight-year-old kid who had run away in the rain. Then all at once, I realized. She had fallen down too.

There was nothing I could do. All I could do was fall and hurt someone, leave them behind, and tremble at my own pain only to run after them too late with an umbrella before stopping. Every time I took a step rainwater soaked my sneakers. Car headlights pass me by. It wasn't okay. No, it was okay. It didn't hurt. It wasn't that serious of an injury.

I was really okay.

I rested my head against the bus window. From the library to the gas station, the scenery passed by the window, almost frighteningly familiar since I took this route every day. Would there come a day I could leave this scenery behind? I felt that it was impossible to predict what tomorrow would bring, nor to hope for anything.

There was a woman sitting in front of me, her hair tied with a yellow rubber band. Her shoulders lifted and then dropped as if she was sighing. Then she rested her head against the window. For around a month already, we had studied at the same library and gotten on the bus at the same stop. We hadn't spoken a word to each other, but we looked at the same scenery and lived at the same time and sighed the same sighs. The hair tie was still in my pant's pocket.

The woman always got off the bus three stops before I did. Every time I saw her leave, I wondered if she was going to distribute fliers. What kind of time was she spending, what kind of things was she enduring? How strongly did she feel stifled at the thought that tomorrow might not come, or that from the beginning there had never been such a thing as tomorrow? I thought things like that.

The woman's stop began to approach. Someone pressed the stop request button and other passengers stood up from their seats. But in the midst of this, that woman didn't stir. She just stayed in her seat, her head against the window. It seemed like she was asleep. Should I go and wake her? I fought with myself for a moment. The bus approached the stop. The woman didn't move. People disembarked. The door closed and the bus started to move.

The woman didn't wake, even as we passed the next three stops. As I moved to the bus door I fought with myself again. It was clear that once I got off the bus, no one else would pay attention to her. She would wake up somewhere far from her stop, and it was impossible to know how much more tired she would be today because of it.

I left the bus stop and started to walk toward the gas station. The bus took off and I didn't look back. I had left the hair tie on top of her bag, but that was it. That wasn't a beginning, and as such nor was it an end. It was nothing to start with and there was no reason for it to be anything. So I thought it really didn't matter.

@Smeraldo_Books: Several days ago, I'd been here and seen some graffiti. I'd automatically looked around, but Taehyung had been nowhere in sight. I stared at the graffiti painted all over the wall for a while.

I stood by the window with my headphones on humming softly to the song. It had been a week. I didn't have to look at the lyrics to sing along to the song anymore. I took the headphones off one ear to listen to my soft voice. Although I liked the beautiful lyrics they still made me shy. I scratched my head. The huge window lets in the bright sunlight of July. The trees swayed gently in the wind. Every time the light shined on my face it felt different. I closed my eyes. Closing my eyes filtered out the light. I started singing again. I didn't know if it was because of the lyrics, or the song, or what, but it felt as if my heart had been painfully broken.

I thought my side was going to rip apart in pain. My sweat dripped. The hiding place in the railway, the empty lot behind the corner store, underneath the overpass, the girl was not to be found. I ran even to the bus stop but here too, they were unable to be seen. Those waiting for the bus stared at me strangely. What had happened? We hadn't promised to meet, but it was still strange. She always turned up somewhere and followed me wherever I went. Even if I said she was annoying, it was useless. But in any of the places we'd been together, his shadow could not be found.

Having arrived at a familiar wall, I stopped my footsteps. It was graffiti we had done together. It was also the first artwork she had completed. On top of it, a huge X sign had been drawn. It was that girl. I hadn't even seen them, but I still knew. How? There was no answer, per se. But on the wall, there were many images superimposed on each other.

The way they laughed on the day I lay on the railway and hurt my head. The way they had helped me rise after I fell trying to help, the face as they were mad when I stole their bread to eat it. The way their expression would dim when we passed a family portrait store. The way their eyes would unknowingly trail after passing students. As we sprayed this wall, I said this. "If something's hard, don't just suffer alone, and tell me." The X was drawn over all our memories. It felt like they were saying all of those things were fake. It felt like they were saying everything was a lie. Without knowing, I curled my hand into a fist. Why? There was no answer, of course. I turned and walked away. I was alone again. That girl, and myself, both alone.

