𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐗

45| AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL - IV

Sejin lay tied, marooned on the rim of time, in the midst of an empty, grey universe. He had lost everything – love, purpose, hope. He was dormant, trapped to be a means of use, able to glance through the cosmic window but never participate; a grand celestial puppeteer held him on tight strings, bound and helpless.

A jolt of pain flashed through him, but Seojin remained silent. He shook his head in remorse – a bitter recipe of his helplessness brewed into offering atonement for the sins of his other half.

It felt as if pain was nothing, to see his mother being butchered at his own twin's hands.
What movie was being played?

Seojin felt desperate. Despite the stinging pain, he forced his eyes to take in the horrifying spectacle. It was a grotesque tableau of madness and horror. There, in the dim hue of the solitary lamp, lay his mother, bathed in her own blood.

Her lifeless eyes held a strange serenity, a chilling acceptance of the fate forced onto her. The sight of her butchered body reflected in a descending cascade of crimson against the haphazard outlines of their childhood home, felt surreal – a harsh slap of cold reality, a twisted scene from a horrible nightmare. And the creator of this macabre art? His own twin.

"If I die, you die with me, brother; you die with me."
The vaccum of words came next, and he knew probably nothing would matter anymore.
The reverie of his mind broke, his eyes gave in... Something was wrong.

And thus, the grandeur of an unnoticed paradox left an age-old question echoing in the winds, "Would he ever be free?"

...

Each stroke of the night held stories untold, of death, revenge, faults and forevers. To some, the night was scarier than the battle of life itself. For Sejin, however, it had become a realm of gut-wrenching memories, ones that played in a loop, reminding him of the bitter truth he harboured within his heart.

The world seemed to halt on its axis, with time ceasing its relentless march. He felt ensnared in a glazed bubble of torment as life played its cruellest trick on his cinematic reel. An uncanny sense of unreality gripped him, rendering him powerless as the psychological trauma began its gnawing journey.

The consequences of his actions weighed on him. His existence, the memories he built, the reputation he earned—everything snapped into nothingness. Sejin was left standing as a nonentity, a ghost witnessing a distorted reality where life danced along without him.

"You never let me rest in your lap, never... Tell me you are lying! Tell me, eomma!" He shook his mother, wrapped and dipped in red, her lifeless body pallid and free.
The world slithered to a halt. His life seemed to stutter and play out in a torturous reel of anguish.

"I did not kill myself, no!"

He spoke, and his words painted a grotesque masterpiece on the canvas of unreality. He spoke of indifference, of unexpressed emotions, and of unrealized dreams. He spoke of the crushing weight of expectations, the unending pursuit of hollow milestones, and the torment of witnessing life's essence slowly seep away. And every word was punctuated with a protest, a denial: "I did not kill myself, no, no, no!"

His conviction echoed, resonating through the wooden caverns, shaking himself, instilling terror rather than feeding it. With every heartbeat, every breath, and every word, he engraved the permanence of his will to live. The battle seemed eternal, yet time was both infinite and fleeting in the subconscious. Eventually, the echo of torment and persuasion waned. It faded with the desire for vengeance.

The echo of his torment soon dwindled, coercing him to retreat into the darker corners of his mind. The cry of another baby leered from the cradle— his twin. He was the embodiment of all Sejin's fears and insecurities— a ticking time bomb and a mesmerising siren of self-destruction. No longer could Sejin tolerate his existence; the fear transmuted into a raging want for revenge.