The Run-In

Hallucinations

It's been three weeks since my dinner 'date' with Jimin. And in those three weeks, we've been inseparable.

He took me shopping for clothes and encouraged me to continue searching for the perfect outfit even when tiredness danced at his eyelids. He took me to the movies and bought practically the entire snack-booth for me so I had treats at home. He even hung out at my apartment each night until I fell asleep so I wasn't lonely or sad.

What a perfect boyfriend.

Is that what I should call him? I mean, we're together constantly, he visits my apartment so I can fall asleep, and we've kissed. Granted, we kissed once, and he probably kissed me out of pity, but a single kiss means a lot to me.

So the question remains; Is he my boyfriend?

I finish up my ramen and dump my bowl in the sink overflowing with dirty dishes. I'll wash those another time, just not right now.

I then slip my pink scrunchie off my wrist and tie my hair into a messy bun whilst strolling to my bedroom. I snatch the TV remote from my nightstand and plop onto my bed. The TV turns on to the 11 o'clock news, which is as equally as depressing as the daytime news.

Sighing, I prop my head up on my hand and force myself to watch the screen. Video evidence of robberies and school shootings flash by in a blur as I start to doze off, staining my vision with dark images. Then the screen switches to a female reporter with long, dark hair and olive skin. Flashing lights glare behind her as she speaks.

"Tonight at ten fifty, fourteen cars were reported in a colossal accident on the freeway. Medics are still recovering bodies and searching for trapped passengers, but as of right now there have been no reported surviors of the crash."

I blink my eyes open groggily. I shouldn't miss this.

"We will show some of those reported victims of the crash on your screen." continues the woman. Portraits of the newly deceased appear on on the TV, fading away at a speed that's too fast to be considered respectful. Among the faces is a little girl with a bright smile and rosy cheeks. She was too young and innocent to have her life thrown away like that. Too young.

"As you can see, the enormity of the crash is extreme." The cameraman turns to face the gruesome scene playing out behind him. Heaps of smoking metal and glass gleam from the light of the roaring flames tearing through some of the vehicles. Faint silhouettes of some of the corpses can be seen through the shattered windows, limp and lifeless.

Dead.

"More are still being reported as no longer alive. It seems as though there will not be many survivors of this crash." The woman's knuckles are bone white from gripping her microphone so tightly. Just being there must be quite horrifying; I understand why she's squeezing the guts of her mic.

A few more faces fade across the screen; an elderly woman, a teen boy, a young man—

No. No way.

That can't be Jimin.

His picture sloths by as if it's frozen in time, giving me enough time to throughly examine his face. The silky hair, the sparkling eyes.

That is definitely Jimin.

A stifled cry escapes my lips as I stare at the TV in horror. Jimin— the loving, ethereal man I've grown so close to— Jimin, has been killed?!  No, it can't be... but it is! The proof is in his face. He's dead! He's been pronounced dead by medical professionals who don't make mistakes on these kinds of things. He's dead, without a doubt. He's dead.

"No!" I shriek, slamming my fist onto my mattress. "It's not right!"

I whirl around the room in a blur of fury and disbelief. This can't be happening!