Conversations with Demons

Hello,
You’re alone?

I wonder why…
Could it be because you try,
no one likes a heart that cares.
That hearts that wins, is the
heart that’s shared.
Could it be your face, your voice,
your hair?
is it that your heart is bare?
Ripe, scarred, bitter, broke,
you want to love but you just choke…

Again and again, it just repeats,
what you sow, you never reap.
Caring is over-rated, that’s what they say,
but that’s all you have so I can see the dismay.

You’re alone, don’t wonder why,
it’s not their problem,
and that’s the only reason you cry.
It’s me, me, me…that’s what you say,
much as they deny it,
it’s why they don’t stay.

The Checklist

Tick, cross, cross, tick, 

Check-listed moments, 

a notification of failure, 

recognition – of the wrong sort? 

Misunderstood intentions…somewhat intentional? 

Replaying, again…again. 

 

Static moments, devoid of context, 

Just words, just people. 

Still it matters – a failure. 

Alone, are you alone? 

the constant companion, 

always whispering. 

 

Scale of one to ten, 

tell us what you think, 

grade yourself. 

Will you, won’t you? 

Say no, that’s what they want –

the only place that does.

Reconsider, foolishness, 

to reach out, do you have to say yes? 

Understand. HEAR ME.

Didn’t say yes. 

Screaming inside. 

That Dream

There’s that person,

He was like a dream. 

So perfect, it hurt – so unrealistic

I could have cried. 

Made the mistake of heeding pretty words, 

accepting an embrace never deserved. 

 

These are the best people to love:

don’t exist except in fairytales, 

he’s like waking up from a fantasy,

I cannot mourn a dream. 

In my heart, I know he was there,

my presence was never in his.

 

I’m a better person from knowing you,

weaker for having loved you.

I acknowledge your imperfections,

but moments of beauty I’ll always,

always remember.

Scattered scars form your name,

I wish I wasn’t so weak.  

Selfish

I want to live a life of beautiful things,

and beautiful people,

of love, and laughter,

To be free to linger after,

everyone else has sighed goodbye.

I want perfection in moments,

a sprinkling of kisses,

memories made from sepia tones.

 

I’ll wear flowers in my hair,

(ironically),

I want the cliches, cuddles, contradictions,

Find a meaning in everything, argue until you see passion,

Show me a whole fleet of disappointment.

Breathe emotion into the most listless words,

question all that is and all that I say,

frustrate me.

 

Give me clarity in swift glances,

Let me be light hearted as I walk through a crowd,

of faces that tell me there is failure.

Write a bucket list of meaninglessly beautiful things,

envelope a shining soul,

go far.

 

Run away, hide away,

be a storm that’s always passing,

but hesitate in my heart,

hesitate.

Selfishly, unknowing…

let me pretend,

that life can be as perfect,

as the one I’ll watch,

go far.

Anxiety and Admiration

I’m sitting in a room that is almost unreachable. Not physically, metaphorically. There are people in life that have an astounding beauty to them. The way they are, the talent they exude…the amazing things they breathe life in to. That’s why it’s unreachable. How do you connect with people who seem to live on an entirely different level of existence when you sit in a room with them? They’re all doing it without meaning to, and I can’t help but watch rather than want to try and create something too. Or, maybe they mean to. It’s definitely intentional, but I don’t feel they are attempting to make me feel excluded. I do all of this on my own. My awkwardness isn’t very good when in situations like this. 

My fascination is immeasurable. Not only can I see the inter-personal links but I can watch something lovely come into being. When I get there, they’re playing music. Not like my other friends, the hi-fi, stereos blaring music. They’re actually playing. One of them is stroking the keyboard with a nice level of ease, looking to the boy on the guitar. They work together, anticipating one another’s next move. If you could draw the connection between them, I see it as a blurry purple rope. It flickers and flashes, and as they gradually fall into a rhythm it comes further into being. Maybe it’s just me being the strange person that I am, but it’s a warm atmosphere. It’s always been like this, finding it easier to see how other people feel about one another than understanding the reactions to me. So, rather than actually attempt to involve myself properly, I merely beg for the use of some paper and sit down on the sofa away from most everyone else. 

