It's endless, even if I try to run
I've fallen into a lie
Caught in a lie
Please find the me who was innocent
I can't escape from inside this lie
Please return my smile
Caught in a lie
Free me from this hell
I can't escape from this suffering
Please save me who's being punished
Thud!
If I wasn't already on the floor, I would've collapsed when I heard that sound.
Another one dead, because of me. . . .
Tears streamed down my face, but before they could fall off my cheeks, I wiped them away quickly. Could I ever grow used to it? To killing? The thought twisted my insides with a sick feeling. I wanted to grow used to it, to be able to end lives without such agonizing guilt sending pangs through my chest, to be comfortable with it, for my content, when innocent people suffered because of me. This was beyond selfish.
I was tired of it, so tired of carrying the burden of this guilt. Would this pain ever be over? Would this suffering ever end?
I could almost hear fate laughing at me and telling me, no.
My head drooped as a sigh slipped past my lips. How I wished I could go back to being your everyday ordinary loser. I still was a loser, but no longer ordinary. I was a killer.
Out of nowhere, something small and light hit my temple with a tck sound, and fell down to the floor. At first, I couldn't even find the object in the snow that blanketed the rooftop, making me wonder if I'd just imagined it. I looked up in the direction where it had come from to see a hooded figure on the roof of the building on the other side of the street, retreating into the dark of the night. When I could no longer see the person, my eyes automatically started searching for whatever had been sent to me, most probably with a flick of that very figure's fingers.
I could barely see anything with the moonless sky, so I started to feel through the snowy roof with my hands, hoping to find whatever that object was. A few seconds later, I was holding what felt like a piece of paper that was folded over as many times as it could be. Hesitantly, I unfolded it, wondering what this meant. But once I opened it up, I realised it was too dim to make out what was on it.
My lips pressed together. Who was this person? What did they want? Did they want to convey some message?
I looked up and around, and suddenly remembered the corpse in the alley down there. My heart clenched, emotions of immense remorse and guilt mixing with the need to get out of there. I had to go, I didn't even have the time to cry over my actions.
So I left, not forgetting to brush away the prints I'd created on the snow carpeting the rooftop.
—
Breathlessness took over me as I rushed down the stairs, making it into the last train back to Dolgoji in the nick of time. So much for getting back into bed before anyone noticed that something was off. Once I turned nineteen, I would be able to be out all night and no one would punish me for it.
Changkyun was there on one of the seats, one leg crossed over the other. His body language didn't seem to be the usual uncaring, instead, he had a stony expression on his face, that surprisingly got me a bit worried. About myself, of course, not him.
Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and I knew what it was for. I wanted to have a look at it myself first, but by better judgement, I just pulled the folded piece of paper out of my pocket and walked over to him before handing it over.
He unfolded it and as I'd thought, it was a message; there was something written on it with what very appallingly looked like blood. Changkyun's jaw clenched when he saw what it said, and before he crumpled it into a ball, I caught an upside-down glimpse of the words inked on it:
죽거나 후회하다
Die or regret.
My lips parted, a frown crinkling my forehead. Who would tell me that? One of the other candidates? Why didn't they just try to kill me instead? If it was another candidate, why did Changkyun look so pissed?
"Die or regret," I murmured, my gaze settling on his face. "What . . . who . . . why . . . ?"
He gestured me to sit, and I did, taking a seat across him. He stared at me for a few moments, seeming to be in deep thought, before finally sighing.
"Don't worry about it. Pretend you never got this message," he said, his tone as grim as his countenance.
"But what does it mean?" I asked.
"Nothing," he answered. "It's supposed to mean nothing. It's just one of my fellow clan mates threatening you, and other candidates, so that you guys get scared witless and chances of his own candidate making it through the Ritual increase. It's just a dirty trick he's playing that's not supposed to work."
I took a second to think it over, repeating all his words inside my head before making sense of it.
"So . . . this is normal?" I concluded. "This happens every Blood Season?"
He examined me for another moment, making me gulp, before speaking.
"Yes, it happens every Season."
—
That night in bed, something that should have struck me before hit my mind.
The boy who died tonight, the person to whom I was assigned as target. How did he know where to find me?
