Submitted to Creative Writing Class on March, 2019
It is almost seven, Hoseok needs to hurry home before something bad can happen. The street lamps flicker as he walks, it almost like they give a precautionary yell silently. It is nobody’s fault, really. He doesn’t really want to be dragged on the meetings, but one of his classmate’s speech to him was really moving and impressive. He knew he would regret his decision later, but, now, he has to go home very quickly.
Hoseok’s house is the furthest from all his friend’s on the meeting he has attended earlier. He is glad he brings his bicycle, or else he wouldn’t be at home on time. It is almost seven; he thinks it maybe five seconds to it when Hoseok finally arrives in front of his house. His sister doesn’t lock the front gate yet, bless her, so Hoseok clumsily makes his way inside. His left foot is barely inside when the siren somewhere starts to blast.
“Hoseok-ah!” His mother whispers when he enters the house. “Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, Ma. Some friends hold me up for a chat.”
“You’re not up to something, are you?”
“No, Ma, I will not.” Hoseok’s tone is reassuring, or, at least, he tries to be. “I surely disagree with all these commotions, but I don’t want to make you sad, so, yeah, I’m trying to not involved.”
His mother eyes him for a while and she sighs. “I am afraid, Hoseok-ah, you and Dawon are old enough to be mistaken as a part of the protesters. I kept thinking—”
“No, Ma. I’ll stay out of trouble.” Hoseok smiles. “I will be coming home every day. I won’t be involved, okay?”
His mother sighs into Hoseok’s shoulder when he pulls her into a hug.
“How is your mother, Hoseok?”
Namjoon offers a kimbap roll, which is politely refused by Hoseok, telling him that he has his own. Namjoon shrugs, but still asking for an answer for his prior question. His eyebrows raise.
“She’s fine.”
Hoseok feels the heavy undertone on that question; does your mother know? And he hopes Namjoon understands his answer as well. No, she doesn’t know. And it is fine. I can take care of myself.
Namjoon hums in response. “It’s for the better, Hoseok-ah.”
“I know. That’s why I join you in the first place, right?” Hoseok grins. “For the better.”
They fall into a lighter conversation after that. Today’s class, one of their neighbouring class’s friend disappearance, the kimbap, one of their teacher’s absence, Namjoon’s dog which actually eats his math homework, their graduation, and—
Their conversation has been a little bit grim lately. Namjoon once mentions that he doesn’t even sure that he will graduate soon in the chaos. Not that he minds. He is one of those people who actually think that education in school is not that necessary. Books and patience will cover everything, he says. Hoseok just nods. He doesn’t really understand how Namjoon still manages to get good grades between his busy role as the second lead-in-command for the upcoming event.
The upcoming event, Hoseok thinks with a cringe. He is lucky that he never gets caught by the soldiers. He always runs at the very perfect time, his covers are never blown, his mother never suspects anything. Still, Hoseok sighs at the thought, this one feels so wrong in his mind.
“Hoseok-ah, you are thinking too loud again,” Namjoon chuckles. “What is on your mind?”
“You,” Hoseok deadpans. “I don’t know, Namjoon, my intuition says that something will happen so badly tomorrow.”
“Of course something bad will happen,” Namjoon says in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s a rebellion, Hoseok-ah, everything will go wrong at some point.”
“And you are at the centre of it,” Hoseok grimaces. “I don’t like it.”
“I choose my own position, and I am aware of its consequences.” Namjoon smiles. It looks sad on Hoseok’s eyes.
“Hoseokkie,”
“Yes?”
Dawon crosses the room, she sits on the edge of Hoseok’s bed. Her expression is unreadable. Her long hair is tied into a ponytail, the rest of it dances when she scoots closer to Hoseok.
“You’re joining the action, aren’t you.”
It is not a question. If Hoseok is surprised, he is content that he hides it very well, but he doesn’t deny that his face muscle has tightened a bit. He doesn’t immediately answer his sister’s question; he just stares into her eyes. Everyone in the neighbourhood always says that Hoseokkie’s eyes are so pretty, and how it looks exactly the same as Dawon’s. On age ten, Hoseok wondered, well, of course. They are siblings. It is not weird if they have similarities. He doesn’t have anything against that, up until now, because he loves his sister, and she loves him. But in time like this, in rare time like this, he thinks about what if their faces are not too similar to each other.
It feels like he stares into his own face, and he thinks that it describes the horror and the concern, and the sadness. He is looking at the mirror, and his reflection seems to judge him and begs him to stop doing whatever he is about to do.
He wonders if it is the exact expression he gave when Namjoon told him about joining the protest for the first time.
“We have guns. We’ve raided the police station. We won’t go empty-handed.”
“Do you really have to do it?”
Hoseok doesn’t answer, nor he breaks the eye contact with his sister. Dawon’s eyes are close to crying; they are glassy with tears. But the tear drop never falls. His sister has gone so strong lately; everyone does.
“I want to do it.” Hoseok gives in.
“No, you don’t,” Dawon says flatly.
“Even though you forbid me to go, you can’t stop me, Sister,” he whispers. “I can go wherever I want.”
He looks at Namjoon, whose face is red and fiery. He is sweaty, no doubt at that, yet he seems like he doesn’t feel like it. He moves with the crowd headfirst, his voice is clear and loud in between the chaos. The people around him seem to pick up on his spirit, and they yell even louder. There are about six hundred people in the crowd, yet Namjoon still manages to steal the spotlight. He is in his element; the crowd listen to him, his whole gesture reflects his intention. The crowd doesn’t drag him; he drags the crowd with him.
Hoseok wonders a lot at night, how he has become friend with Namjoon. When he transferred into Hoseok’s class at junior high school, he gave off the vibe of those perfect student. Hoseok was not sure why this Seoul boy moved to Gwangju. He decided to stay out of this newcomer’s circle until Namjoon approached him first.
That, and they somehow got closer and closer.
That, until they entered the same university, and dragged into this whole mess.
It is some kind of admiration, Hoseok realises at some point, that he has in Namjoon’s personality. It is not like Hoseok is gloomy and blue, but there is something in Namjoon that he cannot achieve.
In this disorderly moment, Hoseok takes some time to appreciate his friendship with Namjoon. Their high school memories flash behind his head, and Hoseok smiles; he is not sure why he is smiling, but he does anyway, as his body is dragged to whichever direction the crowd ask him to follow.
Hoseok lets himself submerged in the chaotic euphoria and starts to yell, stares to Namjoon’s direction, and they grin to each other when their eyes meet.
“Hoseok, please come home before the curfew today, okay?”
“I will, Ma,” his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I will.”
He surely knows it coming. He has sensed it days ago, when he reassured his mother, when Namjoon asked him to join when he saw Namjoon’s frown directed to the news. He just doesn’t know that it will be him to see it coming first.
When the crowd on his surrounding begins to loosen, Hoseok still cannot decipher which one is a raging shout, which one is the painful one. At some point, there are lots shouting —and shooting, Hoseok realised with horror. It finally begins, Hoseok thinks, his shoulder falls. He immediately thinks of Namjoon, who has lost on him minutes ago, and now he is panicking alone.
To say that Hoseok is panicking alone is an understatement because everyone is panicking; the government forces are here. Even though they are equal in number, but the student’s crowd are losing in the term of weapon. The shotguns they have raided are quickly defeated; Hoseok stares in fear when he sees one of his classmates falls down; blood on his chest.
He pushes to the front, whichever the front side is, and tries to spot Namjoon. He is now aware of people being in one-and-one combat with the soldiers; his friends, his classmates, all the civilians that decide to join the crowd on the spot. More people fall, more people shout in agony. