Lies took the elevator.
Truth took the stairs.
Both arrived and met Revelation.
Jane killed a family in a car accident. Depressive and accustomed to self-harm, she decides to go back to where her life toppled upside down. Jane doesn't know what to e...
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I'm not all alone, something does throw a ray of light in my life, and I can't live without it; there it is waiting for me on the side of Mirae's mansion, my Hyosung GT250TR. The ultimate getaway, refuge, and the last gift my parents gave me, thank goodness I chose to follow Mirae's car on it last night; otherwise, right now, I would be walking home.
I start the engine, and I'm knocked out by reality with one thought here's another day of life without them.
A tide of sorrow rises in my heart; if it's not hyperventilation I experience, I find myself choking in broad daylight. It's as though I stop inhaling, and I'm in apnea. I live holding my breath and wondering what's the point of my existence.
So, I dream, often of death, and wish for it to visit me.
People cannot imagine how freezing the canon of a gun is. It's so cool you get the impression your skin is on fire. Click, click, click, I play Russian roulette with my life - holding the gun to the side of my head, pointing it towards my heart, and putting it to my mouth on the worst days.
On those occasions where I desire to end my misery, one question holds me back.
Why should I kill myself when my parent's and brother's murderer runs free?
You can't die first.
The police say it was a hit and run; somehow, my mind can't accept it. I mean, we're in South Korea, not in sixteen blocks of New York. We've got CCTV everywhere; you can't do a hit and run in Seoul.
This thought torments me, and I've concluded, my family murderer is untouchable, which means it's either a chaebol or a wealthy ex-pat.
Social status doesn't matter. All I know is I must kill that person first before doing anything else with my sad life.
My bike climbs the slope to my apartment, and I park just in front of the three-story building.
After my parent's death, staying in the apartment close to campus was impossible since it was way over my budget. The insurance was reluctant to pay up, looking for all types of excuses to verse 1/3 of what they should have.
As far as relatives go, I didn't want to be a burden, my uncle offered to take me in, and I accepted, but it became difficult to be in a family unit that wasn't mine. I felt like a jigsaw piece in which they tried to fit into the wrong puzzle placing it randomly, hoping it would work. There's that and the money issue; it always comes up.
First, come the sharp stares, the disputes which stop when you enter the room. Then you have the questions, how's college life, how do you manage to pay for this and that?
The stares become suspicious, and before you know it, everyone thinks you have some money stashed somewhere. Nine months later, I was on the street; no one threw me out, I left.
