Blue Cosmos

Chapter 1: Miserable Dogs

KO MOON YEONG

The funny thing about inheritance is that you don't have that much of a choice. I have been told over and over by close relatives that my nasty temper often reminded them of my mother. My father's business associates chuckled when they saw my obsessive-compulsive side. And as for the third eye, I don't even want to remember when or why. I might live like a princess but raised among monsters, this crown is nothing but a pretty little leash. The castle is a kennel and I heel.

The clock on my Samsung S20 blinked hard at 2.03. The weather hasn't changed much this early in March. The wind whipped and plastered my long bangs to my cold, wet forehead. Clumps of cotton candy buds stretched in a long canopy above my head like an old and massive moth-eaten quilt. In the holes, the constellation winked. What a sight to behold. Precious far lights glittering on a dark, velvet sky. Although I made sure not to drink coffee after 5, my eyes were still adamant about staying open. My nerves eagerly connecting one thing to another. One memory wrestled unto another, entangling the doomed ending. They have convinced me that I should regret my decision back then. I am constantly reminded of a spool of tightly knotted white linens forming a rope/a noose and I have to choose between how to escape and how to forgive. But here I am, jaywalking in circles across this silent town like a trigger-happy finger edging around a deep wound.

I did everything except howl at the moon.

My head is buzzing with voices this time. Not alcohol. I can't go back just yet, I told myself as my face and hands grew number and number, my teeth start chattering, my heels rubbing against the hard leather soles, and my knees almost buckling. Keep walking. It's been hours. The apartment felt like a shrinking coffin. The fan was too damned loud. The aircon didn't work either. Nothing could fix the noise in my head. All the songs were composed of lies. There is no such thing as true love. People die, people forget and people move on. That's the basic rule. I can't wait for this to pass but time is not moving fast enough. What can I do but stared blankly at the stars, the blinking neons, that random patch of heathy weed peeking under the cracked concrete? Such resilience is admirable, I heard myself thinking and smirking in return. I'm stubborn. I could be that dandelion patch if I want.

Mother gave me plenty of butterfly hair clips. Even designed some. There were stacks of ceramic or lacquered sunflowers, lilies, roses, orchids, and other colorful sweet little things given to me by our housekeeper (She had 2 boys and dreamed of having a little daughter) but unfortunately, I was not born to be a rose. My soul is a weed and I regularly crack concrete.

A crunch a few steps from behind brought me back from a stupid memory but instead of turning back and screaming (Did it ever work?) I crossed to another street. Where am I? I know Seoul like the back of my hands. Those small, paved roads snaking in and out in secret gardens and exclusive buildings are no secret to me. Pretty sure that this is just outside Jeong-dong. I've only walked a few streets from the Metropolitan Library. My feet were bound by determination instead of muscles but I can feel my wet stocking protesting. My ankle-length boots looked flawless under the flood of the noticeboard lights but the heels were buried in 2 inches of mulch. They picked up melted snow, loose cherry blossom petals, and freshly brewed dirt - a spring specialty. Taking a deep breath, I can only listen to the sudden shrieks from delivery vans' handbrakes, the useless chatter of the drunks, and heavy steps that are getting closer and closer.

Why won't he give up?

His breaths puffed out like little steams under his purple scarf. He was dressed in one of his superior dark brown leather jackets, one hand holding a black umbrella. I see no reason to pay attention to the drizzle but he did anyway. Seeing how his bangs looked like I wonder what is the situation of my hair. I hope it looked nothing like a wet dog or people might think that we're related. What a ridiculous notion, when I think about it. He could have gone out buck naked and no one would bat an eye. Danny followed me in silence although I never once asked him for company, nor help. Everything about him is a mystery and it bothers me that I don't know how to read him. Too bad that the contract is the only thing binding him to me. I expected him to sit on the nearest bench and wait for me to finish my tantrum but his deep voice reached me in measured panic.