THE RAIN HAD STOPPED, YET THE WORLD BEYOND SIYUN'S WINDOW REMAINED DRENCHED, GLEAMING WITH THE GHOSTLY REFLECTIONS OF STREETLIGHTS. (SFX: DRIP… DRIP… DRIP AS WATER SLID FROM THE EDGES OF THE ROOFTOP.) DROPS CLUNG TO THE GLASS LIKE UNFINISHED TEARS, REFUSING TO FALL, REFUSING TO LET GO.
HIS ROOM WAS SILENT. BUT IT WAS NOT A COMFORTING SILENCE—IT WAS THE KIND THAT STRANGLED, THE KIND THAT ECHOED LOUDER THAN ANY SCREAM COULD. (SFX: TICK… TICK… TICK FROM THE WALL CLOCK, EACH SECOND LIKE A HAMMER INSIDE HIS SKULL.)
SIYUN LAY SPRAWLED ACROSS HIS BED, HIS BODY HEAVY, HIS EYES LOCKED ON THE CEILING. HIS CHEST ROSE AND FELL IN UNEVEN RHYTHM. AND YET, NO MATTER HOW LONG HE STARED, NO MATTER HOW HARD HE TRIED TO THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE, HIS MIND WOULD NOT LET HIM ESCAPE. IT REPLAYED THE WOLF'S SMIRK. IT REPLAYED THE WORDS THAT HAD BRANDED THEMSELVES INTO HIS VERY BONES.
"IF I WERE YOU… I'D KILL MYSELF."
(SFX: ECHOING WHISPER, OVERLAPPING REPEAT — "KILL MYSELF… KILL MYSELF… KILL MYSELF.")
THE PHRASE DID NOT LEAVE HIM. IT GNAWED AT HIS CHEST LIKE A PARASITE, SINKING DEEPER EACH TIME IT CAME BACK. HE TURNED HIS FACE TO THE SIDE, SHUT HIS EYES TIGHT, YET THE VOICE WAS THERE, BEHIND HIS EYELIDS, IN HIS VEINS.
SLOWLY, HE SAT UP. HIS HEAD WAS HEAVY, LIKE A STONE BALANCED ON HIS SHOULDERS. HIS BREATH SHUDDERED AS HE LOOKED AROUND HIS ROOM. BOOKS STACKED UNEVENLY. NOTEBOOKS HALF-FILLED WITH NOTES. AN OLD STUFFED TOY THAT MINJI HAD GIVEN HIM YEARS AGO, A LITTLE RABBIT WITH A WORN STITCH ON ITS EAR. EVERYTHING FELT DISTANT. EVERYTHING FELT LIKE IT BELONGED TO SOMEONE ELSE. SOMEONE WHO WAS NO LONGER HIM.
"…WHEN DID I START LOSING EVERYTHING?" HIS VOICE WAS HOARSE, A LOW CRACK THROUGH THE SILENCE.
MEMORIES DRIFTED THROUGH HIS HEAD LIKE SHATTERED GLASS FLOATING IN WATER. HANA'S SMILE WHEN THEY STUDIED TOGETHER FOR THE FIRST TIME, GENUINE AND BRIGHT. MINJI'S UNCONTROLLABLE LAUGHTER WHEN HE PRETENDED TO BE A SCARY MONSTER TO CHEER HER UP. HIS MOTHER'S SHARP, LOVING SCOLDINGS WHEN HE SKIPPED MEALS BECAUSE HE WAS TOO BUSY HELPING OTHERS.
(SFX: FAINT LAUGHTER, DISTANT, LIKE AN OLD TAPE RECORDING. THEN A SHARP SNAP, LIKE TAPE BREAKING.)
THESE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WARM MEMORIES. YET NOW, POISONED BY THE WOLF'S WHISPERS, THEY CUT DEEPER THAN ANY KNIFE. THEY WERE NOT COMFORTS—THEY WERE WOUNDS. EACH MEMORY, ONCE A TREASURE, NOW FELT LIKE A KNIFE TURNING INSIDE HIS CHEST.
STAGGERING TO HIS FEET, SIYUN MOVED TOWARD THE SMALL MIRROR ON HIS DESK. THE GLASS WAS DULL, BUT ENOUGH TO REFLECT HIS FACE.
HE SAW A PALE BOY STARING BACK AT HIM. A BEATEN BOY. A STRANGER. HIS CHEEK STILL HELD A FAINT BRUISE FROM THE TRIP, THE PURPLE EDGES REFUSING TO FADE. HIS EYES WERE HOLLOW, RINGED WITH SHADOWS OF EXHAUSTION. HIS LIPS WERE CRACKED FROM DAYS OF NEGLECT.
(SFX: HEAVY BREATHING, SLOW, UNEVEN, MIXED WITH A QUIET DRIP OF WATER STILL LEAKING FROM HIS HAIR ONTO THE FLOOR.)
FOR A LONG MOMENT, HE JUST STARED. THEN, ALMOST AGAINST HIS WILL, HE WHISPERED TO THE IMAGE:
"…WHEN DID YOU BECOME… THIS MONSTER?"
THE REFLECTION DID NOT ANSWER. IT ONLY STARED BACK, COLD, ACCUSING. HIS OWN EYES LOOKED AT HIM AS IF THEY BELONGED TO SOMEONE ELSE. AS IF THEY WERE ASKING HIM: WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?
