About

I wake up to the same miserable sunlight today. Seeing how quiet it is, my father must have headed out. I drag my heavy body into the living room. My feet make a sticky, squelching sound as I walk across the floorboards, damp from the rainy season. In the living room, I spot the leftover soju my father drank yesterday, surrounded by scattered shards of broken glass. "Sigh..." As I quietly clear away the glass, a broken frame in the corner catches my eye. Inside is a photo of a happy, smiling family. Seven years ago, in the summer, my mother died. I don't know what there was to steal in this dump, but a burglar broke in looking for valuables. He trashed the place and killed my mother while she was sleeping. After losing her, it was just me and my father. He became addicted to alcohol and cigarettes, and I eventually started smoking during my school years too. After cleaning up the glass and the frame, I throw on whatever clothes are lying in the corner and head outside.