A/N:
This story is based on a song, Big Bang's Lies. (MV at the side)
It's not the usual, but I hope it's interesting enough. I actually wrote it as an English essay, but my teacher rejected it because it was too long (1700++ words).
And of course, the title of the essay was: Lies.
Hope you guys will enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it! :D
(P.S. Btw, the cover's from the MV, I screenshot and edited the photo. It's GD's hand. I think.)
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He sprinted along the dull black concrete, occasionally kicking away the beer cans and flyers littering the road. He darted expertly around the narrow alleys, navigating through the numerous twists and turns. His breath was loud and quick, short pants that hastened along with the pace of his footsteps. Almost there… he thought. His speed never slowed until he reached a particular corner, where a lone public telephone hung from the grimy walls.
He grabbed the receiver and placed a few coins into the slot, all in one fluid movement. The clinking of the coins echoed in that strangely silent street. Without hesitation, callused fingers pressed the familiar number. It was all quiet except for the dialling tone ringing and the heavy pants he emitted, breathless from the run. He glanced around anxiously, willing for that person to pick up the phone as the ringing continued.
In a small, dimly-lit bedroom, a woman gasped when her mobile phone rang. Was she expecting a call? She rummaged through her shiny gold handbag, unable to locate her phone, and poured out the entire bag’s contents onto the bed. Lipstick, cosmetics, a wallet, keys, tissues, and an assortment of other items scattered across the crumpled crimson bed sheets, and she frantically scrambled through the items until finally, she found her mobile phone. She stared at the screen – it was from a private number – and hesitated for a moment before quickly flipping it open and putting it next to her ear.
“Hello?” She spoke, her eyes bright with tears and anticipation. There was no reply. “Hello?” She tried again, but there was only silence on the other end. She gave a small sigh and pressed the ‘end’ button, slowly lifting the phone away from her ear.
The receiver was hanging from the telephone, still swaying to and fro as two police officers handcuffed the man, holding him tight as he struggled and glanced back at the telephone. Despite the officers dragging him away, his eyes never left that telephone.
Meanwhile, the woman stuffed all her belongings back into her handbag, disappointment evident in her face as she left the room in a frenzy. She strode along hastily, as if she were in a hurry to get somewhere, her heels clicking along the stone pavement in the same frantic rhythm.
She walked past the grungy blocks of apartments, the gloomy atmosphere further dampening her already miserable mood. She turned a corner, entering a certain block, with a nervous glance thrown back as she walked past the broken elevator, the abandoned units, up the creaky stairs to the third floor. She arrived at the faded door of apartment 303, pausing as she placed a manicured hand on the handle. A feeling of dread crept under her skin but she ignored it and pushed down.
A strong stinging odour greeted her nose as she entered apartment 303, she realised that the apartment had been cleaned with bleach. The living room was generally neat and clean, besides the masking tapes lining the floor, the only evidence of the chaos that happened just a few hours ago. The tapes formed two shapes, one of a man and another of a small irregular object. If one looked closely, one could faintly make out the outline of a...pineapple.
The woman stepped into the sparsely furnished room cautiously, her eyes darting here and there. At the sight of the outline of the man, she dropped her handbag onto the floor. She closed her eyes, wincing as a throbbing headache overtook her mind. Flashes of painful and unwanted memories emerged, memories that she had tried to suppress and lock away. It felt like fragments of broken glass were piercing through her head, and she gave out a shriek of pain as the events replayed in her mind.
They were arguing again, the woman and her boyfriend. They were yelling at one another, shouting out insults and vulgarities. He barked out a list of obscenities at her, pushing her backwards as he did so. Each push made her stagger a little, and as she was regaining her balance, a hand slapped her. Her cheek stung and she stared incredulously at him as he slapped her again with more force. She wept bitterly inside, each insult felt like an additional slap on the face.
A fist collided with her nose and she felt like it was on fire. She tasted blood in her mouth, and realised that the sticky red liquid was coming from her bleeding nose. She could not take it anymore.
