Terms & Conditions || Park Jung-gil [Tomorrow]

ღ𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 3

The next day started off a bit better. The way to the Escorting Team's office wasn't as difficult to remember. I took a deep breath before entering quietly. It was open and more fancy looking than The Director's office. It had black and white colors all around with more modernized shelves and a librarian like desk. 

Behind the desk sat the man from before. He has his arms crossed and his eyes closed. I assumed he was asleep or something since he didn't say anything when I entered. He shifted in his chair to make himself more comfortable. I cleared my throat and announced my presence a bit awkwardly as I got a few feet from his desk.

"Sit," he said, not moving or opening his eyes.

I nodded though he wasn't opening his eyes and took a seat in one of the fermented chairs. They had different variants of red on the cushions while it had an outer layer of wood. They weren't as hard as they looked. The texture felt as if they had been sat in over a thousand times through out their lifetime.

There was an awkward silence from me. My eyes kept shifting from every piece of furniture to him. He hadn't really shown much character, but I already felt intimidated by him. He just sat so menacingly. There really wasn't much on his desk to look at other than pen and papers—not even a plaque of his name.

After what seemed like a long time of waiting, the man opened his eyes and looked at me. He didn't say anything. He let air blow out of his nose before scooting up to his desk. The man then starting writing something on the paper in front of him. I was curious as to what it was, but it'd seem too nosy to ask.

He sat then pen down and folded his hands while making eye contact with me, "Welcome temporarily unless you join us again tomorrow. I'm Park Jung-gil, but call me Mr. Park. Depending on the person, this job can be proclaimed as difficult so I don't expect you to be back. Even if you are back, maybe you won't be for long."

"A-Are you saying I'm gonna be terrible at this?" I asked, "Mr. Park?"

"Prove me wrong," Mr. Park said firmly, "You almost went to hell. My expectations are quite low for you."

How judgemental.

"You don't know the struggle," I mumbled.

His stare could've pierced my soul. My face became red as I noticed how I spoke informally. He did look a couple of years older than me anyway. Then again, he was already judging me. I squeezed my hands together in awkwardness. He shook his head at me before rising to his feet. I felt a bit anxious as he stood in front of me.

"Let's go," he said.

-

We appeared not too far from a small car crash. There was a car hooked into a semi-truck. It was in the middle of the night somewhere. There were two children not too far talking to each other. The sight was too brutal to make out what was going on inside of the vehicles. A small gasp escaped from my lips as I realized we were taking the children.

It was a boy and a girl who were wearing the opposite colors: pink and green. The girl wore a pink and white dress. Her hair had small pigtails. The boy wore a green and denim jumpsuit. It was obvious he was the younger one. There weren't any adults around them. Mr. Park began to approach them.

"Kang Jisoo and Kang Joyeon," Mr. Park stated, "Born April 2, 2016 at 5:53AM and 6:22AM. These lives have been collected."

There was a lump in my throat as he told me to take the little boy's hand—or to escort. He squatted down in front of the little girl and held out a hand. She looked at his hand for a moment before taking it. I held out mine towards the little boy. There was a sadness in his eyes that killed me. He then took my hand.

"Is mommy okay?" he asked.

I looked back at the crash, unsure of what to say.

"You'll see her soon, okay?" Mr. Park said.

-

The director was busy writing on papers. I assumed it was work she had to sign off or something. I stared hard at the floor trying to think of my decision. My index fingers were rubbing the sides of my temples as I sat slouched over. There was a lot to process within the past two days.

At one hand, I could help with stopping people from committing suicide, but I felt like a hypocrite for it since that was how I technically got here. Maybe it'd teach me a lesson by watching other people be in pain. Regardless, I knew I wasn't alone in that area. Thousands took their lives every day, so what different was I?

On the other hand, I could help those to pass on. Maybe I'd get to hear about their stories just like with the old veteran. Tears formed in my eyes as I thought about his situation. It was unfair how he never got happiness until death, but what could I have done? Escorting wasn't too hard either. It felt less stressful.

"Have you decided yet, miss Sang?" the director asked.

"Are you sure Daehyun will be okay?" I asked, "He's only 14."

"You've left him that safe account," she said.

"Right," I nodded.

"You still haven't answered my previous question," she cleared her throat.

"Oh, sorry," I rubbed my face nervously, "Is there any strings?"

"Only terms and conditions," she replied firmly.

"Right," I thought for a moment, "Um, The Escorting team?"

"Brave choice," she nodded.

-

Mr. Park dropped a stack of papers in my lap, "These are your terms and conditions. I suggest you read them carefully."

"Sounds like I'm debuting all over again," I said.

There was no reaction from him. It made me eat my words and feel awkward. Maybe it had went over my head before, but it seemed like he took his job very serious. There was a bit of regret in my decision, but it was too late to back out now. It was only 6 months, right? Just half a year of my life being signed away.

My eyes skimmed over the ruling part. "No interfering with the land of the living." was the first rule. I wondered what that meant. There were quite a few pages and I wasn't really in the mood to read so I just signed off on every x-marked spot. It felt exhausting just having to write my name so many times.

I got up and sat the papers and pen on his desk. He looked up at me with suspicion before taking the papers and shuffling them neatly. Mr. Park then took out a binder and put the papers in. I couldn't help, but to notice the books behind his desk. They were out of order of their series. Almost as if they'd been put up carelessly.

"How old are you, Mr. Park?" I asked bluntly.

"408," he said as he put a stamp on the top paper.

"Seriously?" I felt skeptic.

"Qing dynasty," he said closing the binder, "You figure it out."

"You're really old," I raised my brows, "How are you alive?"

"I'm not," he looked up at me, "Any more nosy questions?"

I pouted, "No, sir."