Hyungoh kept his mouth firmly shut. He wanted to call out to her, but his lips simply wouldn’t part. This didn’t seem like a dream. Perhaps a delusion, then? She took her eyes off the book and met Hyungoh’s gaze. Despite him wearing her clothes, she smiled casually as if nothing was amiss.
Her smile made sorrow well up inside him. Yes, this must be a delusion. Now he was even having delusions. Hyungoh moaned and crawled toward her. She silently reached out her hand to him.
The tears he had been holding back burst forth, wetting the floor. “Are you happy?” Hyungoh asked, grabbing her hand tightly. “Are you happy all by yourself?”
“While I’m going crazy like this.”
She got down from the bed and embraced Hyungoh. Feeling his mother’s warmth after so long, Hyungoh stopped crying. As he ran his hand along her back, he could feel her bony frame. “Mother?” He opened his tear-moistened eyes wide.
This wasn’t a delusion—it was his real mother.
Her hand, which had been caressing Hyungoh’s back, touched the scar his father had made. Her face hardened as she moved away from Hyungoh.
For a very long time, they stared at each other in silence. As Hyungoh gazed endlessly at her face, he soon noticed something glinting under her pillow, catching the light.
His mother knew where Hyungoh’s attention was focused. Her hand slowly slipped under the pillow.
“Let’s play, Hyungoh.”
A familiar line. She laughed at the sight of Hyungoh instinctively shrinking back. “Don’t worry, this will be the final game.”
“This time, he will join us too.”
She ran her hand down the clothes of hers that Hyungoh was wearing, then firmly grasped the hem. “But since you need to go to school, it can’t be helped.”
“Go on,” she said. “I’ll wait for you until you return.”
As if under a spell, Hyungoh followed her instructions. He took off his clothes in front of his mother and changed into his school uniform. Despite showing his naked body to his mother, he didn’t feel embarrassed. Rather, he felt reassured. Today, he was more emotional than any other day, dangerously so, and being alone would surely have been poisonous for him. He might have made an irreversible choice. That wasn’t an impossible scenario. Hyungoh was that exhausted.
Standing motionless in front of the front door where the chilly dawn breeze swirled, Hyungoh looked back. His mother, who had been watching him, cheerfully waved her hand. Her gesture urged Hyungoh to go outside.
He crossed the yard and went outside. Moving his hands and feet mechanically, he continued forward. The cold wind cooled his head.
Walking down the empty, desolate street, Hyungoh eventually stopped. The last image of his mother, trying to send him out, kept appearing before his eyes.
He was anxious. She looked unstable, just like Hyungoh.
Finally, Hyungoh turned back and ran. The closer he got to the house, the greater his anxiety grew.
He burst through the front door, out of breath. It was quiet. The house seemed completely empty. Confused, Hyungoh moved to her room. No way. Cold sweat ran down Hyungoh’s back.
His mother wasn’t there. No warmth, no presence remained. Hyungoh collapsed onto the bed. She had said she would wait.
He gently stroked the cold pillow. “Let’s play, Hyungoh,” he muttered, as if mimicking his mother. “Play with me.”
Suddenly, he remembered something glinting under the pillow. He quickly removed it, but underneath was only the pristine white bedsheet.
There was nothing. That’s impossible. Hyungoh felt around the empty space in disbelief, then jumped up from the spot.
That had definitely been a knife.
Hyungoh ran out of the room, looking around frantically. Where did she go? Where could she have gone? As he mumbled while clutching his head, he suddenly froze.
That’s right, Father.
Hyungoh flung open his father’s door. His father, who should have been sound asleep, was awake with eyes wide open.
Hyungoh lowered his head to meet his eyes. He was lying face down on the floor. Strangling his mother’s neck with all his might.
His father was panting. “This is a dream, right?” At his words, his mother laughed quietly. A kitchen knife lay discarded above her head.
“See, you are ruining me.”
His mother said. His father, who had been breathing roughly, suddenly went quiet. “I’m… ruining you?” He asked, tilting his head askew. His genuinely puzzled voice made the atmosphere even more chilling.