 

I make the awkward mistake of asking to draw something, borrowing a pencil and pad from the girl who invited me. As I open the pad, I realise it is almost entirely full, and feel slightly concerned that I should not be using it, even though it was offered mere minutes before. I mention the art, saying how nice it is and that I’m going to draw something. The response is the kind I can never understand. She tells me not to draw over her work. I have to say, I’m slightly baffled by that, worried that I give off the vibe of being a desecrater of others’ artwork. It’s at that point that I start to panic about attending the afternoon, even though I’d worried about it all day beforehand. Mostly, because she didn’t invite me. Our mutual friend did, and as such, though she said it was okay…I’m terribly worried that I wasn’t wanted. 

 

I’m not quite sure how to deal with this so I just draw something and mostly watch the others. I manage to annoy one of the other girls by borrowing her artpens without asking, unintentionally. The look she gives me makes me feel so small I want to leave, though there’s no real malice behind it. I understand what it’s like to not want people to use your stuff, so I feel so insanely guilty, but my apology doesn’t really seem to be enough. As a result, I’m too worried to talk to her again that evening, aside from when she is leaving.

One of the girls messages another friend and bothers him until he comes over, violin in tow. Thankfully I feel less awkward once he is there, meaning I don’t have to feel quite as bad but still have an anxious edge. I can never tell if they’re all joking or not, which appears to be my issue. I’m trying quite hard to express the fact that I admire them, but it makes me too scared. Added to that, it seems like the better they get to know me, the less they like me. This could be my imagination.

All that can be said is that I’ve never experienced a group like that. I’ve never experienced being so moved by something other people have created that I know. I’ve never sat in a room while a guy in a turtle neck plays guitar, and another in cords plays violin while jamming as they go. It’s what I wish the inside of my mind was like, serene. In the end, even if I had or have no impact, I suppose and I can thankful for being surrounded by people who will do great things. 

Please, Forget.

In a moment, swept up,

lost in unfamiliar eyes and easy smiles, 

torn from usual identity. 

Few words, pounding impact,

redirected…so quickly,

Ignoring guilt for a perfect fantasy.

 

Fevered and heated, 

too many kisses, too little screaming. 

Adventurously wander into unknown territory, 

find out the hard way, who is the enemy?

 

Not now, not you, ripped out whole, 

Voices that no longer belong side-by-side.

Cowardly conduct, expect dishonourable discharge, 

the wrong heart agreed to the firing squad. 

The Forest Floor.

-1-

 

Keller walks through the tangle of branches and shrubs ahead of me, swearing as he gets caught on the thorns, and brushing dry leaves off his shoulders. I watch as his blonde head bobs along, progressing slowly in front of me; I follow closely behind. I don’t know why he insists on always walking home through the forest, but, I always let him drag me along. You’d have thought after all the years we’d been walking this way that the forest floor would have shown signs of wear, but it was always a jungle to scrabble through.

I have to cling to his muscular arm as I trip and lurch over fallen logs and clumps of decaying leaves that settle in small piles about my feet. I hate the forest, but, Keller just loves it, and always has. He looks back at me briefly, flashing a smile then returned to playing guide through the mass of branches determined to halt our progress through the undergrowth.

 

Keller is built to be outdoors – unlike me – which you can just see it in him. He’s not exactly tree height at 5’11” but he has a natural build that makes him stand out. He isn’t bulky or overly large either, but just seems solid, immovable. He’s spent so much time in the sun that his naturally mouse brown has become bleached to more of an ashy blond, and he has the kind of skin that just screams ‘I tan because I surf and do manly things in the wilderness’. All of this is something I have grown used to seeing over the years,  the dazzling smile and startlingly green eyes…my best friend in the whole world. Totally solid, dependable, a constant that would never change for as long as my house connected to his in our semi-detached.  

