Past | Seungjin✓

65

PAST

Trigger warning : implication of death

A artist expresses themselves through their work. To tell you or to tell themselves something. It might not seem like art because it's not bright and flashy. Anything is art because anything can be an expression of yourself. Mathematicians use math to express themselves which they are artists to its just you don't understand the artwork right? If Hyunmin's mother was an artwork what do you think the artist is expressing? Pain, sorrow, demons that torture us on the daily. People feel different things, understand in different ways. Artists make mistakes right, to create skill because you learn from your mistakes. Well there is an artist who thinks wants it to be perfect. If it's through the paper out and get another one. Hyunmin's mother had no way to express herself. Relieve her pain. The bad thoughts and traumatic experiences stuck in her. Swerving through her at all times. It just fills till it overflows. What will happen when the jar overflows? It breaks? It shatters? It kills itself.

Hyunmin's tired eyes stared at the rope in her hands. She looked at how boney and thin are her fingers. She chuckled airy, she could've passed of as death. She looked in the mirror as she brought the rope over her head. She stood on the chair. Her blonde her was now thin and old with touches of grey. Her hair used to be so vibrant and practically glowing. Her skin used to shine so brightly the asian people would give her weird looks because she was different yet stunning. Had she listened to her father and not run away him. The spark of that moment, was it worth all this. Her son was beautiful, kind and gentle. Did he deserve this life. If she stayed she wouldn't have been so furiously tainted. Wedlock or no wedlock it hurts, she feels disgusting and dirty. Coming to Korea she'd never smelled nor tasted alcohol yet now it's all she can smell even taste. She was truly wishing to be caged in luxury. To have someone tell you what to do and when to do it. Poverty is not being poor and happy, it's just being poor. The struggle of just getting a meal a day is not happiness. People step on you like you're pure dirty. The winters are cold , and what Christmas can you have with having to share a cup of water with the entire table. Finding clean water in itself is hard. Electricity? What a joke.

Hyunmin's mother looked around her room. There was a box filled with her clothes -the few out fits that she didn't sell yet- next to her mattress. There was no wood to support it nor money to get one. The light above her was dead, just a black circle in the ceiling carrying dust. Her on pair of shoes with were fading black pumps.

She tightened the rope around her neck. She wish she could cry. To let it all out before she goes. But her body was so used to carrying all in that it was incapable of setting her free of it. She kicked the chair letting the only thing holding her up was the rope.  The rope immediately started to squeeze her wind pipe suffocating her. Her vision got blurry as her hands struggled to untie the rope last minute. Hyunmin.

She was leaving him to suffer in this terrible world. To suffer alone. She can't. The thing she regrets most in her life was not giving him a good one. She remembers his laugh, his cry, his first steps. The way he'd spend all day just was watching her garden. The way his cute eyes would get bigger ever time the rose grew. The way he'd always want to drink a full glass of water just to go to the bathroom at midnight. His black hair that he loved so much, he'd cry every time they brought a pair of scissors close to him. Those times his father was alright. He wasn't the kindest but he was tolerable. Hyunmin's bright smile when he played in water. She wished hyunmin looked more her but hyunmin purely looked like himself in a weird way. His mother's lips, father's eye's and hair, mother's smile, his face just mixing them into something so beautiful. She does have something that she doesn't regret. Having him. If she could change everything she wouldn't because she wouldn't have him in her life.

She realised her struggles against the rope weren't working. She attempted kicking the chair back up. Unfortunately it was a stool meaning she was basically pushing her body down causing more restriction on her throat. Everything was moving slowly. She felt like her head would explode. Her eyes bulged, her veins popped. She could no longer feel her legs, nor hands. The whole world turned black. Dark as her soul. No heart beat, just an echo of sadness. She decided that she'd had enough of this artwork. You can't actually get new parchment paper right? Well her paper was scrunched up and thrown to never be found. No matter how much you want it the paper was rinkled and useless now right? Not even if you could use it to make more art she threw it away. The paper in the trash straight to the dump. Maybe it went to a recycling company.

So let me be

And I'll set you free

I am a misery