Last Flight Home

001: Seoul

She was wearing her favourite broad brim sun hat, the one with the white ribbon around a sandy shade of straw. Smiling, as brilliant as the sun that was shining overhead. She walked in front of him as they strolled along the beach.

She loved the beach—the feel of the fine powder between her toes and the sounds of the waves rushing against the shore. This is what peace feels like, she always said.

"Alex, come catch me!" she turned back towards him and said, eyes creasing into the delicate shape of crescents. That was his favourite smile in the world.

"Hey, I don't want to run." He was a lazy slob at the best of times and wasn't afraid to admit it.

"Come catch me!" She raised a hand and beckoned to him, her footsteps quickening as she started breaking into a slow run down the shore.

"Eunri, don't run so fast, I can't catch up!" He laughed and started jogging a little to keep the pace.

She was running faster and faster. Moving further and further away from him. Something felt wrong. A churning at the pits of his stomach. A little worm than slithered at the back of his mind. He lengthened his stride until he was pretty much sprinting along the beach, but no matter how fast he ran, the distance between them kept growing wider and wider.

"Eunri, stop running! You're going too far!" he shouted after her, but she didn't stop. She kept running and running. He kept chasing and chasing. Soon she became a tiny speck in the distance, and then she disappeared out of sight completely.

Alex kept running. Chasing.

She was gone. No matter how far he ran, he couldn't find her.

#

"Eunri!"

Alex Yang awoke from the nightmare in cold sweat. His eyes flew open and he sat up in his bed, his heart still racing from the fear he had been experiencing in the dream.

His head was about to split open.

Crap, shouldn't have drunk so much last night...

He turned towards the clock sitting on the bedside table. It was only eight in the morning—far too early to be awake with a hangover. He collapsed back against his pillow and pulled up the sheets to shield his eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the blinds. He shut his eyes again, hoping that the headache would be gone the next time he woke up.

Suddenly, an odd sensation hit him. He opened his eyes once more.

Wait a minute, these aren't my sheets.

As far as he remembered, his bedsheets were navy blue. The duvet that was covering him now was white. He quickly pulled down the blanket and looked around. The clock on the bedside table wasn't his either. His clock was a cheap black plastic one with tacky neon yellow hands, but the one that had told him the time was a snazzy digital one. It even reported the date.

1 November.

How is it the first of November already?

Alex scratched his head. He could have sworn that it was only mid-October, but then again he couldn't be sure. Ever since Eunri broke up with him, he had been in a complete mess. He would be sober for two days and then drunk for the next three. It wouldn't be surprising if he had slept through for several days at a go.

He could be sure of one thing though.

This wasn't his room.

He sat upright again and took another careful scan of the surroundings. Eunri had always complained that his room was a pig sty. He couldn't help it, creative people were messy ones, and he was a pretty dang talented musician if he'd dare say so himself. This room looked like it belonged to someone obsessed with neatness. Every single item was placed at the most precise angles. Everything was ninety degrees to one another. The books on the glass shelves to the left of the bed were colour coded according to their spines and arranged according to size. There was one lone succulent sitting by the windowsill—it looked plastic, probably there for the aesthetic.