I had known him since I was five, and he’s only two months older than me, so he’s been around for most of my life, really.

“Macey,” he begins, and I know what he’s going to say.

Now isn’t the time, even if it’s the only time we can really talk. It’s not the time, I don’t want it to be time. It always happens like this, when you can’t deal with something it springs on you all at once. My heart begins to hammer in my chest and my blood feels like it’s run cold. Then I take a breath, I try to calm myself but to little avail. It creeps along my fingertips, buzzes on my lips, and begins to shift and follow my limbs. The fuzzy, panicked feeling, which turns to a boiling sensation under my skin. It even hurts. My internal panic is becoming real. Sweat starts to form on my brow and in the hollow of my neck, icy cold. I can’t seem to breathe. 

“Not now, Keller,” I shoot him a pleading glance, I don’t want to go over it all right now. I can’t deal with it, the memories, the hopes and dreams. They come in flashes, almost overwhelming to remember. I know that I’m having a panic attack but it’s never been quite like this. It’s as if everything I’ve been holding back for the past nine days is just about to explode. All these feelings. They all mean so little in the darkness of the forest.

But, then it is dark, it’s so dark. It can’t be that dark.

He’s moving ahead again, his shoulder’s slumped, his confidence to speak drained. I feel the metaphorical gulf between is widen a fraction. 

He’s vanishing out of sight, he’s not even that far away, it shouldn’t be like that. He should be looking at me, it should always be like that. And, I’d see his smiling face.

 

Except, I don’t, and I can’t move, I can’t breathe, or speak. My eyes fade to grey like the end of a movie, then I’m sure I’m waking up from a bad dream. I can feel the soft pillows under me. They’re softer than I remember. Are they damp from my tears? I’m crying so much, choking sobs, but I can’t feel it. There is nothing but black, I can’t prise my eyelids open to see Keller again. He is gone, but, I can hear him calling, urgently.

Then it’s all gone. Keller, the forest, my bed, my dreams. Me. 

Coffee in Richmond

 

I watch her like she’s going to do something crazy any second, and she knows it full well. There’s this thing about her, and it worries me. Sometimes, when I’m with her, she’s so happy, so vibrant  that she could light up the room when she walks in. But, there are others, and I can see it in her eyes – something that’s just a flicker, just a second – there’s this amazing pain. Deep down, it terrifies me.

 

It’s October, the wind’s starting to pick up, but it’s still too humid to wear a coat. Leaves are beginning to change, slowly but surely, whistling dryly in the trees and a few crunching underfoot as I make my way through the park. It’s the moment in the year when summer goes ‘actually, I’m a bit tired’, and buggers off, leaving only the memory of the blistering heat and the smell of sunshine. There’s this smell summer has…it’s a mixture of freshly cut grass, sun on skin, and ozone after April showers. It’s all of that, and people, almost like you can taste the suntan lotion and salt water that the holidays always involve. When I walk through the park, there’s that lingering aroma clutching at the branches of the swaying trees. It never fails to make me smile.

 

Though, of course, there are other things to not be so happy about, and that brings my attention back to the matter at hand. For a long time, I had thought it wouldn’t come to this, but as the days wore on it was evident that the only course of action was today’s meeting. I sighed, digging into my bag for the letter, and turning it over in my hands indecisively for few more times before I opened it. It read the same every time, but, I had to be sure I hadn’t left anything out, or I’d chicken out at the last minute, or let myself get diverted from the matter at hand.

Tucking the letter back into the thick cream envelope, I crossed the busy street that stood directly outside the park gate just before the lights could change.