Sure, he had a headshot of me, with my place of residence and probable whereabouts, whatever the hell it was, written at the back. I wasn't in Seokgwan-dong, so it was definitely my probable whereabouts where it all happened tonight.
But how could these gang people pin-point Daejo-dong as my hangout spot? I'd visited that locality because it was written at the back of the photo that I had of the young girl, as her place of residence.
Wait, so that was the connection? That was what was meant by probable whereabouts? Mine was the neighborhood where my target lived, hers was the neighborhood where her target lived, and so on. Smart.
But I needed to be smarter. Now I knew what were the places that would be scrawled in bold black ink at the backside of my photo that would be given to whoever I'm assigned to in the future.
Now I knew exactly where I needed to be.
—
Out of all of the bad guys in my life, the only one that pissed me off instead of making me feel small or scared was none other than English.
I didn't get this society. Why was knowing English so necessary? I was Korean, and I knew Korean. Wasn't that much supposed to be enough? K-pop was popular worldwide, then why embrace the western culture? Why not propagate your own language and heritage more?
My mood wasn't particularly good as I hurled my English Literature textbook into my locker before banging it shut and twisting the key inside its hole to secure the lock. I was in my own fuming world, I guess, because it took me a whole second to realise what happened when I wrenched the key out.
One moment, it was in my hand, and the next, it just wasn't.
I blinked, turning right. There stood another browbeater with his sidekick, my key dangling from his thumb and index finger.
Like always, I felt miserable. But somehow, in the course of a moment, that misery morphed into helplessness, then desperation. Not at this situation, no. Life, it was so cruel, it had become so tormenting, and yet I couldn't escape it. Every small thing about it, every small detail, every rebuke that left my teacher's mouth, every cackle that left these bullies, every mocking look that Changkyun passed me, every drop of blood that left the bodies of those I killed. It all flashed past my mind, building up the load on my being till it almost became crushing.
Why? Why did I have to suffer so much? What had I ever done so wrong? Why not someone else, someone who at least deserved it a bit? Why me?
And then the desperation reshaped into anger.
My jaw tightened, fingers curling into bunches of fives as my gaze rose from the key and landed on his face.
"Give it back." For once, I didn't stutter. In a different situation, I would've taken it as an achievement, but right now, I was heated up.
"Well," he paused dramatically, pretending to consider. Then, "No."
They burst into laughter, glee evident on their faces. I felt a marginal need to smash something.
"What're you gonna do, go crying to Mama?" the sidekick snickered.
"Oh, wait, he has no Mama!" the one at the front faked realisation, and both of them chortled.
It just kept rising, the anger. I had to hold my breath to keep from doing or saying or shouting something that I might regret. It was unfair, so unfair, every bit of it. It wasn't my fault I had no parents. It's wasn't my fault that I was weak, that I was inferior, that I didn't fit into the 'boys don't cry' stereotype. Then why did I have to live through this misery? Why was I always stepped on?
Before the levels reached my head, I let go of the breath I was holding, and continued doing the only thing I'd ever done in these situations, the only thing that me, a weakling, was capable of doing.
Stay silent and bear.
—
"What happened that day, though?"
Jeongyeon went silent.
"What day." It didn't sound like a question.
"You know what day," I said. "When I pulled you out of the car's way."
Every time I brought up the topic, she'd start pretending deaf. That's what she did this time, too.
I heaved a sigh, already giving up before trying again. No matter how many times I repeated it, she just wouldn't respond, getting back to normal only when the subject changed.
"Christmas is coming," I mentioned. "Do you want a gift or some?"
"No," she murmured. She and her father don't celebrate. "If you do, I'll be obliged to get you a gift too. I'm too stingy and broke for that."
I smiled. "You don't have to."
"Neither do you," she said, looking down at her textbook.
"Are you even reading?" I questioned after a few seconds. "Yours eyes aren't moving along the lines."
The corners of her lips tugged upward. "Why do you have to be so observant when it comes to me? I told you, I don't like you back."
She earned a flick to her temple before breaking into a laugh, and given how contagious it was, I couldn't help but join.
—
That night, blood spilled once again.
