How to Be Human [EDITING]

19 | the art of the unattainable

19

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THE WINTER OF 2006
Morality Concepts

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"I am a sinning creature, and I need your love and forgiveness. Deliver me from this sin. Cleanse me, so that I may be made worthy in your presence."

Jisung sighs, unclasping his hands in the dim light of his bedroom, the Saint Augustine's mantra laid before him. In the quiet of his dorm room, save for the soft snores of his roommate, Jisung's been whispering each and every word to himself, hoping that if he says it enough, it'll commit to memory. Every morning, once the sun has fully awoken the skies of Gwangju, Jisung stiffens his tie, squares his shoulders, and watches his peers recite the mantra.

Every morning, Headmaster Oh reminds him to study each word until recital becomes second nature.

So, here Jisung is, looking out into the flickering candlelight that rests on the bedside, clammy palms pressed together, parroting the Saint Augustine's morning mantra in hopes that he finally remembers it.

MiMi mocks him from afar, sitting comfortably in the space between Jisung's pillow and the corner of the wall, grumpy-faced as ever. With how tired he's been lately, especially with the rigorous "treatments" he's been subjected to, he'd do anything to snuggle beneath the covers and dream of the wildfire-whipped Californian air.

Unfortunately, 'home' is a million miles away, and Jisung'll be stuck in this Hell hole forever.

"We are the children of God," Jisung whispers, studying each syllable clad in black ink. "and the light of the world. Jesus Christ is the one who illuminates us."

Jisung pauses, looking around the room of never ending black; both moonless and staless; both murky and miserable.

"F–Forgive me Father for I have sinned," Jisung continues, palms soiled in sweat. "I have gone against your word and f–fallen victim to the temptations of the Devil. Help me God, for I am weak."

There's teeth on the words that come out of Jisung's mouth—fangs that nip at his skin and peel it off, leaving nothing but flesh. It feels a bit dehumanizing; describing himself as an otherworldly creature that is so worthless, it's calling upon a being who will never answer. Never. He's a boy in a cage who's allegedly a human, writhing about with no sense of direction. He's not a boy. He's a thing. He's a thing in a cage and simultaneously onstage, ridiculed by God and all his angels for being such a naïve fool.

I need to be fixed. God, please fix me.

"I–I am a sinning c–creature—" stutters punch themselves out of Jisung's mouth. He can't speak. His brain forgets how to use words.