 

The café wasn’t much to look at. The exterior was covered in peeling bright red paint, and had wide, dusty windows. I gently pushed the rickety wooden door open in time to hear a jangle from the shop bell, then pushed it to as quickly as possible. The actual cafe looked a bit smarter inside, but not by much – old wicker chairs sat silently at smeared black granite tables, all squashed together next to a twisted flight of stairs, and a small counter. I took the flight of gnarled steps in my stride, then found what I was looking for.

 

He was seated by the window, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, and a newspaper folded over in the middle was in his hand. He sat quietly, taking in the news, orange light streaming in through the sparkling glass. It was getting on in the day, and the sun was just about ready to set, it struck me as too close for comfort in terms of pathetic fallacy.

Walking over, as naturally as possible, I pulled the seat out across the table from him and sat down. He looked up briefly, then returned to his paper. I set my bag rather grimly on the less than clean floor by my feet, and made sure the envelope sat on my lap.

 

After another ten minutes or so, he put down the newspaper, looking expectantly at me, “Well?”

It was impossibly not to squirm slightly under his gaze, it was too intent and probing for anyone’s comfort, especially mine. It was at times like those that I wished he wasn’t looking at all, I’d rather he was still reading the paper than giving me his full attention at a time like this. It took me a while to reply, but I managed it, once I had clamped down the urge to flee the whole scene.

“Peter…” I began, slowly. It wasn’t easy to begin a conversation like this, and I was glad I’d never had to start one before…or even been involved in one like this.

“Alex?” he prompted, smirking slightly when I didn’t continue.

I nodded, “Yes, I need to talk to you.”

“I gathered that when you asked me to meet you here.” He rolled his eyes at me, and took a sip of his coffee while he waited for me to get up the nerve to finish a longer sentence.

“Yes, well. I…we need to talk.” His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but he remained quite silent as I unfurled the envelope from my hands. “Or, more, you need to read this. I thought I could say it out loud if I brought it with me…all written down. But, I can’t say it. I can just leave, and you can read it…” I held the now mostly crushed letter out to him, and Peter silently took it, his mouth a grim line of annoyance. He unfolded the paper with infinite care, as I went to collect my bag and leave, but Peter’s gaze met mine once more.

“Sit.” the word wasn’t a question, I had to stay. I hadn’t thought he’d actually let me walk out, but, now I knew for sure he expected me to stay and watch him take in what I had written while I suffered and panicked opposite him, knowing what he was reading. It was obvious he was getting some enjoyment from making me even more unhappy, so I returned to my chair, starred at my hands and let him read.

 

“I’ve finished.” Peter declared long minutes later, his expression a mixture of anger and amusement. I had to hold back a shudder, dreading what was coming next.

“So…is that okay?” I ventured, uncertainly.

He grinned, and it was a terrifying sight. He really was scary sometimes, even when in public, and it was difficult not to want to run from him at times. “I think I need to ask some questions.”

I nodded, “Yes?”

“Was that difficult for you? Or, did you enjoy it? Have you been planning this for a long time, dearest? It seems that a lot of preparation went into this meeting, and the letter. You must have re-written this quite a few times, I know you. How long did it take?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes at all.

“Yes, it was difficult,” I swallowed, uneasily, “Of course I didn’t enjoy it…and I didn’t plan it.”

Peter’s face transformed, turning to rage, his brows arches, his teeth gritted. “Oh, I think you did. I think we should hear what you wrote, Alexandra. Shall I read it to you? Do you want to hear all the poisonous little things you’ve penned here?” Shaking my head anxiously, I stood, backing away from him. Peter rose, too, grinning insanely once more, and beckoned to me. “Come back here, now.” I rushed forward, snatched up my bag, then clattered down the stairs.

 

He barely missed me with the china mug of coffee when he threw it.

 

“I think I felt my heart skip a beat, I’m standing here and I can hardly breathe. You got me, you got me. The way you take my hand is just so sweet, and that crooked smile of yours knocks me off my feet.”

