I NEED YOU. [✔]

Depression's Plan

As time went on, I got more and more depressed. I was going to leave all the people in my life that mean something to me behind. I don't even know if my appa knew I was dying. He was probably fucking some stripper in New York. I didn't want to know what he was doing. I didn't want anything to do with him. And he didn't want anything to do with me.

My eomma got a lot of money. But we couldn't spend any of it. She counted the money in this big jar, recounting during her one hour break from work. She didn't sleep for weeks. And as each day passed, she got paler and paler, weaker and weaker. Her wage got lower as her range of work was decreased, until she got fired. And it crushed her more than my appa leaving her. Because in her eyes, she would have saved me. But now she couldn't.

After half of my time had passed, I had got used to the constant sadness of my eomma. But I asked her how much she had raised.

"£500.." was her answer. I was shocked. We had never had that much money, not since appa ran of. But eomma still wouldn't let us spend the money. The money couldn't be used in secret, because she was constantly counting it up, crying.

But my plan needed the money. My plan, while risking not seeing my family when I eventually do die, is bulletproof. (RrAAaRrrRR RrAAaRrrRR) And I will be able to carry it out. Because I had been through a lot. At that point in time, nothing scared me more than death. And I wasn't very scared of that now anyway. Because I thought me dying was inevitable.

I was halfway through my time to live. In two weeks, BTS had their last performance before the time I was given. But, no surprise, it was in Seoul. Goddamn South Korea. Why'd you have to be so far away? Why couldn't Korea be where France is or something? It's a lot easier to swim the channel than to swim across the planet.

The only way to get there was simple. Steal. Who from? The money my eomma raised is more than enough. I'll take some of it, enough for a flight, and leave them with some money. Simple pimple. Get the money, leave. Only I can't take enough to have a place to stay unless I'm giving up on the concert-fanmeet-thingy with BTS. But that's the whole point of going so I guess I'll have to wing it.

The funniest thing is that I only came up with the idea because of my many hours blanking the kids, just sitting and ignoring them. It was hard but it helped me have the time to think up my plan. So through depression I got a chance at happiness. Kind of ironic really.

Secretly, I collected bags, plastic and dumped ones, from everywhere I could get them. I began packing my clothes into the bags, my eomma never noticing because of her long work hours, until all of my personal possessions where packed up in plastic bags. Three bags. Which really says something about much I owned.

One week to the performance. Using the phone, I booked a flight from an airport nearby, and it left two days before the concert. I would get there early morning of the day. Nothing was going to stop me. Nothing.

The day came for the flight. I woke early and told eomma I loved her. She was surprised, but hugged me tightly. And I thought about how this would be the last time I would be able though the woman that had raised me.

"Saranghae, eomma." I said, and I heard my voice crack. I turned away before she could see the tears. Because if she did, I would never have been able to leave her.

The day went by fast. I played with the kids, but at 19:30 I told Yeji that she was in charge. My bags in hand, I walked away from the place I had lived for my whole life.

And I couldn't hide my tears this time.  There were too many.

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OK this was award one to write. But I thought I would include this picture to kill you more, unless you dintknow what mystic messenger is, but it's still sad. Imma go die in a corner for a bit.

Bai