The 7

Smoke {Re-published}

*beep* *beep*

The bold beams of sunlight pierced through the windows and onto your bed. They shone over the tidy arrangement of your room. Your desk was clear and there were no clothes on the floor, which was rare...

You rolled over, only to be faced with a panting black and white beast. It was your beloved Siberian Malamute - Twig. You loved him, and he loved you. You had lived in this apartment together. Just the two of you slap bang in the centre of Seoul, where the only other buildings were tall skyscrapers filled with offices and meeting rooms. It was Just you and Twig- Taking on the world.

*beep* *beep*

Your alarm ruined the quiet bliss of the morning and forced you to stop being lazy and get up. So, you did. While sluggishly putting on your slippers you whipped the sleep from your eyes and made your way to the bathroom. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, but it was still long enough for you to take in the sleepy mess that the mirror reflected right back at you. You wash your face and sorted your hair out- so that It looked less like a bird's nest and more like beautifully long curls.

Now you were hungry, so you left the bathroom and trudged out of your room and into the living room/kitchen. You always had the same thing for breakfast- porridge. It was filling and reminded you of the simple but beautiful things in life- like Twig. But as you stud stirring the pot, Twig was poking at your leg, because you were so tired you didn't care- But he persisted.

"What?" you said looking down at him. Of course, he wouldn't say anything, but you always tried- surprisingly it didn't work, you just stood there staring at each other but eventually, you realised that his food bowl was empty. So, you refilled it.

You both sat on the sofa staring out of the humongous window that covers the whole wall of your living room, looking out over Seoul. As you watched the morning sun, you felt as if someone was watching you, peering over your shoulder with their hands outstretched, ready to snatch you away.

It was really odd as at that moment you found yourself thinking about your father. He was a chubby man, shorter than most men his age. He never shaved, unless mum had forced him to try to get a job, in which his chin would be spotted with stubble and cuts from his cheap blades. He never landed the job and as far as you could remember the best job he had managed to hold down was a nightshift at a corner store- even then he made you or your brother cover his shift instead so that he could go and drink the night way in sleazy underground clubs with kidnapped girls and the men that owned them.

And that feeling of someone watching you had always lingered around you, in the basement that you lived in with your mother, father and older brother. He seemed to always be there. Peering through the door that was slightly cracked open, staring from the dining table as you walk past, even standing on the other side of the shower curtain. He was a freak, there was no denying that, but could never have been too far away.

You sat still- Twig was still eating away. You gently put your bowl of porridge on the glass coffee table and slowly turned around. Your heart was rattling at the bars of its cage, like a tortured prisoner trying to get out, it was winning. You could feel yourself having an anxiety attack: shortness of breath, shaking and unable to think straight. The feeling you had was getting stronger. That feeling of second-hand smoke. The feeling of being stuck in an elevator with a group of strangers but one of them is a killer. You tried to remind yourself that there was no way that your father could be here. You had not seen him. You turned around and picked up your bowl again. Desperately suppressing the rising frenzy inside you.

Just as you were about to eat a spoonful two hands grabbed your waist. The whole thing went in slow motion, you were whisked away from your sofa, the crash of the porridge bowl and Twig frantically barking in the background. Darkness developed as you either fainted or were blindfolded and some voices you didn't recognise.

"Wow, she's pretty" You heard one say.

"Yeah, she's pretty hot," said another

"Shut up, don't talk about her like that!"

Whoever these people were, you hoped that they would not take you to your father, that prick should be dead.