Fireflies

 

Fireflies

 

‘I’d like to make myself believe, that planet Earth turns, slowly.’

 

Noel and Gideon sat on the sloping grass bank of the river in silence. It was late, later than they’d first thought, but they didn’t move. Looking out over the water the pair could see the lights of their town reflected from some distance away – dancing with the swells of water, distorting the images before them the harder they stared.

 

Chilly outside had been an understatement that morning on the Weather forecast, as Gideon watched his breath colour the air white. He often wondered why anyone paid any attention to Weather forecasts, except in extreme cases like Hurricanes. It was rarely right, and yet everyone put such stock in ‘watching the weather forecast’. It was beyond him, a concept invented by parents and those of authority to think they could control everything around them – know the future before their time. Sure, it was a very small example, a mundane thing really, but, nevertheless, he saw the hunger for it. For knowledge.

 

It was November, typically chilly – or more close to freezing – and the hairs on his arms stood up rigidly in protest and he sorely wished he’d bothered with a coat earlier in the evening. But, he hadn’t thought about it. Instead, he’d gone to a party, alcohol taking presidency over carrying a jacket. He was stupid to be talked into things like this, every time, always by Noel. There were times when Gideon wanted to be more than who he was – more than the boy who wore skinnies and a Led Zepplin T-shirt. More than someone who scored and moved on. He wasn’t asking to be a sap, or a geek, he just wanted a little more. He always told himself it must be security, and it probably was, he just wouldn’t know for sure.

 

Noel flopped back against the grass, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh of contentment. Gideon just didn’t get it, how Noel was so carefree, so full of life, and yet there was something important missing when he met his gaze. There was never any depth to it. Nothing below the surface, and nothing he could trust.

He held his watch up to his face to see the time better – 03:33 – and glared at the date flashing next to it. The 19^th. The damned 19^th. It was his 18^th birthday today, and day thought to be important to most, but not to him. Just another day to be what he wasn’t, a look out upon what he wanted but couldn’t define. He flirted with the idea of whether he was depressed, but he doubted it, all he was was a realist.

 

Noel looked up at him quietly, seeing the internal struggle Gideon was having. He watched, pretending to not notice, every day. He took in what he saw and stored it away until the day he’d finally need it. Now, he stared at the boy, remembering the facial features; the bright green eyes, jagged cheekbones mature before he was, the nose small for most guys but not girlish, long eyelashes, brace-straight teeth, eyebrow piercing. He watched as Gideon chewed on his already broken nails, the black varnish peeling off gradually. He was definitely something else in a line of people who wanted to be different but became part of a trend.

Noel himself, sandy blond, tanned, soft grey eyes, was nothing like the type you’d expect to hang out with Gideon. He was taller, more muscular, better looking technically, according to taste. He was popular, he was funny, and charming, and empty. There wasn’t anything he could do to change what he was, just be, just watch and remember what living was truly like.

 

Gideon stared up at the sky, listening as the muddied water sloshed against its natural banks, making its way to freedom and the sea. It was a soothing noise, when you didn’t look at the dark,  dirty water. It was a nice place when you didn’t think about the things that could happen at three am in November. Especially, near London. Anything could happen. He didn’t want to think about the terrible things that may have happened. He hoped they hadn’t and wouldn’t. It was a day when you thought about what you wanted, what you didn’t have, who you were. It was one of those times that too much alcohol made them wise. At least a little bit.

 

It wasn’t the fact it was cold, or that they’d been drinking that made them talk. It wasn’t what had happened to them when they were younger, and they didn’t talk about their traumatic pasts, why they were the way they were. It wasn’t anything so complex, it was simple. Or, it was so simple it was the most complicated thing you could imagine. It wasn’t depression that made Gideon speak, it was something unidentifiable, which came to him from nowhere, which doesn’t exist, made from nothing, which isn’t possible. It was a whim, a train of thought changing direction too fast to keep up with. It was something so shallow, and so deep it makes the blood run cold to contemplate. It was something there, but not. A photon, one thing and another – simultaneous, ridiculous, incomprehensible on certain levels and perfect in makings.

