Before Autumn, After Spring By BBAgon

Chapter 3: We have something important to tell you.

A man in an office space raises his hand to read the time. 7 p.m. displayed on a beautiful Seiko watch. Crisp and sharp dials on an exquisite deep green face, with thin silvery hands ticking away the seconds in elegance and precision. The man absolutely adored his favourite wristwatch. It was a lot of things to him and also a lot of things about him. A Seiko Presage Cocktail the Mockingbird was its full register as is exactly how he would describe it to anyone who asks of its name. It to him defines both refinement and self-awareness. Not at all the prime top shelf of the brand's product line but surely a longstanding iconic friend to a man with premium tastes but realistic aspirations. He despised the likes of the Grand Seikos and the undoubtedly luxuriously vain Credors, not because he couldn't afford it, which he actually could, but because of the fact that to him they were irritatingly unnecessary and vile, fit for people with too much money but too little class. Watches like that were for greedy people. Uncivilised people. Dissidents who relish in disobeying normality. Pompous, arrogant rebels who take pride in displaying their temporary privilege and luck. Or so the fact that wearing one might get government agents banging on his door one day. A quiet knock on his cubicle wall distracts him. Two arms then hung overhead, a familiar face sneering at him from above. He looks up and knowingly raises his hand to receive an envelope. Opening it, the contents first delights him, and then disgusts him.

"Alright. Thank you." He says as he hands his guest a fat white envelope in return. His guest happily leaves. He leans back into his chair. He looks at the pictures again and slides them into a file. Interesting. After months of dry spell, why now? He contemplates his next step and rubs the face of his wristwatch anxiously.

...

There was to be no shouting, Exy made it clear in the beginning. There was to be no wailing and crying either, she had said. Early warnings meant as appetisers to the main meal, which in the end was more of a cockroach in the introductory bread basket, much to Seola's disapproval. She had specifically told Exy to appear as calm as possible, to not alarm the kids before the meeting commenced, to not do anything really, before the bomb was dropped. Her requests fell on deaf ears, it seems, Exy forgot all of it as soon as the members entered the house one by one. As usual, they were merry and oblivious. Cracking jokes and enjoying each other's company. Perhaps it was too much for Exy. Like a shepherd with sheep she released the hounds and regained control. Fun time was over and it was time for order and quiet. She immediately bellowed that this was a serious meeting and laid out the ground rules like a drill instructor to snot-running privates. Subtlety was entirely out of the question. She was a living breathing air raid siren, blaring the call of danger to anyone with ears. Exy was single-handedly dooming the whole meeting into an eminent disaster, the kids now thoroughly spooked and tensions just shy of climaxing into a choir of nervous breakdowns.

"We have something important to tell you. It's not good news." She had said. Shakily, with a voice so grim and monotonous, people would think she was giving a eulogy. Immediately shadows casted on each and every one of their faces. For Seola it was no less than a proper facepalm moment. For god's sake Chu Sojung, I'm not dead yet! They were off to such a horrible start that it was hard for her to not take it all in the slightest humorous way. If not for the chronically mournful mood in the room, she would've broken out in laughter. The graveness of it all, the severity, somehow made her ticklish. No doubt it was her defence mechanism kicking in, using humour to block out the tears.

In truth she had no right in the least to poke fun at the situation or her friend. Exy's generosity had granted her the luxury of taking the back seat while her friend bears the stress of communicating the bad news. If it was up to her... Well, if it were up to her, there wouldn't even be a meeting. There wouldn't even be 'news'. Things would've been kept in, sealed and hidden. For as long as possible. Like a rotting body in an attic. Exy was doing miles better than anything she could've done. In this case though, her friend was out of her element, shaking and stuttering, twisting about words and mumbling unrelated things. But she did the job. The message was delivered loud and clear. Coherence and clarity achieved. A wave of temporary relief washed over Seola like a passing cool breeze in the sweltering summer. The kids were processing the words, she could see. They understood the sentences perfectly. What was left was just the customary shock, disbelief and denial.