I stared at the advert in the magazine. At the other side of my table there was another table by the window. A girl had been sitting there for a few days in a row now. Books, bags and white paper cups from the café were the same but she was different. She was new.

I looked back down at the magazine. Why was I still sitting here anyways? All the other regular customers were living their lives and were enthusiastic. And here I am scouring a magazine at random. Everyone was anxious to start there day. I was anxious to do something. That girl...but that wasn't the case... I returned the magazine to its place and went through the bookshelves. Books were lined up and lay undiscovered higher than what I could reach.

The smell of dust and books came over me like a breeze sweeping through a window.
Strangely, I felt nostalgic. My high school days came to surface as I had fallen in love with my classmates, and books I'd read then smelled similar to the ones I browsed through now. I couldn't really put my finger on it...

Maybe I stopped reading the book in the past and had forgotten about it. I moved to the other bookcase and picked up the book. I guess I had to start again.

As I made my way down the hospital corridor I sneakily broke a flower off one of the wreaths I passed. I bowed and smiled as I wheeled my wheelchair past people, hoping to distract them from the stolen flower I held gently.
As I knocked on one of the hospital room's doors I couldn't help but notice how brightly the sun shone outside. Midsummer sunlight indeed. I waited after knocking, but there was no reply. Knocking again, I decided no one was occupying the room. I opened the door.

No one was there. Quiet darkness was the only presence filling the small room.
I left the room, disappointed. I'd met her here when I was bored. I was entertaining myself by wheeling my wheelchair speedily up and down the empty corridor. I hadn't seen her at the end of the corridor outside her little room's door before I was right in front of her, screeching to a halt. I remembered that day with a grateful warm feeling in my heart.

Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. That was the start of our almost always silent friendship. I went out into the garden as I remembered our first meeting in that corridor, spotting the bench where we had listened to music and drawn together.
As I held the small little flower in my hand, a certain, small rock of sadness settled in the pit of my stomach.

Now that she was gone, I'd have no one to give this little flower to anymore.

Looking back, the hospital was quite far away... The bench that I left the wildflower on. The window we looked out of to see the river.
They couldn't be seen anymore. Looking back she actually gave me a chance to breathe while I was in the hospital. She was fresh air blowing through the stuffy place. I'd sit with her on the bench in the late afternoon and we'd just talk and talk until the sun went down. I told her about my hideout, my trip to the beach
and the way we all had walked to the train station.

And in turn she told me about every small little corner of the hospital: The best window to see the river. The staircase you could take to sneak to the hospital's rooftop. She practically knew everything about the hospital. Her room was empty. I didn't know if she'd been discharged or if she'd moved to another hospital. I asked the nurses, but they didn't tell me a thing.

I started walking around, trying to look for her. My heart felt incredibly empty. My school days seemed so far away in that moment. Most stories I'd told her had been about what I'd gotten up to with my Hyungs. Stories I'd told her had usually started with the word 'Hyungs'.

I was always alone if I wasn't with them. They were my friends, my family and my teachers. I lived life when I was in their companionship. I existed with them. When I started to have this kind of mindset, I have no idea. But one day they might not be around anymore...

One day I might go to see them, only to find no one there, with no explanation as to why they left... Just like she disappeared from the hospital without a word of goodbye. I don't think anything worse than that could ever happen to me... I remembered that night. The night the full moon was huge, a parallel/flipped world cast in moonlight. Headlights from a car seen in my peripheral vision. The shape of the car and it's bright tail lights. The familiar sound of the engine.

I didn't want to assume that I knew whose car it was. I didn't want to make any assumptions or accusations. But at the same time, I couldn't stop thinking about it...

Already time to go... In fact, i was alone in the practice room the entire day. I crossed the street next door and waited 5 minutes to buy tea as a reward. I was able to practice completely alone, only my shortcomings seen by myself. It was scary. I wanted to do it anyway, so I stayed alone at night. So the day went by and the thought of dancing at the studio at night would've been scary disappeared.