 

“Is this just how it is?” Gideon asked, quietly. The kind of question you are never sure you said aloud after you did. It’s in your mind, in the air, and you can’t remember if you uttered it until someone answers.

Noel closed his eyes and smiled to himself. The look on Gideon’s face, the intensity. “Is what just how it is?” He replied, crossing his arms over his stomach lazily.

Gideon’s fringe was subjected to mutilation as he ran his fingers through the dyed locks, almost the same colour as the night sky. Almost. “Is this all we are?”

Noel shrugged, “Alone? Cold? Alive?”

“Yeah. Are we…just how we are?”

He smiled, rolling over onto his stomach and staring at Gideon intently, “Yes, it is. We are what we are, we always will be. But, we’re never just one thing.”

“What do you mean?”

Noel chuckled, it was a deep melodic sound, and for some reason it put Gideon at ease slightly. “I mean…if we can’t understand, or examine what it is we are…we’re not just one thing. There are so many parts to every person. And, I mean inside, not like a centipede.”

“So…we’re really physics-y?” Gideon asked, uncertainly.

“That’s one way of putting it, yeah.”

 

There was a silence for several moments where the two boys just stared at one another, contemplating the conversation. It made no sense, and yet it did.

 

“If we are what we are…we may as well be what we are. Enjoy it, I mean. No point bothering to hide it, right?” Noel said almost to himself more than anything else.

As if reassured of his very self, without knowing what it was, Gideon grinned. “Definitely.”

“We might not understand, but we do everything for an impulsive, subconscious reason. Call it what you will – fate, a chosen path, free will…the roll of the dice. Let’s just go with it, yeah?” He smiled back.

“You know…everything’s so complicated.”

 

Noel got up, walking down to the very river edge and looked out across it. Gideon followed after a few minutes, standing by his friend in complete, companionable silence.

Over the water, small specks of light began to appear, almost unnoticeable at first, then growing, their intensity increasing. The numbers multiplied until it water looked as if a huge party were going on above it, as it reflected it back to the boys. They stared in confusion at the lights that buzzed and swirled around their heads and ankles. Before they knew it they were cocooned in soft yellow light, draped like fairy-lights on a Christmas tree, constantly moving and chiming ethereally.

Fascinated, Gideon and Noel looked about themselves until their gazes met. They were both grinning like children, fools even. The moment was a strange, but beautiful one. The looked like tiny fireflies spinning their way around them. And, for a moment, the Earth did turn slowly to them. It wasn’t something they’d thought about, or ever known. It was there, and not at the same time. They didn’t swap sob stories, they didn’t share their lives in moments. It was far more simple, it was far more perfect, and it was far more human.

 

Noel drew away from Gideon after several moments, his lips tingled, his fingers buzzed and his heart skipped a beat. He was the popular boy, he was the over-achiever, the golden boy, and he felt happy. His eyes lit up for the first time. For the first time there was something there. And, he kissed him again. As the world turned slowly, and the light kept spinning. Because it wasn’t there, and the world didn’t actually slow. But, it did for them. 

 

There are times in our lives when we think things we shouldn’t, or break the rules. We hurt ourselves, and others. The living part is in the learning, making mistakes and growing, from being who we are without questioning it. There are times when we realise we made the wrong choice and can’t change what we’ve done. Or, things we know are wrong, and yet they please us – they make us feel whole again. That’s the thing about being broken that everyone understands – we all do the wrong thing sometimes, even if it’s the best thing that ever happens to us. Sometimes we risk it all on just one thing, and it turns out to be right, it helps us grow, we learn from it, and we live.

