I Am Your Breath - Short Story

I Am Your Breath

I lived in South Korea for a year, teaching English to some bright and intelligent (sometimes oppositional) students. It was a Tuesday when I decided to take a trip for some necessary relaxation. I decided to go east, to the Sea of Japan. My students reminded me that it was called the East Sea in Korea.

It started with a bullet train, weaving and speeding through the mountainous terrain of Gangwon-do. I travelled along the base of Seoraksan, her towering stone faces passing by the reinforced glass, reaching Gangneung station on Saturday afternoon.

It was hot that day, much too hot for spring.

The sweating cab driver attempted to explain his sentiments about the heat to me in broken English. He drove me through and around the countryside. Spring was transitioning to summer. The ground littered with feathery pink leaves from the cherry blossoms.

The 'Eastern Castle Pension,' my hotel, sat on the edge of the beach. The owners were an old couple, the wife spoke English. With several smiles and nods, they upgraded my room and brought me coffee. They offered to drive me back to the train station the next day.

She left me to the calm, unruffled state of the room.

I pulled back the chiffon curtains to reveal the placid blue of the ocean. The white stone balcony overlooked the expansive horizon of the East Sea. I could smell the salt.

After drinking instant coffee from a floral mug, I went down to the beach. I stepped my runners into the sand, immediately sinking into the blanket of tan.

It was quiet.

The tide floated in, painting the sand with dampness, singing with rhythmic 'whooshes.' I walked, slipped and stuttered in the unevenness of the terrain. I could see up ahead, more people and some kind of bridge.

Upon closer inspection, I realized the bridge connected to an island of rocks. Tourists were taking selfies, children analyzed the sea life that pooled between the rocks. The locals fished with broken rods.

I climbed my way through the rocks, stepping over abandoned plastic and metal. I picked up a piece of litter, a coffee can that had rusted around its lip. I held it in my palm and I sat as close to the water as I could, listening to the water rush against the rocks

And I couldn't speak. Due to the language barrier, I couldn't shame those that had left litter behind. I couldn't tell them that what they were doing was killing the thing that fostered their hobbies and livelihood. I could only lay quiet in the aluminum and plastic tornado that was forgotten on this island. And in that moment, I was sea life.

I was the turtle stuck in the plastic rings, the fish choking on a cotton swab. I was the heart, the life being strangled, squeezed and unable to yell and scream for them to stop.

I have no voice. Stop killing me. For, I am your breath.