HIS HANDS TIGHTENED. HIS FISTS PRESSED AGAINST THE DESK SO HARD THAT THE MIRROR TREMBLED. (SFX: WOOD CREAKING, GLASS RATTLING.)
"I GAVE EVERYTHING," HE SPAT, HIS VOICE BREAKING. "I HELPED EVERYONE. I SACRIFICED SO MUCH. AND YET… AND YET…" HIS THROAT LOCKED. THE REST OF THE SENTENCE DIED BEFORE IT COULD ESCAPE.
(SFX: LOUD KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK! — A SUDDEN KNOCK ON HIS DOOR.)
HE FROZE. HIS HEART SKIPPED.
"OPPA…" MINJI'S VOICE. SOFT. TREMBLING. A THREAD HOLDING ITSELF TOGETHER. "PLEASE… OPEN THE DOOR."
THE SOUND OF HER VOICE WAS LIKE A RAY OF SUNLIGHT THREATENING TO BREAK THROUGH THE CLOUDS. IT CARRIED THE SAME INNOCENCE THAT ONCE KEPT HIM BREATHING.
"I KNOW YOU'RE HURTING," SHE CONTINUED. HER WORDS MUFFLED BY THE WOOD BETWEEN THEM. "BUT… DON'T PUSH ME AWAY. DON'T PUSH US AWAY. I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU TOO."
(SFX: HER VOICE CRACKS, FOLLOWED BY A QUIET SOB SHE TRIES TO SWALLOW.)
SIYUN'S HAND TREMBLED ABOVE THE DOORKNOB. HIS FINGERS TWITCHED, WANTING TO TURN IT, TO OPEN THE DOOR, TO LET HER IN. HIS LIPS PARTED, HIS BODY DESPERATE TO SPEAK, TO CRY OUT, TO TELL HER HELP ME.
BUT NOTHING CAME. NOTHING. HIS THROAT WAS A KNOT OF IRON. HIS CHEST HEAVED BUT NO WORDS FORMED.
THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED WAS LOUDER THAN HER PLEA.
"OPPA…" SHE WHISPERED ONE LAST TIME. (SFX: FAINT KNOCKS… SLOWER NOW, ALMOST PLEADING.) HER SMALL FISTS BEAT LIGHTLY AGAINST THE DOOR—NOT IN ANGER, BUT IN DESPERATION. THEN, FINALLY, THEY STOPPED.
FOOTSTEPS. SLOW. DRIFTING AWAY. (SFX: FADE OUT OF HER FOOTSTEPS INTO THE DISTANCE.)
THE HOUSE GREW STILL ONCE MORE.
SIYUN STOOD MOTIONLESS, PARALYZED IN FRONT OF THE DOOR. HE COULD FEEL HIS HEART SLAMMING AGAINST HIS RIBS, BEGGING HIM TO MOVE. BEGGING HIM TO OPEN IT. BUT HIS BODY BETRAYED HIM. THE WEIGHT OF HIS CHOICE, HIS COWARDICE, HIS SELF-HATRED—IT CRUSHED HIM WHERE HE STOOD.
AT LAST, WITH DEAD LEGS, HE RETURNED TO THE MIRROR. HIS REFLECTION MET HIM ONCE MORE. THIS TIME, IT FELT EVEN COLDER. EVEN MORE DETACHED.
"…YOU DON'T DESERVE THEM," HE MUTTERED. HIS VOICE WAS BARELY AUDIBLE, LIKE A CONFESSION MEANT ONLY FOR HIMSELF. "YOU DON'T DESERVE… ANYONE."
(SFX: DISTANT RUMBLE OF THUNDER, EVEN THOUGH THE RAIN HAD STOPPED. A WARNING. A SHADOW.)
THE NIGHT STRETCHED ON. HOURS FELT LIKE DAYS. THE AIR IN HIS ROOM GREW HEAVIER, DROWNING HIM, CHOKING HIM. HE SAT ON THE FLOOR, HIS BACK AGAINST THE DESK, HIS EYES LOCKED ON THE DARK WINDOW WHERE DROPS STILL CLUNG.
EVERY SOUND WAS A TORTURE. THE CLOCK'S TICK. THE CREAK OF THE WOODEN FRAME. THE WIND SCRAPING AGAINST THE GLASS. HE HEARD THEM ALL, AND YET NONE OF THEM MATTERED.
ALL THAT MATTERED WAS THE WOLF'S VOICE, STILL SNAKING THROUGH HIS HEAD.
"IF I WERE YOU… I'D KILL MYSELF."
HE CLOSED HIS EYES. THE WORDS STAYED. HIS FISTS CLENCHED UNTIL HIS NAILS DREW BLOOD. (SFX: SMALL DROP… DROP… OF BLOOD HITTING THE FLOOR.)
IT WAS INDEED… THE LONGEST NIGHT OF HIS LIFE.
AND SOMEWHERE IN THAT ENDLESS DARKNESS, SOMETHING DEEP WITHIN HIM WHISPERED BACK:
"MAYBE HE'S RIGHT."
(SFX: FADE TO SILENCE. CLOCK TICKING STOPS. NOTHING REMAINS BUT THE SOUND OF HIS BREATH, SLOW AND BROKEN.)