With a sudden courage, she screamed, “I wish I never met you!” She realised she was the one pushing now, as she gave him a hard shove, causing his back to hit the wall. The shock expression on his face gave her some sort of pleasure, and fed the rage that was building in her. Her right hand swept across the windowsill, grabbing the first object she could seize – a pineapple, just as he got up and prepared to cuff her. The pineapple came flying down towards that man’s head before he could hit her. There was a sickening thud sound as they collided, and the man gave a cry of pain. (Seriously, a pineapple can kill.)
It was not enough for the starving fury inside her. She hit him once more, payback for the slaps that he gave her just a moment ago, and another, for the many nights he returned home drunk and hit her. She did not realise how her blows got harder and more violent each time she smashed the flowerpot against his head, and how she could not seem to stop. ‘Blinding rage’ seemed like an appropriate term as she beat at him incessantly, anger and revenge on her mind the whole time.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that he was not moving, not fighting back. The blood pooling around him and his bloody, battered face seemed like the only things she could see. She looked at her own bloodstained hands in horror, dropping the lethal weapon in an instant. The pineapple rolled a short distance before coming to a stop as it knocked gently against the leg of the coffee table.
She dropped onto her knees and shook his lifeless body roughly, shouting “Wake up!” repeatedly. When that failed, she willed with all her mind for him to be alive as she put her ear to his chest. To her dismay, there was no heartbeat.
The realisation that she had killed someone dawned upon her and she backed away from her boyfriend immediately, shaking her head as if she could not believe that she was the one who murdered him. What have I done? She thought. What have I done?
With trembling hands, she reached into her handbag, groping around blindly until she felt the smooth buttons of her mobile phone. She took it out, sobbing and shaking violently from the shock, and dialled the number that she remembered by heart.
Within painstaking long minutes, he appeared, his face a mixture of shock and sadness. He pulled her up from her kneeling position and dragged her to the door, pushing her outside as he muttered a few sentences in a monotonous voice.
“Leave this place and don’t come back. Go home, wash yourself up and burn your clothes. Go.” He shut the door, not giving her a chance to protest. He could hear her rushed footsteps as she obeyed his instructions.
He leaned against the wooden door, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment. He knew what he was going to do would cost him. Yet, he reopened his eyes, took a deep breath and headed towards the corpse. He placed his hands into the huge pool of blood it was slumped in, then smeared the blood all over his face, clothes, body… He made sure it looked like he was the murderer.
The woman snapped out of her recollection, remorse finally hitting her. She put her hands to her head, thinking, what have I done? She turned around, dashing out of the room in a hurry, leaving her bag behind. She ran and ran for her dear life until she reached the main road where the cars were plentiful.
Without wasting time, she hailed a taxi and slid into the worn-out leather seat, uttering her destination to the middle-aged taxi driver, who looked at her panicked expression curiously. At her request, he drove as speedily as possible, running a few red lights and earning a couple of loud honks.
They reached the destination in good time, although the woman almost had a heart attack from the jarring ride. She realised that she did not have her wallet with her, it was in her handbag, which she left at the apartment. Thankfully for her, she had some spare cash in her pocket. She paid the driver with a huge tip, and jogged up the stairs leading to the prison, her heart beating restlessly.
Finally, after all the registration and paperwork, she was allowed to enter. The room was small, and there was a partition in the middle. She walked to the glass, filled with guilt. She tried to assure herself by telling herself it was not her fault. It's not my fault. It never was.
Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew she was lying to herself.
From the shadows, the man appeared, head bowed low. His eyes were glued to the floor, and he only looked up once he reached the partition and was standing right in front of her.
He placed his hand where hers was, separated by the glass, and he looked at her and said through the intercom, “I’m so sorry, but I love you.”
She stared at him, eyes brimming with tears. ‘I should be the one saying sorry’, she wanted to say, but she mouthed out the words, her voice failing her.
“I killed him, I have to suffer the consequences.” Lies.
The one who should be paying the consequences is me. She confessed in her mind, the guilt eating her up. But he started the fight, he hit me first. It wasn’t really my fault, was it?
Lies.
“Look, everything’s gonna be alright, don’t worry.” He smiled and whispered, his hand leaving an imprint on the glass as he took a few steps backwards.
Lies.