Systemism

Su Jin

Hyeonwoo's eyes flew open, his vision blurred, every nerve in his body searing with raw, unfiltered agony. His scream was guttural, clawing its way out of his throat and echoing against the cold, unforgiving walls of the room. He was wrapped in a patchwork of filthy, blood-soaked bandages, some barely holding together his battered skin, others already peeling away, exposing angry red flesh beneath.

His fingers twitched, curling into his hair in a death grip as if he could tear away the memories clawing through his mind. His long, white hair was matted and tangled, strands sticking to his pale, sweat-drenched face. With each panicked gasp, he yanked at it, pulling with such ferocity that hair tore from his scalp, falling like ghostly threads around him.

His breath hitched, each inhalation like knives slicing through his lungs. He raised his trembling hands to his chest, and with an expression of hollow, tortured disbelief, he began clawing at his bandages, peeling them off with manic determination. Blood seeped from fresh, half-healed wounds as he tore at the fabric, the edges of each cut reopening, sending fresh rivulets of crimson down his torso.

In a trance-like stupor, Hyeonwoo raised his trembling hands to his head, his grip so tight it seemed his fingers might sink through his skull. He yanked at his white hair, tearing at the strands with an almost mindless fury, his scalp burning as chunks of hair came loose, leaving raw patches on his head. His breath came in ragged bursts, each one painful, scraping like sandpaper against his throat. Blood trickled down his arms, warm and slick, smearing his fingers and mixing with the dirt on his hands. The dim light caught the gleam of his heterochromatic eyes, which were wide and unseeing, filled with a storm of anguish that seemed endless and consuming. One eye, an icy blue, looked haunted and distant; the other, a stormy grey, was cold and void as if they were reflecting two fractured sides of his broken mind.

With each panicked gasp, he clawed at the bandages, his nails digging so deep that they left crescent-shaped marks on his skin. The fabric tore under his frantic, jerking movements, and beneath it, fresh, half-healed wounds split open, spilling fresh rivulets of crimson down his chest and sides. Each rip of the bandages brought with it a burst of pain, sharp and searing, but he couldn't stop, driven by some desperate need to feel anything other than the torment clawing at his soul. His fingers scraped over bruised flesh and jagged cuts, and each new wound sent shockwaves through his body, but he welcomed it, embracing the pain as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

He reached for his arms, clawing at his flesh as if trying to dig out the pain buried inside. His skin split beneath his nails, each scrape dragging up fresh lines of red against his pale skin. Blood dripped from his fingertips, pooling onto the floor as he fell to his knees, trembling. His voice cracked, his screams dying down into ragged sobs, his whole body wracked with tremors.

He clutched his head again, slamming it backwards against the wall with a sickening thud, over and over, as though the physical pain could drown out the madness consuming him from within. His cries grew softer, devolving into hollow, pained whimpers. His breaths came in shallow, broken gasps, each one rattling in his chest as if he were on the verge of shattering completely. His bloody tears streaked down his face, mingling with the grime and dirt, leaving red, twisted trails across his cheeks.

When his screams faded into hoarse, broken sobs, Hyeonwoo slumped forward, his hands slipping off his head and dropping to his sides, fingers twitching as blood and tears dripped down his face. His breaths were shallow, each one rattling in his chest as if he were on the verge of breaking apart entirely. His skin was slick with blood—some old, some freshly spilt—and as he gazed at his trembling, blood-smeared hands, he let out a hollow, chilling laugh, devoid of warmth or sanity. It was a laugh laced with despair, resonating through the empty room like the call of a broken soul.