It wasn't too late, was it? Kwak squinted at her watch. Two-thirty. She staggered forward, skin scalding and sleepy with vodka. I really shouldn't drink so much, at my age, at my wealth. But at least I'm calm, sleeping in the sunrise of an unseen morning....
She swung open the door. Her husbands sprawled across the wine-reddened couch, playing code-games on their phones. Fools, she thought, burning with rage. She reached for the prickly shelf, and slammed its pottery into the red-brown inferno of carpet. A woman's lifetime spilled into those dust-veined flames. Golden jewels. Heirlooms. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered when everyone hates you.
"Hello, sweetie," Four chuckled.
"Fuck off," she slurred.
Something pale-gold flickered in the corner of her eye. Something pale-gold, something that glowed like human flesh. She whirled around. Several sharp, golden shards cluttered the carpet, swirling like flames in the eye-white moonlight. Shock clogged her breath. Her heart somersaulted into her stomach. No! No...it couldn't be...!
"My God!" she gasped, "My...life...!"
"Why do you care so much?!" Four demanded, "It was just a medal."
Kwak collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands. She erupted into tears that stung with each sob.
"Get out!" Four roared, "Get out if you're gonna bitch about it! You shouldn't have come in the first place!"
Nausea rumbled through Kwak's stomach. My heart broke...my heart...! Four clutched his chest. He trembled. He shrieked. He unbuttoned his shirt. Two halves of a heart were carved into chest, dripping with crusty blood. Kwak's cheeks burnt bright-red.
"I knew it!" he wailed, "You're...a...witch!"
"No!" Kwak shouted, "I'm...not...Ahjumma!"
She sprinted into the bedroom, stuffing a suitcase full of clothes. As she sprinted out, she forced a smile. Papa was wrong; men are just as stupid as women. She ran into the night, eyes beckoned by soft, glowing stars and the crooked finger of gold-white city-lights. Four was right. There was a place that understood-- the Starry Night Inn. It understood, from silver-eyed barbells winking in the gym, to ice-cold vodka glittering in the glasses, to creamy lotion swimming under her skin. After a few hours, a jagged emptiness seeped through her bones. It understands. Who does?
General Moon? Her heart sizzled with the gentle warmth of his slow smile, the quiet strength of his words. Every one of his speeches glittered like fingerprints on her heart.
Her eyes stung, oozing with tears. No. There's only one person, one creature, one breath who knows what I feel like. She squeezed her eyes shut. A cracked tree-stump of a woman. A dark-gray braid tumbling like stormclouds. A pair of black-lensed glasses. A dart-like tongue glinting from a rust-dark mouth....
Ahjumma Kisook! Yes! She's been disgraced for everything...beaten for singing, guilted for witchcraft, traumatized into blinding herself.... Crazy bitch! Crazy, yes. But who isn't these days?
But you don't talk, a voice murmured, You shouldn't. It'll be weird.
Kwak shook her head. No. I can't keep hiding like this....!
C'mon, Ha-Yoon. You're not hiding. You killed 500 men and never threw acid at Pich!
Well, her face IS....
And what if Ahjumma dies? One less crabby old nihilist in the world.
It's just a kidney transplant. Not like she's gonna die, you stupid mannish bitch.
Yeah...but STILL...! Kwak jumped to her feet, frantically shoving dirty clothes into her suitcase. She's sick and I'm clueless...what more do I need?!
"HOUSEKEEPING!"
A plump maid barged in, armed with a tank-sized vacuum. Kwak darted to the door.
"Hey! Where you going?!"
"I need to leave early. I need to talk to someone."
"Who?"
"K-Kisook. Song Kisook."
"The blind healer? Got a nasty-faced girl at her heels?"
"Y-Yeah. She's my cousin."
The maid nodded.
"Well...good luck, General. I know I didn't have it."
She patted the photo in her pocket. The half-toothed smile. The bright, ageless eyes. Kwak nodded and shuffled out. If she looked at it any longer, she'd always see it in dreams.
Kwak ambled into the lobby, ignoring the scowls of those she passed. The receptionist leapt to his feet, screeching like a crow:
"Hey! You still need to check out!"
Kwak slammed the door. Took a deep breath. Today was worth a lifetime of somedays.
XXX
The Diamond Girl's body was more like coal, David thought, dripping from her gazelle bones. She was as prickly and lizard-skinned as everyone said, yet her witchy bones glowed softer than the moon. They act like it's her life's mission to repulse people, he thought.(It is...but that's beside the point. ) Look at her rage! I can feel myself burning, I can feel the stinging rhythm of revenge. I can feel.
What if the revenge is death?
Impossible!, he thought, fluttering past a dreamless glimmer of stars and clouds. I'll make sure it is. Light went gold. He curled beneath Death's frenetic heart, nestling the slimy red depths of her womb.
No. Pich doesn't want Death's son-- she wants her face.
He crawled up further, through the sticky knots of Death's throat, until he reached her sharp, face. Her claws are even sharper. He took a deep breath and whispered into her ears:
Give them your face and I'll keep your soul-- if you don't, you shall be destroyed forever!
He whispered this repeatedly, until she screamed. She collapsed. Until her claws tore at her skull, attempting to pulverize the hideous thoughts. Her claws! She dug them behind her cheeks, peeling a slick, gooey slab of skin from sharp bones. In one swift, clean motion....
SKA-RIIIIP!
Death's beautiful face collapsed to Earth, where Revenge slid it into the box of a former donor. She doubled over, screaming a long, jagged, drawn-out scream. He smirked, breathless with joy. Here I am, Death. As you have ruined me, let me ruin you.
YOU ARE READING
The Righteous Perish
FantasyThis isn't my first full-length work (longer than short-story), yet the only one I find decent. I began writing it in 2019. As always, the characters' biases do not reflect my own. That being said, I'm still young. (Try to) enjoy!
