prism [ kim s.j ] ( fin )

† 49

     "hey uncle," the woven basket rustled with lilies. a thump. dust.

     another basket thump, orchids shuffled. another, an iris fell out.

     kyu fixed the bouquets, being careful of the petals and the wind and the licks from the wax.

     "hi dad, hi ma," she wiped the blanket of dust from the tombstone. "sorry if i haven't visited as much, a lot of work and worries, but let's talk about those another time yeah?"

     kyu bundled her hands with small dandelion flowers, thin blooms of yellow, around the trio's tombs and placed it around the other stones around them. she would whisper a "sorry" and a "thank you" as she walked past — a sigh of the wind and the creek of the gate to say their thanks back. it was nice to get a visit and a flower once in a while.

     she nestled back to her family, sitting on her dad's lap, her ma's chilly but somehow warm kiss on her right cheek. uncle smiled back on her left.

     "i saw that guy again," she drawled. "seokjin, remember uncle? i hope you're not saying anything mean about him to ma and dad.

     "it's been a while since i've seen him, actually. five years. he's out and making other people happy, mostly the girls, and his voice is really lovely. i remembered that if i could get a boy who can sing, then you would approve — don't you remember dad?" an empty laugh, an empty reunion, an empty sob.

     "dad, where you this scared when you loved ma?" she asked, angered, infuriated, inspired. "how could you love someone when you're dying?"

     no response. just a harsh whistle.

     "...sorry, dad, ma," she hit the ground, a peeved child that she wanted to be, to experience, to know to regret years later but cannot emotionally lament about the lack of her emotion. of the lack of her. "just... can't think of how you can do it..."

     she snuggled in the middle of her parents, the grass a bouncy like a fancy bed, a blanket around her with her parents on each side, singing or telling her stories or kissing her goodnight or lying to her that it'll be fine because she might believe it. she might believe lies. she doesn't like this world — she just wants this world with ma and dad and uncle and no one else. she wants life to be simple.

     so why didn't her life join in with them too?

     arranging the lilies on the basket, she told her uncle, "i gave him the box like you wished me to..."