Mr. Villain | kth | ✓ (unedited)

|Final year|

0 1. F i n a l y e a r

I rose to my feet, angrily thrusting my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt. I glanced at the wall clock only to find myself sinking deeper in the ocean of petulance.

"Oh, freak! I'm late." I squeaked as I jumped three feet in the air. Not today, please...

"Dasom, where are you? Aren't you going to university?" The voice drifted faintly from the kitchen.

I hung my sweatshirt on the peg with one hand and simultaneously pulled my jeans up, slipping into the tennis shoes before leaving my room.

In the kitchen, ten-year-old Jongi was slumping on the bar stool as he was eating his cereal at the kitchen table, lost in his own world of anime-playing on the mini laptop. Mom was cooking something on the stove. She had a thin, mild face and light flyaway hair pushed back untidily. I ran towards her, taking her in my embrace.

"Oh, my sweet smelling Mom," I said under my breath, after sinking my face in the nape of our neck. She tinkled pink after hearing the laudable comment.

Obviously, there were countless reasons for making her feel elevated every now and then. Waking up early in the morning even before the sun is up and doing the household chores, the course is quite demanding. It requires energy, willpower and also unconditional love. I loved the way she had completely dedicated herself to the family. So I never missed any chance of appreciating her true talent.

Increasingly, many men are becoming passive in the home. They've decided that the easiest thing to do is nothing. The simplest thing-with the smallest risk-is to stay on the fence with both feet firmly planted in mid-air and let the wife do it. And, my father at times actively represent's such specter of population.

I had Daddy issues too, on the complaining side about my father. He had been a supportive Dad but never really brought out his distinguishing feature in broad daylight.

"Whereas, you smell like a rotten egg." She added, pushing me aside to reach out to keep the smoky leftover pieces of the meatballs at the table.

"Mom! Don't say that." I retaliated in a higher pitch.

"No Mom. She smells like a fart, to be exact," he walked past me with an empty bowl in his hand, covering his nose with the other hand, perfectly matching to the cliché role of an annoying brother we see on the TV. He liked to put me down and eagerly waited for the right time, just like how a lion hunts his prey by planting a fiendish plan his mind.

"Jongi! Hold your tongue or else I will shove father's iron spade in your mouth and you will die seeing me eat all your favorite chocolate cookies." I warned him, attaining more confidence as I felt the tension embedding in him.

"Mom! Look what she just said." He pretended as if my words hit him hard in front of my mother, hanging onto her arm like a poor baby.

"Dasom, eat your breakfast before it gets cold." She commanded from the other corner of the kitchen. He gave me a middle finger salute behind her back, sticking out his tongue in addition to his paradoxical actions.

I scoffed at the younger's physical gesture, internally mocking at the urbanity these kids are adapting to.

I settled myself on the chair, grabbing my cheese sandwich as I pulled my cell phone out of my jean's pocket. My eyes literally came out of their sockets as I saw 20 missed calls accompanied by 15 messages on my SNS from Nari and Jimin.