Things I Wrote at One Time or Another

Magic Shop: A Psychodrama; "Book I, Episode I, Part II"

A/N: Namjoon shows up.

BOOK ONE; EPISODE ONE, PART TWO

My bike crashed into the foliage that surrounds the small bookshop, disrupting the tiny ecosystem as bug flew out from the rapture. I dust my hands off on my skirt and make my way inside. This town seems like such a close knit community, I don't find myself worrying over stolen property just yet. I found this bookshop a week ago when school started and have been visiting everyday since. It was a nice break from academics and family matters, an in-between little world.

Upon entering, I eye the candy jar atop the front desk, just above the colorful welcome sign that appeared to have been decorated by primary school students. Almost instinctively, I dig in, fishing out a mystery-flavored lollipop. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and start unwrapping it as I made my way over to the small sitting area towards the back. The bookshop itself seemed to be a somewhat overlooked little nook, as I never saw any other students hanging around. It was usually just the elderly looking for new novellas or late-twenty-somethings picking up a textbook or some DVDs. The lounging area was pretty much untouched besides the half-eaten biscuit left around in the counter. I quickly leaned in and threw it into the nearby trash can before dumping my backpack into one of the loveseats. With that, I went on my search for a good book.

Gwangjo wasn't completely isolated from the big cities, but that didn't mean it was behind on some new releases. However, I was lucky enough to find some interesting books: most recently, "Once the Shore" by Paul Yoon. I completed the whole thing in one sitting last Friday and got scolded by my Aunt who feared I fell into the marsh on my way home. It was worth it.

I let my fingers trail the bookshelves, silently bopping my head to the rhythm of Mitski's "Why Didn't You Stop Me?" on repeat until I found something that stood out. Time tends to travel quite fast in the middle of a library or bookshop, and soon enough I find myself finished with a short story in my lap and the sun melting over the horizon. I watch and stare, like watching a large fire consume the end of the world. I'm stuck staring and thinking about dinner when someone's voice breaks my line of thought.

"What?" I asked, almost dubiously. I'm caught by surprise to find a very tall young man staring down at me. He wore a thin, knitted sweater and freshly ironed khaki pants. He looked clean-cut and pristine, I questioned whether he lived here in Gwangjo. He looked like one of those Urbane models you'd see in magazines at the local mall.

"That's a good book." He said, gesturing towards the book in my hands. I stare down at the cover, only just reading the title, Those Who Walk Away From Omelas. I tend to soak in the synopsis before anything else. I feel my cheeks burn a bit as he settles down in the chair beside me with his own book: a textbook on specific psychological techniques. He catches me reading the title of his book and smiles. It's a big, close-mouthed smile— it didn't seem to fit his face.

"I don't understand it," I said, hastily folding the book over on my lap. "But it's a nice read."

"It's the complexity of happiness." He states after a moment, he gazed at me from the corner of his eyes. After noticing my further confusion, he begins to explain: "It's the sense that justice brings happiness, but rather than the ideal, someone suffers. It's like, when you think you did something good for somebody but it turns out you only made it worse."

"Ah," I nod, calculating it in my head.

"It's sad," the stranger said after a moment. He looked off at nothing, "they couldn't help him."

I look up, "What do you mean? They could've set him free right then and there."

The stranger glances my way before letting a small smile curl on his lips, "Exactly, yet, they left." He's silent for a long time, indulging in his textbook for a moment before perking up. "You come here everyday, don't you?"