Muse.

Chapter 4

Now, I know you're probably wondering what happens next. And yes, Olivia does read his text. But let's go beyond that--just for a while. Let's skip the whole summer and the exhibition. Let's jump to find out what became of the boy with his camera and the girl on the bus. Most importantly: why the pictures still mattered in the end. 

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 4 years later

Dongdaemun, Seoul, Korea.

Dammit, why does it have to be so cold? Olivia thought, cursing under her fogged breath.

She jostled through the street side crammed with parka-laden folks with heavy boots. It was winter and the stores were still open, with people shouting at passers-by, saying they're still open for business. You could hear the distant ringing of bells by the folks from the Salvation Army collecting donations for Christmas. The snow had not fallen but the cold still numbed the face and joints. Olivia folded her arms tighter to her body , buried her face deeper in her scarf and briskly walked to the railway station.

After tapping, running down the stairs for the train, Olivia slumped in a seat, and sighed. It was a long, long way to the airport. She mentally prepared herself for the multiple transfers ahead.  It was bad enough that her car broke down yesterday, a day before she needed to escort the journalists flying in for the summit. She needed to pick them up no matter what but could only fork out enough money for a one way taxi to the Hyatt.

Sorry about your inconvenience but the company drivers are on strike. Don't worry, we will reimburse you, she recalled her superior saying.

Reimburse my ass, she thought. The train was getting fuller each stop. It made Olivia mildly claustrophobic so she closed her eyes, dozed on the vibrating glass, the dull lullaby of the train boring her to sleep. She dreamed of roaming vast empty fields.

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Somewhere in the air

"Ah shit. Really?" Connor hissed to his colleague on the plane.

"Yeah. The agent assumed only the writers were coming along, so he didn't get you a room. He did secure your pass to the convention though," Jim, his senior colleague and friend, tried to say. "Probably thought you were part of the media."

"Whyy can't we share a room again?" Connor asked, sipping his can of beer.

"Some sort of weird security reason, I think. But we'll see," Jim patted his friend's shoulder. "I'm sure someone there could help."

Connor slammed his head on the chair, looking up in exasperation. "Ahh. Yeah well. I hope so. I need a whole room for my equipment. And a car, too."

His friend laughed and began to sleep for the long journey ahead. Connor tilted his head toward the window. The plane's engines roared in his ears as it glided through the lilac clouds. Before he was unconscious, Connor remembered the same coloured clouds in another part of his life. There was a great green field, with misty mountains in the distance. The grass was bending with the wind. There was a girl in front of him, in a billowing white dress. Her dancing black hair was obscuring her face as she let her kite soar higher in the air. She called out to him and he went closer. Who was she again? He descended deeper into sleep before remembering her name.