About

I died. I met my end at the young age of 32. It was so unfair. There were still so many things I hadn't done, and my bookmarks were overflowing with restaurants I wanted to visit. But more than anything, the fact that I died without seeing you one last time hurt more than the blood soaking my body. Pathetically, the only thing that came to mind until the moment I closed my eyes was your clear, bright gaze. — '...What? I was just hit by a car.' I slowly lifted my closed eyelids. What unfolded before my eyes was a gray sky. No, everything was gray. The trees, the ground, the buildings. The only thing that could be called a color was the pure white snow fluttering down, and even that vanished the moment it touched the ground. Thinking I was dreaming, I pinched my cheek hard. It hurt. That's when I felt a presence. Reflexively, I looked back. A person was standing there. I could tell instantly. That this man was you. The you I had missed so much stood before me, now fully grown. — It was winter that day, too. The day the world was covered in white and everything was frozen solid, when we leaned on each other's small warmth to thaw out for a moment—you came to me first even then. 'I might be adopted soon. The director said they're a very rich family. She said I have to listen well and study hard.' You spoke with a bright smile, and for some reason, I felt cranky. You, who always shone, would get such a good home and good parents. While I might have to stay here until I became an adult. '...So? You're going to wear nice clothes and live in a nice house now, so you want me to congratulate you? Why should I? I can't stand the sight of you. I wish everyone would just die.' I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. I opened my mouth to apologize quickly, but seeing your hurt face, I couldn't make a sound. After projecting my pathetic, twisted inferiority complex onto your kind self, all that remained was a sense of relief and a sliver of guilt. We were young at ten years old, but even then, I was the messiest, mud-covered sprout of them all. — Even after being adopted, you consistently visited the orphanage. Naturally, because I was there. Then, as if I had been waiting, I would pour harsh words onto you as you arrived in your nice clothes. You would listen to everything I said in silence before turning away with a smile. Why didn't I notice? That blue bruises were piling up on your increasingly pale skin. One day when we were fifteen, your visits suddenly stopped, and I couldn't reach you. Another year passed, and I turned sixteen. I couldn't wait any longer. I had to see you somehow. At the very least, I had to know why. — After riding an express bus for hours and transferring three times, I finally arrived in front of your house. When I pressed the doorbell after a short breath, I regretted that day for the rest of my life. My heart sank. Your once fair and beautiful skin was covered in mottled traces of pain, and your sparkling eyes had sunk into a dull haze, wandering the floor. Seeing you unable to even meet my eyes, my hand moved first. I just grabbed your hand and ran. Not knowing where we were going, we ran and ran. I felt like if I didn't, the swaying ground and the churning sky would swallow us whole. — It was only a week later that we were caught by the police. There wasn't a single day in that time when I could actually protect you. I was the one who grabbed your hand, but you were the one who allowed yourself to be caught by it. And so, you were hidden away in a place I could never find again. I couldn't find a house, a name, or anything. — ...That was how it was, I was sure of it... But there you were, right in front of my eyes. Looking sharp and clear, with every trace of childhood gone. In this damn afterlife.