The world is so one sided.
Everyone thinks they know everything.
Until Kim Taeyeon.
I know everything, she tells me, she tells me every single detail.
Every single crime.
Behind fame, there is shade.
Behind family, there is pain.
Behind wealth, there is death.
But no matter what the consequences are, people still want them.
Because they need it, they need it as much as air, as much as food and water.
Food and water that must be bought.
Tell it to the whole world; let them know something new, she says with a smile.
She believes that the world needs a little more entertainment, another new story to brighten up everyone's day.
So they won't kill themselves over boredom, instead over loss of faith in humanity after hearing Kim Taeyeon fast forward then back track about her experiments.
But no good words would come out of her mouth, not even the "the's," and the "and's," and the "a's."
Every single syllable was full of malice.
Laced with poison then stabbed with thorns of possible lies.
When I told her to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth, she just kept speaking through me.
She said that lies was what keeps the world in its feet, over dramatizing is what the general public wants, was she right?
Was the world so unsympathetic that we needed some new species of cruelty to worm its way to our hearts?
For it to beg on its knees for attention before we give it to it?
Perhaps even I have been closing my eyes, when I first began to interview countless of weeping criminals and sobbing surviving victims, my eyes would water with every word.
But as time and black ink on white paper began to wear me down, every day was the same story, just different people, different plots, but it all led to the same idea.
People died, people suffered, people are trying to recover.
The concept is nothing new, people sing songs about it, write about it, talk about it conversationally, cry about it occasionally.
Just a part of life.
But since Kim Taeyeon, I felt like I've been pushed back in time, seven years ago, that eager yet frightened, mainly inexperienced note-taker for the newspaper.
The one who used to cry.
Before her phrases can slid off her tongue anymore to shoot daggers in the bull's eye of my heart, I slam my fist on the table, louder than I have expected.
I thanked the sound snapping me out of my torturous conscience.
My partner whipped his head at me with wild and wide eyes, perhaps the same negativity was swirling in his mind also.
Taeyeon just smiled at me, she always smiled, I noticed, when someone did something that she didn't like.
Her smile faltered when I excused myself to the bathroom, the only natural feeling of nausea.
She spoke of experimental torture of another human being as if it was the most usual thing in the world.
Taeyeon then asked my partner for water.
