Namjoon: 17 December Year 21

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I Must Survive
Part 9

When I went back to the eatery the next morning, the owner was talking to a police officer. I frozed. Maybe he's here for me. He's come to take me away. I knew the owner would find  out about that scooter. I knew I was going to get caught out for damaging it! I was underage too...I didn't even have a license.

I considered goign back home. But the bus would only stop by here again in the next few hours. I couldn't run away anyways. I needed this job. I needed to do this...for Dad.

"Did you hear?"
The owner of the neighbouring eatery had come out.

She carried on:

"About the accident yesterday?
A young boy was making a delivery and he slipped driving down that hill.
He lay on that hill in the snow, freezing, for three hours before anyone found him.
Poor boy.

Thank goodness someone found him.
They were driving down in their car when they saw him.
Someone in the town phoned the eatery, worried sick about him,
but the owner didn't send anyone out to find him."

"He was an unskilled driver. He didn't even wear a helmet,"
I heard the officer say to the owner.

A helmet, which I assumed was Taehyung's, sat on the counter.

"I never forced the boy to go out and deliver in this weather," the owner protested.
"I tried to talk him out of it, but he was hearing none of it."

The owner was right. Taehyung and I insisted to go out adn deliver in that weather.

The owners of the eateries next to us all murmured in agreement. It was a small village. Everyone knew each other. Everyone shared at least one memory with someone.

---

I remembered hearing that Taehyung lived with his mother and sister. His father wasn't in the picture.

---

As the eatery owners talked about the accident, Taehyung;s mother sat on the bench, sobbing loudly.

"Bring my son back. Bring him back!" She cried. "He wasn't supposed to die..." she murmured, tears rolling down her cheeks.

At first, the owners sat with her and cried with her, and offered her words of comfort. But as evening approached, it got colder. The smell of cooking scented the chilly breeze.

Sooner or later, she was left alone again on that bench.

Gusts of icy wind rattled barren tree branches. Snow fell off in lumps, some lamding next to her, or dusting her hair and clothes.

But she payed it no attention and cried, sitting in the middle of the snow,
the bench and the cold.

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