A MURDER IN SEOUL

KANG YEOSANG ¹

KANG YEOSANG

(In the early morning, in the grey hours
How many crimes have been committed?)

06:34 AM
12 May 2020

He couldn't leave the poor bird on the sidewalk to die.

He gazes upon the little broken body— such a beautiful creature lying there terrified and alone.

His chest aches seeing it in pain.

Yeosang had a rough childhood that hardened him both physically and mentally.

His father was a money-hungry machine that cared neither for his kids nor his wife. He left Yeosang in a broken home with a crushed heart and a mother who was never fit to raise children.

She looked to alcohol as a form of solace, started doing drugs, and became increasingly violent. She turned cruel and unforgiving.

Yeosang swore he wouldn't let addiction ruin his life like it destroyed his mother.

He would never admit to it, but he was relieved when she died.

One wing is bent out of shape, twisted in an unnatural angle. The other is reduced to nothing but shreds of skin and feathers.

The raven is the same color as ink, splotched in crimson blood. Its tiny chest rises and falls rapidly.

But his tough upbringing never affected his strong spirit. Yeosang was determined to not let his bad experiences beat him.

He strayed to find the positive aspects of life. He searched for love and for kindness, wrapping them around himself like a shield that would ward off all evil.

Yeosang remained strong despite it all.

He never spoke out of term, never stepped over the line, never cursed, never yelled, never complained, and he always put everyone else's needs before his own.

That was his fatal flaw.

His heart reaches out to it as he gently lifts the raven into his arms. He holds it gingerly, stroking its trembling head.

A light drizzle starts falling around him, and he pulls his hood over his head.

He places one hand around its neck. He can feel the bird's erratic pulse beneath his fingers.

Yeosang wasn't a particularly sentimental person. He wasn't sensitive or emotional either. But the way he felt, was different from everyone else.

It was as if his senses were constantly dialed up to a hundred.

When his sister broke her arm when she was ten, Yeosang felt her pain too, like it was his own bone that snapped, and not hers.

Or when his mother smashed a plate against the wall, impaling her hand on one of the shards; It felt like a stab in his own palm.

The strange feelings still remained with him occasionally, like a weak ghost of its former potency. He felt it when he saw someone touch their cheek, kiss a loved one, or pinch their arm.

It was like an echo of the real feeling, like a cheap knock-off.

He tightens his grip on the bird's neck and twists. His throat tightens as the bird spasms violently before stilling in his grasp.

Yeosang felt oddly calm, despite knowing what the bird meant.

As seen in many of his sister's spiritual books, a raven was an ill omen and a symbol of sorrow and loss.

To put it simply, a dead raven meant death.

Yeosang had hope that the world was better than his experiences had showed him. He wasn't delusional or out of touch with reality, he simply wished to believe the world was good.

Deep down he knew it wasn't true, but no one can control the dreams they have.

He had an abundance of ideas and dreams, but ideas are dangerous, and the world is designed to kill your dreams.

It makes no exceptions.

Not even for goodhearted and kind people like Yeosang.