For a long time, I believed that I was a small, weak, and helpless person. As I danced, I was constantly thinking about the weight of my body, the length of my limbs, the speed I could dance at, and the strength I had to have. I was not small and weak when I danced. My dancing ability increased as much as I practiced. If I repeated the action enough I would finally master it. I was growing up. It was as much as a fingernail, but it was still growing.

I also found that I was a pretty talkative person. When I danced, I felt like I was telling a story that I could not put into words. I started dancing and finally
I could see an improvement.

What is the reason that the melody keeps coming up after the person who plays the guitar and plays with it disappears? I lay down on the couch and looked at the piano. I was expelled from school and had abandoned my mother's piano. The only thing that was left after the fire. He threw the half-burnt keys out the window of the apartment. I thought I would kill myself. I will never touch the piano again after I find those keys.

I could not wait for the elevator. I jumped down the stairs the next day. I thought I fell asleep at first because of how unbelievable it was that I'd lost them. Suddenly, last night came to mind. Nothing was in the flowerbed below the window.

"The garbage truck just passed by," the security guard said.

I had really and truly lost the only piano keys I had left from my mother's piano. Even after that day, I gave up my music so many times saying 'I will never do it again'.

There was nothing like music. Even when I ran, I knew. Eventually I'll go back up those stairs and slip into submission. I'd start playing music again. For me music was an object. With music I was painful but free. It was confusing but clear at the same time. Fear and confidence, hope and despair... all of the opposite feelings seemed to have come alive.

I wanted to hit the piano, but I wanted to meet myself in a cowardly way, in fact, pretending to be strong. I wanted to cry out, scream, lash out and cry. And I did not want to run away. I wanted to complete the melody I was making with guitar and piano. But this time it seemed possible.

The same things I had. He had made mistakes and blunders just like I had, and had run and run to try to make up for them. My father's notebook was a record of his failures. In the end, my father had given up and failed. He had forgotten and turned away and ignored. He had betrayed his friends. On the last page of the notebook were nothing but smeared black and stains. The stains had permeated to the blank next page, and the next, and the one after that, all the way to the very last. Those stains announced my father's failures. I was unsure how much time had passed seeing how the wind from beyond the windows had become cool, it seems like the darkest time of day, at the time right before the sun rises. Namjoon and the others were asleep where they had sat down. I lifted my head and looked up at the wall. Somewhere here I had seen my father's name written before. Underneath had been written a sentence like, "This was where everything started." The moment that I started to close the notebook, a sensation started at the end of my fingertips and moved up my arm. I saw faint letters appear atop the smeared ink stain. From beyond the window I felt a murky kind of energy. It seems like the sun would rise soon. But the night was not out yet over. It was a time when it was no longer night, but not yet dawn. Like the tangling of darkness and greyish light. Letters merged between the lines in the black spot. The notebook held more memories than what was recorded. Atop the letters, between the margins and the empty spaces were the things my father I decided to forget, things he decided not to remember. Like the indentations of writing left behind once the colour has faded, beneath my fingertips whirled my fathers many struggles and fears, the despair he couldn't overcome and his weak hopes. The map of my fathers bent soul was right here in this note. As I closed the notebook, tears began to fall. I sat for a long time, and when I lifted my head my friends were still asleep as ever. I looked at each one of them. Maybe we had been meant to come back to this place. Everything started here for us. I came to understand the meaning of doing something together and the delight of laughing together. My first blunder, the mistake I had never once acknowledged aloud, remained like a wound. The thought occurred to me that maybe none of this was by chance. Maybe I had to come to this place in the end. Only then I could I find the meaning of my mistakes and blunders, and the pain and anxiety that we suffered as a result. I was, for the first time, able to take the first step to find the map of my soul.

I found a small letter. The person who had written it addressed
them self as 'X'. It was a short sentence that someone had mulled over for a few minutes before writing it down. It was her. I did not see her write the letter herself, nor did I know her font,
but I knew. The letter was like a last greeting.

"Many things have happened to you... know that I am not leaving you because you are a bad person." It seems like she is telling me to be courageous and to not suffer.

When I got home I felt sick as I heard my sister scream. I threw open the front door, stopping short as I saw an all too familiar scene in front of me. I stopped my father from hitting her again by grabbing his arm, looking straight into his face. He was surprised. I took that to my advantage as I swung my fist at his face.