He grabbed his mother’s neck and threw her against the wall. “I ruined you? Me?” Pushed like a thin sheet of paper, she coughed painfully.
“Then who ruined me?”
Seeing his movement to pick up the knife on the floor, Hyungoh snapped to attention. His foggy vision became crystal clear in an instant.
Hyungoh threw himself forward and grabbed the kitchen knife. His father’s hand just swept through empty air. “No, Father. Come to your senses.” Hyungoh shouted urgently, hiding the knife behind his back. His father stared at him intently. His wide-open eyes twisted grotesquely.
“That’s not it.”
A palm as large as a pot lid struck Hyungoh’s cheek. With his head twisted to the side, Hyungoh held his breath. Not even a scream came out.
“I told you not to act so willfully.”
His father grabbed Hyungoh by the hair. Falling backward, Hyungoh hit his head on the corner of the bookshelf. Everything went dim before his eyes. Sensing danger, Hyungoh staggered as he tried to get up with all his might.
“You mustn’t ruin my life too.”
His father’s voice woke Hyungoh. His words echoed repeatedly. My life, ruin, mustn’t. Hyungoh watched his father, who was shaking him violently, with unfocused eyes.
“Ruin? Who?”
A chaotic ringing sounded in his ears. All the negative emotions he had buried until now took control of his body.
Anger, contempt, and disgust.
Hyungoh closed his eyes to ignore them. The world spun around. His weakly shaking body ached and stung. From far away, he heard his father’s shouts. “I did nothing wrong. I was just abandoned.” It was a statement full of self-pity. “I only wanted to live an ordinary life, that wasn’t such a grand wish.” He said.
He began to sob. When the hands shaking his body stopped, Hyungoh gently opened his eyes. His father had buried his face in Hyungoh’s chest. Looking at him as he leaned against Hyungoh, trembling violently, Hyungoh habitually raised his hand to embrace him.
“I’m so pitiful.”
Hyungoh’s hand lost its direction and stopped in mid-air. “I feel like I’m going to go crazy from how pitiful I am.” He wailed.
Hyungoh looked down at his damp shirt. His father’s tears. He trembled like someone electrocuted. Wait. Strength entered Hyungoh’s outstretched hand. He was still holding the kitchen knife.
“You don’t have the right to say such things.”
Pff. A sound of mockery was heard from somewhere. Hyungoh rolled his eyes. His mother, leaning against the wall, was covering her mouth. “Look at this,” she whispered in a voice tinged with laughter.
“Am I really the most selfish one?”
Her single sentence struck his head hard. It was a more substantial blow than any other. Dazed, Hyungoh’s eyes met his father, who was still sobbing on top of him.
Arrogant eyes that he had never seen before, blinded by compassion.
The corners of Hyungoh’s mouth turned up. It was a distorted smile. So that’s it. This was why mother had left.
His hand moved on its own. His father’s weight was pressing down on Hyungoh’s stomach. He could no longer bear that oppressive feeling.
“…my angel.”
His father, who had stopped crying, blankly stared down at his stomach. Drool dropped from his open mouth. Hyungoh blinked. Warm liquid flowed from his fingertips.
The knife handle. Hyungoh couldn’t understand why he was holding it. When he removed his hand, sticky blood covered his palm abundantly. Staring blankly at his hand, Hyungoh turned his eyes once more to the handle.
It was stuck in his father’s stomach. Then this blood must be his father’s. Hyungoh politely clasped his hands together. A fishy smell. An unpleasant sensation.
Blood. Bright red blood. Father’s blood. Hyungoh, who pushed him away, let out a scream.
“You, at least, should have remained beautiful.”
Red eyes stared piercingly at Hyungoh. To escape his gaze, Hyungoh staggered and crawled across the floor.
“In the end, you too, you too…”
No sooner had Hyungoh heard his father’s words than something blocked his ears. It contained a warm sensation. When he placed his hand over this something, his trembling subsided as if by magic. It was his mother’s hand.
Hyungoh fixed his gaze on the white ceiling as if denying reality. His mother lifted her head to face him. Her face appeared in Hyungoh’s field of vision, along with the brightest, most pure yet cruel smile he had ever seen.