 

They weren’t something from nothing, they weren’t just a moment. They were the beginning, the end and they were perfect without knowing it. They didn’t need the words, they didn’t need the stories. It was there and it wasn’t. It was their world, and a million others in one. And, theirs turned slowly for them. 

Let’s Stop

Let’s Stop

 

 

There are some things that you’d rather not find out…

 

C

Chae looked down at her hands in silence, wondering what he’d meant earlier. Maybe all this time all there had been between them really were lies. Or, perhaps she was seeing things that weren’t there, and that scared her the most. She didn’t know what was real any more, and couldn’t comprehend her own feelings. Was it really saying there was nothing, what he’d said?

He told her it was an expression of his feelings, the ring. She didn’t want it, it sparkled in a taunting way, the way something that knows it doesn’t truly belong to you does – because it knows you’re not supposed to be holding it. They look at you, and twinkle, rattle, whatever they can do to tell everyone else ‘look at me, I don’t really belong to her. Save me.’

She’d left it at the restaurant that night, along with Ryang. Chae didn’t want any part of it, and yet…it lingered.

 

Chae sat on the kitchen counter, Ryang’s diary in her hand reading over the pages again and again. The words were there, but, she couldn’t believe them. The kitchen around her, pale yellow and neatly arranged began to feel smaller the more her hazel eyes took in. It shrunk until she was fighting to breathe, the walls had crammed themselves up against her, and her face was pressed again the kitchen counter, her legs tucked up under her. Pale fingers lingered over the pages as she turned them. There was a morbid curiosity to what she read; the more she saw, the more it felt like there was a gaping wound in her chest, drenching her in blood. The more it hurt, Chae longed for the numbness that she always took refuge in after things upset her…for the pain to be hidden away in a box inside of her. To sew up her wounds and never let it known was all she ever did. Eyes scanned the thick paper, hungrily; looking for more answers Chae let the diary explain all her problems into being. Once they were real, they were actually realised…they existed. After all that time, she’d thought she was mad to think it, but he’d lied to her.

 

“Leave…” Mi-Yuk told her for the fifth time. “You don’t need him anyway. He’s always telling you it’s your fault. He’s the one that wrote all this!”

 

There were times when Chae thought of Mi-Yuk as real, but she knew better. Mi-Yuk was long dead, it was exactly what he’d say though. Over and over, he’d tell her what she had to do to put things right, to get away from the rest of the world, and it had always worked. He used to know what was really going on – he’d explain what love truly was, and why real love hurt, it wasn’t happy. When they were fifteen he told her real love was secret, true love crossed bridges that no one else could ever understand. He’d said he’d always be with her, and now he was. He was so ingrained in her mind that she knew exactly what he’d tell her. She had to get away from Ryang, he didn’t really love her.

Mi-Yuk had told her he’d be waiting for her that night when they were eighteen, as he lay in hospital barely able to focus on her – she’d just never worked out where he’d be, and how she could get back to him. 

 

Tears welled up in her almond shaped eyes, her mouth moving silently as she searched for the words. All that came were shrieks of pain, sobs, whimpers. Chae snatched the book up once more, hands trembling and began to rip the paper from it’s bindings, scattering the tatters of writing about the kitchen in a mixture of grief and frustration.

 

Eventually, her breathing slowed, Chae slid herself from the counter clumsily and stumbled into the living room.

 

I don’t understand her any more – she’s so lost I feel like if I tip the scale a grain of rice too far she’ll do something terrible.

 

 She ran the words over and over in her mind until they no longer meant anything to her. They had meant little in the first place. What kind of terrible thing did Ryang think she’d do?

