The Touch of Jack Frost (Weak Hero)

Hwangmo (12-27-22)

Hwangmo had been wandering the streets, lost, alone. Wolf Keum was not a good boss, but he was a boss, and he paid Hwangmo enough to get on. Maybe he could've transferred to a different school, under a different Union head, if they were alive. Hell, even Donald Na was gone.

Everything is gone.

Everything is in shambles.

Already he'd fallen behind on his rent, already he'd gotten red letters in the mail from his landlord. Already he was at risk of losing everything.

He hadn't smoked in four days, how could he buy a pack knowing that it was seven dollars that could've gone towards his rent, or his food. Food. Something else he'd neglected, the last time he could remember eating was lunch last Thursday. Hwangmo couldn't imagine eating, his stomach didn't even growl.

The most money he'd been consistently spending, was a dollar fifty on a bottle of water, times four, which was... 

He couldn't remember.

The days since Wolf's death had been filled with job hunting. Convenience stores. Grocery stores. Fast food restaurants. There wasn't a single place that wanted to hire a kid with the name Union branded on his back in big, bold, letters. Even when the Union wasn't a threat anymore and Donald Na was dead, they still feared their image and turned him away. 

Everyone turned away a hungry, withdrawing, sixteen year old boy who just wanted to pay his rent and eat a meal. Looking at it quite plainly, unbiased with only such facts, it was a horrific situation. Unfourtunatly, in life, people don't often look at things plainly and unbiased.

Union.

Delinquent.

Probably spend his money on drugs.

That was their train of thought. Last month they would've been right in every way. Last month he wouldn't have needed the generosity. Last month he would've had a fat paycheck from Wolf Keum and a place to drink and eat with friends. Now he had nothing.

Hwangmo walked into the convenience store for his bottle of water, wondering if drinking water was even worth it now. His head was a ringing blur. Everything was messed up, and now, now it looked like there was no recovery from it. They'd flipped the chessboard and flung the pieces into the fireplace.

He was too tired to process the screams and demands. He was too hungry to notice the gunman, robbing the cashier, the crazed look in his eye as he threatened the thin and lanky girl behind the register. The man yelled something about staying still, yet Hwangmo moved. Why did he move?

Without a thought, the man shot him directly in the chest. Bullseye. It was no empty threat he was making. Hwangmo's body trembled as it struggled to figure out what was going on. This wasn't the pain of hunger. This was the pain of fear. This was a bullet, sitting heavy in his flesh. This was blood pouring out his body too fast.

Inhale.

For a moment he paused, as everything began to shut down one by one. A single thought occupied his mind.

Exhale.

"Why didn't I think of that?"

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