diet of lies

Chapter 4~ P'il Chae

     UPON GLIMPSING THE LOUD AND FLASHY SIGN OF THE MOTEL, I PICK UP MY SPEED. The monsoon of water draining out from a vault of blackish clouds above me abates as I rush through the double doors of the main lobby. I continue my dash through the lobby, down the hall, to the right, and toward the elevators. Luckily, the tattle-tale lobby boy is off duty so I'm not worried about being jumped- at least not this time. My next run-in with the snitch boy, however, won't be so pretty. I owe them a lot still. Some of that debt being dumped on me by my Aunt.

I'm forced to pause when no elevator ceases to open. I smash the yellow button again. Still nothing. I moan in frustration. The crate seems to mount heavier and heavier the longer it stays in my arms. I whip around, catching the sign of the emergency stairwell to my left. It is my only shot at getting upstairs.
I heave the handle to my chest, and stagger into the stairwell. Quickly, I place down the sheet with the crates in them by my feet, shaking off the excessive amount of cloud tears pooling inside my collar. Some drops manage to snake down my shirt and I cry silently at the icky feeling. My aching arms crack when I  lift the tapes off the ground, I take them and jog up the concrete stairs.

The stairwell is bleak. Gray manages to encompass every square inch of the room. The colors make me feel more dreary than the hurricane outside. The only real color that pops abreast the dishwater shade is the red blinks of the exit signs adorning the ceiling.

I open the door to the second floor, greeted with a nonetheless usual, and bitter skunk smell. The hallway is venting a sour musk. It's a common smell among every building of Gugeum.

     Gugeum is secluded, as it's situated near a lonely coast by the sea that surrounds Korea. Meaning, there's never a time when the air isn't wet or fragrant. Gugeum's far away from any neighboring city, so the residents are dependent on their community for resources. And everything is local, which I suppose, is a plus. The only thing that "bad" about Gugeum, is that everyone knows everyone here. There is not one soul who is unknown to the heart of another. So when an outsider visits, they stick out worse than a sore thumb.

I fiddle with my ring of metallic keys in my pocket, with the green crate mantled on my hip. Finally, my fingers brush against the slick rubber cover of my room key. I pinch it, put it into the lock, twist, and maneuver my elbow to crack open the door. It's open just enough for me to slip through it.
I hit the light switch and throw my keys onto whatever piece of furniture was closest and approach the broken TV stand across my small square room. My apartment is all one single room with a small, but full, bath attached. The couch is basically my bed and there's a doorway that leads into a makeshift kitchen. Overall Its a tiny place, but I only need it for sleeping and eating. I spend most of my time out in the town because I'm not a fan of being cooped up.

I carefully place myself onto the maroon carpet of the living room, being mindful of the gash in my hip. I plant the VHS tapes on the floor and sit in front of the chunky cable television set. The Motels TV's are hefty boxes of electricity with an assortment of knobs and buttons.

An opening static nose slices the murky silence as the screen flickers on. It's not a good quality TV but it serves its job. This is probably the only time I've been thankful that Oceans Mist Motel doesn't have a modern TV and still has a working VHS player.
I grin with excitement. Finally I get to find out what that man was so desperately trying to hide from me.
'Input 2' flashes in blue letters in the right corner. I quickly reach for a unique tape on top of the rest. I flip it over. '10.9.13.9.14' 
I feed the tape to the VHS player through a slot and earn a clicking noise. The screen buzzes and sparks. Colored bars strike brightly before fading. A battery symbol and a video time stamp appear on the sidelines. The letter 'j' is also accompanying the time stamp on the bottom.

The camera angle moves around and voices are muffled. A young boy finally comes on the TV. He's looks to be-about fifteen and is lounging on a couch. He's drinking and chatting happily with other people and I can't help but notice the coffee table; crowded with garbage, ashtrays and endless bottles of soju and beer cans. When the boy realizes the camera's on him, he smiles broadly and waves. There's a cigarette entwined in his pointer and middle finger. Another young man literally jumps into view, spilling soju out the classic green bottle and staining his white shirt. He slings his arm around the boy the cameras focused on and laughter becomes ample in the smoky room. Bits of the main guys dewy brunette hair drapes over his rusty eyes. In the video, his skin is pale and lacks any source of melanin. You could've mistaken him for a ghost.
     "Hey JM!" A guy calls off-screen. The brown-haired man sits up and searches for who called. I'm assuming he's JM.
"Wha- ahh! Tae!!" He exclaims. A black-haired man approaches JM. He stands up and the two share a complex handshake. There's a tattoo on Tae's arm. It looks recognizable, a certain vine climbing from his wrist all the way behind his elbow.
The two guys relax back on the couch and JM reaches under the coffee table and pulls out a bottle of soju. He gives it to Tae. They clink the bottles and proceed to chug the strong alcohol inside.

​15 minutes go by and nothing exciting happens. The camera shoots angles of people doing drugs, drinking, smoking and just plain partying. But the one thing that disturbs me about everything, is how young the guys are. The majority of them are around the ages of 15 through 17. Not even. And I swear there are children in the mix.

My attention span diverts from the tapes since the wrath of Mother Nature is angrily knocking at the motel's doorstep.
"Jesus Christ." I pause the tape and wander to the windows.
The weather is strapping. The glacial winds are more robust, belting the pale exterior of the motel. I turn to the ceiling lights that start to flicker severely before brightening unconditionally and then blowing out. The screen of the TV goes all fuzzy, then buzzes and then shuts off.
"Shit." I curse faintly.
I rush to swipe the tape out so it doesn't get fucked. An undeniable noise cracks from outside. The gods are bowling. That's what my Aunt used to tell me during storms like this. She'd say the thunder from the clouds meant the gods were bowling.

I drop my ass on the couch and bend forward till my elbows rest on my knees. I smother my face in my icy hands. 
"I can't believe this." A loud sigh escapes my lips. I know that I'll have to wait for the slacker lobby boy to get his ass in gear and fix the breaker. That's only if the problem is the breaker and not a tree that collapsed on the power lines.
"Why the fuck," I toss my hands up as I steam to nobody. I drag the crate onto the coffee table as lighting streaks across a jet sky in flashes of purple and orange. "Guess I'm waiting this out."
I get up slowly, still feeling the leftovers of my ravage at the thrift store. I stuff some loose cash into my pocket and head back out into the storm to the drug store for bandages. What a day its been .