I gnawed at my chapped lips as I trudged through the snowy alleys. It had been only a couple of days since the last time someone had died at my hands, and this one seemed too soon.
Instead of letting my depressing self-loathing thoughts get me, I concentrated on each step I placed on the powdery white flakes. Fortunately, the last time my predator-turned-prey had found me, I was right next to a fire escape, so I didn't have to run on the snow. Except when I had to stride on the roof to gain momentum before jumping to the next building. Those few strides were dicey, and I almost hadn't made it. But luck had been with me, because the rooftop I'd leaped onto was lower compared to the one I'd initially climbed. My thighs had collided with the edge, and before my body could slide off and fall, I'd quickly scrambled up onto the roof.
I was sticking to the hope that if it was difficult to run on snow, it'd slow down not only me, but also my chaser, cancelling out any advantages or disadvantages either of us could get.
But maybe bounding roof-to-roof wasn't that good of an idea in this climate. I had to keep that as a last resort, and make a new strategy for now.
It was mid-December, and it'd been about half a month since the Blood Season had begun. It usually lasted for a couple of months, so my guess was that this one would go on till February, tops. Snow remained till early March, so jumping buildings was out, in most cases. I was no ninja.
Avoiding confrontation seemed impossible now. I had to stay alert, but I wasn't sure about my instincts. They saved me once before didn't mean that I could always rely on them. I had to use them as a tool, not a means.
Yet another sigh blew past my lips, forming a tiny white cloud in front of my mouth before it disappeared almost immediately. Coming over to Daejo-dong had started feeling stupid. Every other candidate I'd encountered so far, except maybe the boy who was my first target, had been carrying around something to use as a weapon. Kitchen knife, pocket knife, the last one legit had a pair of scissors. If clashes were inevitable, it was better if I carried around some blade or something else to make us even. That was impossible if I travelled via subway, because of the security checkpoints at the stations. I had no other way to move around the city, though, so the only way I could bring some weapon around with me was by not using the subway at all. That way, I'd have to keep my radius limited to Seokgwan-dong, but at least I'd have a bit more of a chance. Plus, I wouldn't have to face the inconvenience of time restriction that came with the use of metro. That'd be more fitting. So next time onward, Seokgwan-dong it was.
I think for the first time, I tried not to feel terrible about it all, tried to resist the pangs of guilt that stabbed me, but then felt guilty about trying to resist in the first place. It tore down any walls I'd built up against the negative emotions in the few seconds, making all the remorse, self-hatred and dread hit me full on. So much, in fact, that my chest constricted, almost hurting, and my lips began to tremor. I stopped in my tracks, closing my eyes, hand pressed over my heart. A shaky breath slipped past my lips before it curled up into a fist. I wished that night had never happened. I wished I'd never gotten a new job, I wished I was never born. No, no. I couldn't think like that. If it weren't for me, where would Jeongyeon be? I didn't even want to imagine.
So I opened my eyes, and the moment I looked up in front of me, I staggered back, startled. A few feet in front of me, at the mouth of the alley, was a locked up vertical bar gate, separating the narrow tributary from its street. And on the other side on the gate, facing me straight on, stood a silhouette against the light coming from the lamppost on the other side of the street behind it.
It wasn't there before.
I stared at it in awe, at the perfect aesthetic of the position of the masculine figure. I couldn't exactly see his body, but the outline of it was enough to make out that he had a beautifully well-built physique.
Odd for a candidate.
How I already knew he was a candidate, I had no idea, but it was only when I heard the clang of his hand forcefully grabbing one of the metallic bars that I turned tail. My heart rate jacking up and adrenaline gushing into my bloodstream wasn't a new feeling anymore, but I still wasn't used to it. Maybe it wasn't something one could actually get used to. Swivelling my neck to take a glance back as I dashed, I saw that the figure had begun to shinny up the gate. It wouldn't take him long to reach the top, swing his legs over it, and land on his feet on my side of the metal rails. Still, I had a headstart, and I had to make use of it. So I looked ahead once again, paying attention to the way in front.
In the absence of a proper strategy, my mind and body clung onto the only actual plan I had- jumping buildings. Frantically, I started searching for a fire escape, any fire escape that reached the roof.
