Just a little something I've been thinking about writing recently. I don't know if it will ever come to fruition, but it's an idea I'll have swirling around in my head until I get tired of it. Since writing is sort-of a hobby for me right now, this will most likely be on the back-burner for a long time.
Anyway, a synopsis-
His name was Lee Tae Kang. He passed away December 20th, 2009, at ten thirty-seven at night, and he was the first Hallyu star to die at the hands of his fans. He was my best friend.
Kim Ha Neul is nearing his 31st birthday and beginning his second semester of college in the United States when the death of a classmate triggers the return of his severe anxiety and depression. On top of that, his dark feelings only become worse when an old friend comes to visit, bringing with him baggage that Ha Neul hoped to have left behind in South Korea. At the same time, the bitter is contrasted with the sweet of finding Millie, a new classmate who knows nothing about Ha Neul until she begins tutoring him in English Composition. Ha Neul finds in the curious and hypocritically cautious girl a unique escape from his world of trauma and darkness.
Prologue: September 14th, 2012
The piercing brown eyes of my classmate stare out at me from the front page of the college website on my smartphone. The text beneath it reads-
Allan Wong, 23, died Friday night at around three A.M. when he was involved in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. I stop myself from continuing, but my fingers still begin shaking. Of every situation that had run through my head last night when he wouldn't answer his phone, this was the last one I had thought of. Even if we hadn't been that close, he was my friend. I clasp the cell phone in my hands tighter, but they only shake more.
Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
But as soon as I tell myself that, the old memories come flooding back, memories of a time long before Allan, university, Business degrees, and English.
Changmin's expressionless, lifeless face, swollen eyes closed, ashen lips slightly parted. Even though I had rushed to his side, as soon as I touched his cold skin, I knew he was gone. At least he is now in peace. But I still mourned. I don't remember every detail, but the tears that myself and my fellow members shed over that body are innumerable. When he was taken away, I refused to release his hand. I had been young and foolish, I suppose, but even now I can remember the smoothness of his palm and his rough, worn fingertips brushing my hand for the last time.
My heart wrenches inside my chest, tying itself into an agonizing knot. Fear begins shooting through my veins as I think of how just hours before he had been smiling and laughing at me on stage.
I glance around myself as the sensation of being watched starts to crawl into my soul and eat me alive. I see their hungry eyes, hear their tormenting screams, and feel their violating fingers searching every inch of my body for more, more, more.
More of what? The small question sparks like the wick of a candle in the dark innner depths of my mind, but I extinguish it by breaking into a run. And not the grueling ones we would do during our trainee days, and not the happy ones we did when we won our first award. No, it is a careless, reckless, lifeless run, one that I could have kept up for miles. I ignore everything I see; it is all nonsense language I don't speak, anyway. That's what I tell myself as I hurtle across the crowded street without waiting for the light, ignoring the horns honking and breaks screeching because I can't see, think, or hear over the pressure building inside of me. The tears about to break loose.
Quite suddenly, I trip over something in my path. Someone in my path. Books, papers, coffee, and her purse go flying as I plow her over and then hook my foot on her ankle. The next moment I know, I find myself lying stomach to the ground, with her lying in a pile on top of me.
In that instant, the little part of me that was still whole falls to pieces. My hands bleeding from their impact with the sidewalk, my stomach aching, I slip out from under her. She says something to me, her words angry and hurt, but I don't bother trying to decipher them. Instead, I crawl up against the brick wall like a wounded animal, pulling my legs to my chest, and stare at my scraped knees as tears begin to blur my vision. Fear takes over so that rationality itself evades me completely until I feel her hand on my shoulder.
"...okay?" I make out just a little of her strange words. I nod my head, even if it's so far from the truth it makes me feel like a criminal. Her face says she doesn't believe me. She goes to gather her papers and purse, but leaves the coffee to go streaking down the sidewalk and instead returns to my side, purse and wrinkled papers clutched in one hand, the other hand on my shoulder. Her hazel eyes peer into mine with a heartfelt concern and pity that breaks down every wall I had tried to construct. And I begin to cry.
-Argentia
