Fallen

Sunshine

Ri Jeong Hyeok didn't wish to wake up.

He didn't wish to open his eyes to face reality, which was an irony on its own since he had always feared sleeping after Mu Hyeok's untimely passing.

Dreams had always been scarier than reality, but since Seri left, he had slipped deeper into the quicksands of his own mental struggles.

If anything, it was like a reverse nightmare.

Waking up provided no comfort. Not when he could still smell her on his pillow and sheets.

Instead, the former Captain found himself waking up into a recurring nightmare, one that exacerbated the pain that accompanied him like a shadow.

The loneliness and helplessness that plagued him was deeper than any wound that could be seen on the surface, and bled endlessly without mercifully killing him.

Today, it was yet another cycle of blackness, lethargy and hopelessness.

He had tried, he genuinely did.

But as the former soldier lugged the two pots of freshly-boiled noodle broth and raw noodles to the door, he was hit by wave after wave of anxiety that left him unable to take another step forward.

The thought of manning the noodle stall alone in Seri's absence was excruciatingly painful, especially when the signboard had her name.

Jeong Hyeok could still see her in his mind, in every corner of their roadside stall.

Her laughter lingered in his memories; everything was so vivid, he was almost expecting to see her emerge from the room, asking, "Shall we go now? I told you, you can't possibly carry everything on your own! Should I help with the vegetables?"

Ever since business improved with Seri's presence, Jeong Hyeok had constantly made it a point to prepare two pots of broth every day.

Of course, the addition of a pot made it harder for him to transport ingredients to the stall, but Seri was often there to help.

Trembling involuntarily, he staggered forward, but there was weakness in his knees which he knew had nothing to do with his old physical injuries.

Collapsing on his knees, the two metal pots in the Captain's hands landed heavily on the tiled floor, with some of the savory broth sloshing around and over the rim to trickle to the ground.

The bag of raw handmade noodles on his shoulder slipped off, throwing up a thin cloud of flour as it fell to the ground with a thud, landing near the now-empty rattan chair in which Seri had loved to sit.

Everything in the house remained as it was, but there was no Seri to fill it with laughter and vibrancy.

Self-reproachfully, he took in the mess in front of him with a rising, prickling sensation at the base of his nose, wondering just how it was that he was such a failure in every aspect.

He had really tried.

But this depression, which she had temporarily subdued with her sunshine, was so insidious.

It compounded daily; every forward step he had tried to take was accompanied by three backward steps, trapping him in an endless cycle of good and bad moments.

His sun had stopped shining.

Leaning back into a sitting position, Jeong Hyeok slowly drew his knees to his chest and rocked gently, crossing his arms over the knees to rest his head as tears escaped closed lids.

He was a failure, he told himself again and again. A completely loathsome and embarrassing failure.

He failed to bring his parents to the South.