Running on the snow was tricky. The ground was uneven, and my soles sank a bit into friable texture with every step. It took more effort and muscle power than running on snowless asphalt, but I kept going. What was a handicap for me was a handicap for him.
When I spotted a suitable escape staircase- suitable meaning the first one I set my eyes on- I rushed over and seized the cold railing before hurrying up the steps, my shoes making clangour against the black metal. I was two levels up when I heard another pair of feet making noise similar to mine, and I knew he was hot on my heels. My pace sped up. That was one of the things I'd come to notice about trying to run from danger, or in most of my cases, death. It made you push your limits. When you thought that you couldn't go any faster, you often surprised yourself by doing exactly that. It was all a matter of how badly you wanted to escape.
Only when I was on the roof did I realise how severely I was panting. But it was almost over, all I had to do now was leap to the next building.
Taking a few deep breathes, I readied myself. There wasn't much time for the mental prep, so I didn't think before darting to the other side of the rooftop, gathering impetus. With the last stride, I bounded with all my might, my body cutting through the icy air, before landing on the other roof.
My eyes widened in amazement. This was definitely improvement. This was the first time I'd made a bona fide landing on my feet, and that too about a meter past the edge. My soles did glide a bit on the snow along with the touchdown, but it was a perfect leap. I was standing upright, safe and sound, on the other building. It was over now. It was over for the night.
I turned about to see that my prey had reached the rooftop of the other building, and was preparing to jump. My legs moved, taking long, firm backward steps, and stopped when I was at the centre of the roof. I watched as he strode for momentum, and my heart clenched. This was it. He was going to die now. He was going to make the leap, but he wasn't going to make it. Another one. I killed another one-
With a shocked gasp, I stumbled back.
He made it.
I watched in horror as he drew something out of his pocket, something indistinct and rectangular. He held it in one hand, like the hilt of a knife, and I heard an almost inaudible scraping sound as he placed his thumb on the flat of the object and slid it up along its length. And as he did, what looked like a small blade extended out of it, and that was when I realised what it was.
A stationery cutter.
I didn't have time to think before he charged, so I did the only thing I could; the moment he made the first strike, I jumped back, getting out of the cutter's way. We both looked at each other in astonishment, him because he wasn't expecting me to dodge, and me because I couldn't believe that I escaped intact.
And that was when he began hacking away like crazy.
With every slash, my body jerked, avoiding the blade. It was instinct kicking in again, there was no other explanation as to how I managed to move at the right time in the right direction. Swerving, ducking, backing away, at one point, I slipped and tumbled, my rear side hitting the floor, but before he could sink his weapon inside me or trap me between his limbs, I rolled away and picked myself up hastily, scrambling to the centre once again because I was too close to the verge.
Due to my sudden shift in position, his back was now facing me. Before I could even think of shoving him off the building, he spun around and launched himself at me, again.
I was able to dodge only two of his following attacks before the sharp of the cutter slitted across my torso.
My breath caught inside my throat in fright, the stinging sensation instantly spreading throughout the wound. Dead, I was dead. I was going to die. This was it, this was the end-
But my animal desire to survive said otherwise.
He went for my neck this time, putting all his strength into this one strike. Maybe because he thought that he'd been successful in petrifying me enough to hinder me from keeping up, and this one would be the deathblow. But I ducked just in time, the diagonal cut across my front already forgotten in the heat of the moment.
And then I made an impulsive move.
Or maybe it was more of instinctive, because it wasn't completely senseless. His armed arm was still mid-swing, more or less exposing his own trunk. So I rose, directing my elbow toward his ribs as I did. With all the energy left in my body, I slammed my bone against his.
The impact was harder than I'd expected, rendering the boy too stunned to react for a moment. He ended up on the floor with me over him, and what happened next took a mere second to occur, but was going to plague my mind for the rest of my life.
I don't know what drove me to do it. Maybe it was the desire to stay alive, or maybe the notion of kill or get killed that I assumed applied to me, but I wasn't thinking, at all.
One moment, the cutter was in his loose grip, then it wasn't. I was empty-handed, then I wasn't.
The blade wasn't inside his throat, then it was.
Blood wasn't specking my face and clothes, then it was.