•𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬•【√】

«CHAPTER 1»

Not for the first time, I'm flirting with insomnia. I have to be at work in seven hours and I really shouldn't be sitting in the park at 2 am. I let out a frustrated huff and watch as cigarette smoke trails out of my lungs and melts into the stagnant mist.

Everything is damp and cold and I can feel my hair curling in the still air. I should sleep. I'll have to wear makeup to work tomorrow. It'll require setting my alarm a few minutes earlier, but if I don't I'll look like death warmed over. It's a bad idea to look sickly when you work in food service. It puts the customers off. I kick my feet at the dirt in annoyed frustration.

I know what has put me in such a funk. I've been trying not to think about it, but it is still the reason for my middle of the night emo-kid-smoking-in-the-fog routine. I've been having nightmares. I'm a little embarrassed to be so rattled by bad dreams, but they've been kind of horrific; giant figures leaning over writhing bodies, cities burning, end of days, the whole shebang. Every time I've closed my eyes this past week I've woken up with the echoes of the shrieks still ringing in my ears. Maybe I've been drinking too much caffeine.

I flick the stubby end of my cigarette into the wet grass and rub my hands together, trying to ward off the cold. I can see my breath. April in Daegu  is never this cold, even after a heavy rain. I pull my jacket close and stand up. There is a winding sidewalk along the perimeter of the park and if I follow it, it eventually doubles back past my house. My parents' house. Maybe walking a mile or two will help make me tired.

A noise catches my attention. A frantic, slapping echo reverberates over the street and off the side of the nearest house. Someone's running? The "park" is just a big, flat field with a few trees at the far end and old brick homes lining the edges. Sound carries strangely over too flat of ground and I can't pinpoint where it's coming from, but I know it isn't some late-night jogger. These are the heavy footfalls of someone running wildly, as fast as they can force their legs to go. I turn around too late, and he nearly collides with me. His labored breathing and wide-eyed stare are all I can process. What is happening? Before I can even start to speculate, he grabs my hand.

"Run."

"What?" I feel like I've missed the movie and walked in on the last five minutes. I do know whatever's going on is serious. The look on his face says that well enough.

"Run," He manages to sound forceful despite being out of breath. He lets go of my hand, nearly throwing it back at me. There's nothing else to be done, so we take off. I cut across the field. Screw the meandering sidewalk, I'm going home. The stranger falls into step behind me. I don't know where he thinks he's going, because I'm certainly not letting him into my mom's house in the middle of the night.

People are right to use the phrase "smoker lungs". They just don't work quite right, but fear is an excellent motivator. I cover the quarter-mile distance in record time. The stranger is right beside me, and I can't move fast enough to outrun him. In the distance I hear squealing tires. The sound makes my insides twist uneasily.

We reach the street in front of the house. I make for the door, but my running partner grabs my arm again.

"Not the house. They could see," Gears are turning in his head. His eyes lock on my beat up truck parked on the side of the road, "Do you have your keys?"

"Listen, buddy-" I gasp, sounding peeved.

"For your own safety, get in the truck," He speaks almost in a growl, his face radiating fear and desperation as if it's the most important thing in the world that I believe him. The sound of cars is getting closer. Call it panic, I guess, but I pull out my keys and sprint to the truck. I climb in, and he's in the passenger seat almost instantly.