Myths in Fanmail

2/2

Carefully, he made his way to the glass door and saw that the girl, long black hair tied up into a ponytail, her back, clothed in a black t-shirt and black jeans and battered converse, was turned to him. She was snooping around the corner, going through the CDs and whatever else was near the stereo.

His book. Youngjae remembered. (Why would anyone come in to steal an old book, he didn’t know. But it was valuable to Youngjae, and people always took things that was valuable to him. So, he figured, why not his current obsession. The book had become his escape, his main reason to help him trudge forward. So, why not take that away too.)

Anguish bubbling in his stomach, Youngjae pushed it down and broke inside.

The girl turned around, her eyes met his and for a second, he swore they were demons’ ink kind of black. And then, as the word ‘ink’ ran through his mind, Youngjae thought her slant eyes were the colour of smudged ink and soot from his book’s title page.

“Have you seen…”

“This?” she interrupted, taking out the hand-me-down book from behind her back. Youngjae absently noted there was a long scar on her right arm, and even littlest ones shaped like stars around her wrist. She smiled at him, looking dry and amused at the same time, “I bet if your head wasn’t attached to your neck, you’d lose it too.”

Youngjae pouted, walking inside, dully noting the glass door swinging shut behind him. He stepped fully into the room, but only standing in the middle, right in the center where the light didn’t touch, not yet claiming his book. (He was too afraid to glance at the mirror in case her reflection wasn’t there, or something scarier.)

“Why do you talk about me like you know me?” he asked somewhat annoyed and proud of his own bravery. He felt easily ticked off by her for no apparent reason.

In turn, he received a dark chuckle that seemed to rumble through his chest, “This is planet Earth. Everyone is the same in every way.”

The words become broken at the back of Youngjae’s throat so he ended up opening and closing his mouth. Shaking his head, he muttered, “You’re ridiculous.”

Because she was actually right. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Oh am I?” the girl, crooked smile on the line of a smirk, face smooth and gauntly pale, challenged him. “You go to work for money to buy the things you need, yet when you buy everything you need, you still want money to buy meaningless ‘shit’ that gives you a five-minute high. Or to go on a holiday you can brag to all your so-called friends about. To bump yourself up the hierarchy of pride. Isn’t everyone like that?”

Her voice raised, condescending and bitter. Or just disgusted, Youngjae wasn’t sure. He almost choked, being attacked with sharp words, “Not everyone is like that!”

The girl sauntered to him, and Youngjae was rooted on the spot. He watched, eyes flickering down her slim, frayed jeans-clad legs, and absently noted she had something long slung from her belt. It stretched down to her knee, almost like a sword.

“Wrong. Every human being on this planet is like that.” She smiled, a cynical smile, black eyes that emit nothing but solemness. And then there was a quiet voice, no more than a whisper as she got closer, that dripped with concern and sadness, “Humans are malicious, humans are evil, they steal from others, all they want is money, they are traitors—”

Youngjae felt suffocated from the words, from the indescribable emotions, and helplessly argued, raising his voice over hers, “Some humans are kind, some humans give to others, okay? Some are caring—”