𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗗• 𝗦. 𝗞𝗔𝗡𝗚

𝑡 ℎ 𝑟 𝑒 𝑒

-the game of wealth

[Y u n  R y u n g]

The card flipped between my fingers. The card board skimmed the skin of my palms as I gripped it tightly into the base of my hands. Pondering with the thoughts that had ceased to settle in my mind.

Carving themselves further into my skull. Until it taunts me to death.

After the last 3 hours I have gotten a call from both the children's shelter and the bank. Both baring news of due debts and missing visas. And a reminder from the owner of my yet-to-be-paid bills.

I have tried to get the money, I have gotten the money. But each time. The reminder of that feeling that drives me insane. That feeling that devours me when  I feel the thrill of gambling. Risking every inch and corner of your life until you are really left with nothing. Or that thought of having everything but at the price of starting with nothing. That's what keeps on urging me back. Tying itself to the chain of sins that trailed behind me.

010-034

The material of the card stings the pad of my finger. As I trace the numbers.

My legs falling out of the sheets of my bed, leaning towards my desk. Reaching for the blank envelope that sat in my draws. I place the money into the envelope, labelling it on behalf of the owner, a reminder for once I get back.

The phone in my hands clammy as I jump on the spot. The shiver spine radiates all the way down the rims of my body. Leaving it's lethal scars down me.

"Fuck it."

Never once in my life have I not ever felt pain. A pain that somehow never went away. It wasn't like a paper cut. It didn't heal, it only fades. It fades for a moment only to return  back to the way it was. It returns to its malice ways, as pain loads onto my shoulders. Drawing each and every emotion from my body until I can no longer bare it anymore. The pain is consistent, it doesn't stop. It's continuous. It's worse here, it only gets worse from there.

Because even when you think you get a fresh start. You don't. Because the pain is still there. And the pain will never leave. It's a reminder. A scar that's never healing.

The phone buzzes for a moment. Before the line picks up. "Hello."

"Hi, I'm the woman who got your business card this afternoon." I state. The octaves in my voice drop. "Do you wish to participate in the game? If you wish to participate please state your name and birthdate."

Not even seconds later I'm outside my apartment. My jacket keeping the warmth secluded.

I balance on the tip of my toes, aimlessly searching the roads.

A van pulls to the curb. The window sliding down in an abnormally slow rate. I feel my breath hitch as I stare at the masked man. His suit stuck against his torso and his mask frail and dented.

Even so, even past the questions and the weird phone calls everything. I still don't regret a thing. Maybe because the blood that still stains my fingertips has finally drove me crazy.

Or because money is the only thing that's keeping me sane.

"Miss.Yun Ryung?"

-"yes?" I waver for a moment. Sliding my pocket knife into the wrist hold of my jacket.

"The password?" The masked man asks in a monotone voice. "Red light, green light." 

The door slides open. The front and back seat filled with fallen people. My nose scrunches before sliding in closely to the side of the window.

This isn't normal, I tell myself. Yet the voice in my head keeps telling me different. My hope is that they are, actually asleep. Hoping that whoever this man that sits in front isn't a mass murderer.

I didn't ask questions. To lazy to open my mouth as I just lean further against the closed door. The smoke starting fill the van. As the abyss of fog covers the shades of my eyes. My senses blocked, feeling my state of mind steadily fading.

----

My toes wiggle in the rough fabric of my shoes. The unknown aroma widens my eyes. The memories that had painted itself in my vision, awakening me into a dreary state.

The classical music in the background deafening to my ears. Easing sounds of chatter being an odd source of comfort to my aching body. The cyan tracksuit loose.

"Breathable." I tell myself. Everything was scarily the same. Everything but the numbers that embroidered themselves into the fabric. "066?" I mutter. My dampened lips stick together.

I travel slowly down the step. "You bitch!" A voice echos throughout the warehouse. My instinct is almost immediate to follow the circle that had formed in the centre of the room.

"Hey! Geez. Didn't think I'd run into you in here. Look at those eyes. Your temper hasn't changed. Then again, you're not the type to wuss out. Just from a couple of blows. I fed you, put a roof over your head, even taught you my skills, and you stab me in the back?"

I could only see his back. Yet that was enough to show me the type of person he was.

Sloppy, feeds of those who he thinks vulnerable. Craves power by taking it from others. He is what I call weak. We come in forms of different weaknesses but this is a type so low, not even the bare soil on my feet could stand it.

That is because he achieves off other's accomplishments. He indulges into others glory. Just for a taste of his own.

—"you already took more than what I owe."

The girl on the other hand. Harder to read. Her face stoic. As her actions. She's deadpanned. That's something dangerous in this world. Because no trace of emotion will lead you to not a single motive. Or give you an intake of what type of person they are. She is the meaning of total opposite compared to 101.

-"If you're so confident, why did you run away?"  He sneers. His chuckle scrunches the wrinkles on his face.

-"I didn't run away I just went independent." Her shoulder slouch further. Her bangs covering her eyes, as the strands fall past her eyebrows. The delicate freckles that kissed her cheeks, gives her a more softer, feminine look. But yet somehow it makes her more charming, much more masculine in a way. Her features fierce, structured into a tougher exterior. Much like the emotions that had yet to seep through.

101 holds back his laugh. His chest staggers back the chuckles that erupt in his stomach. "What?" He leans back slightly. Looking back out to the crowd that stood in awe as they watch the scene unfold.

He throws his punch. She quickly dodged it. Stepping back slightly. Prepping her position in a folded stand. The man grabs her by the collar. Sweeping 067 off her feet. Curling herself into a ball.

Her feet shuffle against the ground, trying to return back to her feet. But she's pushed across the floor. His feet meet with her ribcage. As her breaths compress tightly in her lungs. Enclosing her into a breathless and taken state.

He grabs the scalp of her hair. Pulling at the roots of her short strands.

I was about to help her. But the rule I have learned is that you never go up against anyone before calculating their fighting patterns first. Like what move they would first make, what position they take. And their punch grip.

-"independent? You think you're Yu Gwan-sun or something? Go out and wave the national, flag then. oh, right. You're from the north, so wave the North Korean flag.

"Pathetic."