My sister screamed again as he punched me back. I tasted rusty iron in my mouth. My chin hurt. I grabbed my father by the waist. He screamed angrily at me. I ruthlessly punched at his back and shoulders. The more furious I became, the harder my punches got. It was not painful and it was not scary, but the same cycle would be repeated if I put my hand on my father any more than I already had.

I wanted to change. I really wanted to change. No, I'm not like my father. I will protect my family.

Jimin and her stood in the middle of the practice room. When the music started to play from the speakers, they started running through the first dance. I sat on the floor of the practice room and watched. When I found out that I could not dance because of my ankle, it was really hard. I felt frustrated that I had to just see someone else dancing, but by helping Jimin practice and seeing the results, I realized that it is not a big deal if I can not dance.

As long as I keep on dancing, I can be happy. When I was dancing with Jimin, I could not make a small mistake. Jimin would subtly miss the timing or have even less motion than expected. Every time I stopped, I stopped the music and checked every single action. There seemed to be a kind of invisible audience seated on the floor of the exercise room and looking at it, Jimin's dancing seemed different. Each motion seemed more charged with energy and extravagance than the last.
When we were practicing together, things that I thought were mistakes came up differently.

Minor mistakes and inexperiences worked in a rather unique way. It's obviously different from me, but Jimin had his own timing and his own expression. Jimin was dancing in his own light and movement

I didn't know that there will come a time when I will be able to get out of the traffic jam at the intersection and speed up my car. A rear car passed carefully, and I felt someone had said something but didn't hear a thing. I saw a small flower garden to a right alley corner, but I didn't stop. Rather? It felt like I found the store after a sudden stop. I was not expecting anything when the owner, who was fixing some documents, approached me. I have already gone to a few flower shops, but the florists did not even know the color. They showed flowers of the same color, but I wanted that flower only. So I told the owner its name and they looked at me for a long time. The shop wasn't open yet so I asked if I could have it delivered instead.

"Why that specific flower?"

As I turned the steering wheel, I thought of entering the store again. Why do I need the flower? I can't think of a reason. I want to make you happy and make you smile. I want to see you with a good expression on your face. I want to become a good person.

Who would be able to remember the moment love begins. Who would be able to predict the moment when love ends. Why might it be that humans are not given the ability to perceive such moments? And why is it that I have been given the ability to restore everything to the way it had been.

The car suddenly stopped, the headlights flashed, crashed her. She was thrown up, and she fell. Facing all of those disturbing moments, all I did was stand there, defenseless. I could not hear anything and I could not feel anything. Though it was summer, the wind felt cold. Following the road, there was a sound of something rolling away and falling. And then, the smell of flowers. Only then was I able to come back even a little to reality. The Smeraldo bunch of flowers dropped limply from my hands. She was in the middle of the road. From between her hair, blood was running down. Dark blood trickled down the road.

And I thought. If only I could turn back time.

She seemed flustered, looking at the diary she thought had been lost. The movies she liked. Places she wanted to go, flowers she preferred. And futures that she dreamed of papered every time she turned the page. It was something I had done for her. The words "I'm sorry" didn't come easily. The red diary lay between us like a traffic light.

I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to make her laugh. I wanted to e a good person. I thought that if I followed the words written in the diary, I would become so. But it wasn't so. I become more frightened the more I tried to be someone else. Wouldn't my real self be discovered? Wouldn't she be disappointed and leave me? I frantically hid myself and turned my head away. But just as one can't put a period on a sentence without a subject. The me who had lost myself could not improve and instead wandered in the same place.

I know now, that the insufficient me who makes mistakes and fails is indeed part of myself. No matter how cruel and merciless things are, only being true to myself can I take the next step forward. I stood up from my spot and she didn't try to grab me.

I went out to the street and took off my hat. I swept my hair back. All the time I had spent trying so hard to be someone else seemed to slip though my fingers. I lifted my head and locked eyes with the me reflected in the window. A frail face, pale lips, thin shoulders. I looked endlessly shabby. I laughed. The me in the window laughed too.