The Diamond Race | discontinued

chapter 21

18:00 Seoul, South Korea 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E

"I love you."

Such ugly words.

Such hideous, filthy words from those red twisted lips.

Such lies.

His grip tightened.

He didn't have much of a choice now. She was too close. It was too late.

"I love you."

Why was it so easy for her to say that? Why was it so simple?

He wished she had choked on air instead. He wished. He wished.

Her hands reached out, gently caressing the boy's face. Oh, the boy was smitten. A lamb before a wolf.

Run! Run away! He wanted to scream. Why couldn't that boy see it? Why couldn't he see the sniper's laser target on his chest?

But this was his fault. How could he not have realized it then? Why hadn't he noticed? That boy wouldn't be in such a situation if he had paid more attention.

He watched as she leaned closer to the boy.

He had to do it now, before it was too late. Now, now, now!

But why?

Why did it have to come to this?

He would not be forgiven, he knew that much.

But, it would be worth it.

Yes. In all this pain, it would be worth it.

No matter how bitter this pain would be, he would take and swallow it whole. Even if it ate him up from the inside out.

It was a beautiful night to stain his hands red, to paint the white picnic blanket with death. The wind was soft and the city beneath his feet hummed a soft lullaby.

It splattered everywhere. Some landed on his face, painting him a demon.

Was that not what he was? Demons steal happiness. Yes, yes. He was a demon.

Then he saw it. The horror, anguish, confusion. Then rage. So much of it, so much rage. All in those two eyes.

He felt it. He still does. His heart shattered in his chest and then the shards poked out, stabbing into his lungs, threatening to pierce out through his skin.

For some strange reason, he can't breathe. He can't.

"Why?"

Oh, this is a question he knew he could not answer. But if he could. If he could.

"Why would you do this?"

The boy is screaming now. Rage, anguish, confusion as tears flow down his face.

But he does not cry. He is frozen.

Why did it come to this? It is his fault. Why hadn't he realized it before? That look in her eyes. That destructive hunger.

He can see the tears flowing down the boy's face as he clutches her body.

"Why?"

The reason he gives is cruel. The reason he gives is a lie.

"That is what happens when you don't cover your tracks. See?"

The moment the words leave his lips, he knows he has sealed his own grave.

Misery.

It's a stench stronger than the copper blood.

Ah, so this is what it means to feel devastated? So this what agony is?

It tastes sweet, but it is so bitter, so, so bitter. This cruel fruit. This fruit of lies.

He lowers his hand, the gun held loosely by his trembling fingers. Her blood drips down his cheek and for a moment, it feels like he is crying.

It's too late for him to spit out the truth. It's too late, because he has already taken a bite out of the fruit of lies.

Forgive me.

Forgive me.

Forgive me.

Please.

He wakes with his pillow soaked in the tears still streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry."

His voice is hoarse from a night of nightmares, but he says it like a prayer.

"I'm sorry."