 

Chae looked around herself in a slight daze, tears still blurring her vision and her mind still burning with Mi-Yuk’s words since the day they’d met. Ever since he’d died, her family said she acted strangely – in the seven years since it had only gotten worse, how she closed herself off and only really trusted the Mi-Yuk in her mind. The one he’d told her to always listen to, to keep with her as a way of always having him there. Distance couldn’t separate the great, he used to say. Distance couldn’t separate you from those who knew what was best for you. He knew best, he’d said so. Mi-Yuk had told her she’d never be happy with anyone, no one would do…she’d just have to do as he wanted since no one would love her, he’d take pity on her and pretend for her. Ryang didn’t seem to understand any of this, he didn’t understand that he didn’t love her because no one would – he didn’t believe Mi-Yuk, and that made him wrong.

 

Chae pulled her hair out of the thick plait down her back as she wandered into the shower room, picking up her aspirins and vitamin B tablets, briefly examining the damage done to her face by the tears then left again, pulling the door shut calmly behind her.

 

Her mobile rang, shrillly for the tenth time in the last half an hour, and she frowned, digging out the Iphone to examine the caller ID. Ryang – again. He was being stupid, trying to stop her. She lifted her palm to her lips, pressing the aspirins into her mouth and swallowing fast before she tasted them too much. Without looking back at the phone she put it on the floor beside her, pulled on her headphones and lay down on the wooden floor, staring up at the ceiling blankly. 

 

R

 

Ryang tried calling again, panic growing in the pit of his stomach as he began to run as fast as his burning legs could carry him homewards. What had she meant? Now she wasn’t answering her phone. Going to find Mi-Yuk…going to see Mi-Yuk, she knew where Mi-Yuk was, in the cemetery down town. Ice cold fear ran up his spine as he examined her recent words, and what Chae had mentioned of her half-brother. Ryang knew he’d been dead for six or seven years – he’d overdosed while at an important function for their father’s company. There wasn’t much else he knew except that he sometimes heard her talking to Mi-Yuk when she thought no one else would hear, as if he was still alive…as if it was him running her mind.

 

Ryang’s feet smashed into the pavement, searing pain running through his muscles as he pushed himself to his limit. He sprinted across the over-pass, almost at the apartment, but the dread wouldn’t leave his stomach, he was shaking, covered in sweat, struggling for air but he had to keep going. He pushed his pace up again, tears streaming down his face, because he knew what Mi-Yuk wold tell her what to do if he really were still around…

 

C

Chae smiled slightly to herself as the music washed over her mind, letting her tension melt away. The phone rang again, making her brow crumple for a moment before she averted her gaze once more.

 

“mareopshi suljaneul chaeunda

 

himgyeopge sone deulmyeo hansumeul baeteobonda

 

hanjaneul mashyeobonda

 

neoreul saenggak hamyeo

 

chamgo tto chamawatteon nunmureul hamkke samkinda

 

michidorok saranghaeseo neomuna haengbok haesseotta

 

saranghan chueogeun naegejun neoreul bonaenda”

Chae moved her fingers to her lips once more, dropping the white pills into her mouth slowly. She loved the song, grinning to herself and she swallowed again she closed her eyes. His voice spread through her like liquid, soothing and cool to the touch, running over her as easily as air. The senastion of nothingness, emptiness…weightlessness took ahold of her, lifted her into the dark and comforted her of all her hidden scars. The words gave her hope, made her care – it sounded like Ryang. Sadness welled up in her chest, a tightening sensation stretching through her torso starting with her heart, and she let herself cry a little more. Mi-Yuk sang with her as the pain turned to numbness once more and she drifted into layers of sleep, then deeper. Mi-Yuk had always been right that he’d find her eventually, no matter the distance…

 

And, Chae had been right – Ryang had never been allowed to love her. Mi-Yuk called all the shots. He smiled to himself, eyes alight with mischief as he watched the events unfold, glee filling him until he could barely control the excitement of victory. Lucky he’d taken pity on her, he thought. ‘Where would you be without me, Chae-ah?’

 

Ryan’s screams ripped through the air in reply, as if someone had torn his body to pieces in all directions while he still lived. Mi-Yuk Hyuan Chuckled.