The Bad Guys

episode one

My thighs itch as the scratchy sofa chair assaults my bare thighs. Sitting in a warm office that was designed to compel my secrets, I try to smile at the man across from me but a twitch is all I can force. His words echo through the small room but sound distance as my mind is focused on keeping my palms dry and voice steady.

"How has this week been, Mi Na?"

The words that I am desperate to speak tip toe upon my tongue and claw at my sealed lips. That deep in the night fear and sadness visit with their mournful tunes, and they summon at my calling. It was my decision to let them in so I can easily tell them to leave but that requires a strength my shaking hands and electric heart beat can't grasp.

"It's been good," I reply instead, mentally celebrating my even voice.

"Have you given anymore thought into going back to medical school?" The man of dark, sagging skin asks the question that has plagued my mind for months.

"Not really but I'm sure that will change once my Grandfather hears of my leaving school." My fingertips dance along the edge of my plaid skirt and I avoid any eye contact with the intimidating questionnaire.

"You're seeing him soon?"

"Er yeah," I rub my tired eyes. "His engagement party is tonight which he is forcing me to attend."

"You don't want to go?"

"I have to," I explain. "He raised me, supporting another marriage is the least I could do."

"That's kind of you," his lips turn up in a seemingly genuine action, but I know better.

"Well," I shrug. "my friends say I would apologize for getting blood on my killer's knife."

Doctor Martin throws his head back with laughter, an exaggerated gesture for my benefit. As quickly as the good energy arrives, it leaps from the window leaving Martin with a serious expression.
"Have you changed your mind about visiting his grave?"

"I told you I didn't want to talk about this-" My tighting grip on the chair's arms lift me in a action of discomfort.

"It's been a year since the funeral."

"I'm not ready-"

"You can only deny his death for so long." He won't let me complete a sentence and anger boils under my skin as hot as a burning wick.

"Times up." I snatch up my satchel from where it collapsed against the coffee table and march to the door. Halting, my short hair skims over my shoulders as I look back at Doctor Martin.

"I'm not in denial," he looks at me with a revealing lack of sympathy; his eyes flickering, watching my every move. "But my brother is dead, have a little humanity."

Stepping outside the building I inhale the air along with its many city aromas and felt my previous anger suppress. I take in my surroundings while strolling to work, the bustle of the city buzzing around me; cars whizzing past and birds screeching. Among the thick crowd I am mostly several inches shorter than everyone else resulting in only backpacks, coats and hair to lead the way. The distant clock tower struck and I count the chimes wondering just how long I have before my little bubble of freedom bursts. I reach 9 chimes before realising that my bubble is to be popped instantaneously and begin to pick up my pace.

I've broken a sweat when my phone let off a violent ring. Digging it out from my jacket's pocket I see my friend's name on the screen.

"Clarke, you have the worst timing," I tell her weaving through the cities giants as fast as my thin legs can take me.