The pain of the knife touching his heart was incomparable to anything else. The non-existent pain was so real it affected reality, and the dream he had so longed to see was nothing but a terrible nightmare.
He suffered from a high fever for days. Fortunately, as time passed, the vivid traces of death could be buried deep in his memories while passively observing dreams of other people.
Then one day, 9-year-old Herick asked with a terrified face.
“Michael, are you going to kill me?”
Looking down at his palm, the small thing—it was a time not long after he had become acquainted with Herick. Young Michael. After murmuring inwardly, he rolled his eyes. What answer did I give back then?
“I haven’t killed anyone, even at the end of my life.”
The words suddenly slipped out without him realizing.
“That’s strange.”
Michael, now awake from the dream, thought blankly. “The end of my life”? Back then, he wouldn’t have even known if his own end existed, so he couldn’t have said such a thing.
Had he now reached a level where he could intervene in his dreams?
With hope, he tried several more times afterward, but making his voice heard by his own will never happened again.
Whether it was a coincidence or merely an illusion that he had spoken—eventually, he decided to give up searching for an answer. Digging deeper only led to more confusion.
So he needed to abandon thought. Abandoning thought was the best way to bring peace to the mind, so he wasted time without harboring any interest or curiosity about anything happening before his eyes.
Herick, who couldn’t have known this, sighed with relief seeing Michael’s violent tendencies diminish. He must have thought it was a kind of adolescence passing, but such fabricated peace didn’t last long.
“Is anyone there?”
Michael, who had been staring blankly at the garden where intruders were buried, turned his ear to the voice coming from the main gate. Curious about the owner of the youthful voice, he peered out and was caught by pitch-black eyes.
“Hey, wait a moment.”
As he instinctively tried to hide, the intruder moved strangely slowly. Confused, Michael stopped and started again, and the intruder eventually fell on his own.
The dirt-covered man had a nosebleed. Suddenly, from beyond the veil of memory, Michael recalled the person who had killed him. That man who had cried desperately while bleeding from his nose.
“Ah, hello?”
As if entranced, the man stared intently at Michael’s face before greeting him shyly.
“I’m Hyungoh Choi.”
Michael’s face reflexively hardened at that name, pronounced with such pure brightness that it almost seemed lacking.
Yes, Choi. That was definitely the name.
* * *
He became curious about the man. Why had he killed him? And then why had he cried and apologized? Above all, he couldn’t understand himself, who had called out to the man affectionately until his last breath.
Tired after working his mind for the first time in a long while, Michael went to sleep without eating dinner.
“Hyungoh.”
Maria, sitting on the bridge railing, called to him.
She was smiling more brightly than ever before. It was a smile that seemed like she would fly toward the sky if he let go of her hand.
“Now it’s time for you to pierce me with your thorn.”
Not wanting to lose her, he pulled her more desperately. However, the more force he applied, the more her upper body tilted toward the endless darkness.
But she had already made up her mind. No one, not even himself, could stop that will.
“May your end be even more beautiful.”
Something swallowed Maria. Otherwise, she couldn’t have disappeared without a trace like this.
And so the nightmare collapsed, starting from the bridge. Sitting on the ground with nowhere further to fall, he still felt like he was plummeting.
* * *
Michael opened his eyes and gasped for breath. Herick, who had been sitting in a chair watching over him, jumped in surprise and tried to comfort him.
The gentle touch on his shoulder felt as painful as if he were being strangled. Unable to bear it any longer, he screamed and fled from the bed, only to encounter Marsha who was repairing the collapsed front door.
“Don’t leave me alone!”
Michael roared, clutching his head. The only person in this world who could truly understand him had died.
As if the scream were a signal flare, countless dream figures shattered sharply and pierced his heart. Soon after, agonizing screams echoed in his ears. Characters who had appeared in his dreams at least once began to wail that they didn’t want to die.
“I’m Alex, remember me. My name is Caitlin.”
Their mouths began to gnaw at his limbs. I can’t handle this. Michael was helplessly devoured, without even thinking to resist.
“I don’t want to die unjustly. Hailey Scott, please don’t forget me.”
Their collective cries approached him with unparalleled violence. Among the many names being uttered, no one called him by his real name.
As he staggered, unable to maintain balance, Marsha quickly ran to support him. Wait, who was I again? A single question mark floated in his blank mind.
“Who am I living as, after all?”
His eyes met Herick’s, who had followed. Beyond the worried gaze, blackened beliefs began to reveal themselves stealthily.
“You are a god!”
Remembering Herick’s words, which had been so transparent and without a hint of doubt, Michael laughed emptily. Then he snatched the hammer from Marsha’s hand.
With a dull impact sound, dark red liquid streamed from his forehead and finally stained the blue grass. Marsha, who had silently watched the shocking scene unfold in an instant, tightly closed her eyes. Herick, eyes wide open, knelt on the lawn.
Michael, dropping the hammer with a thud, blankly looked up at the sky.
It was a night of unparalleled beauty.
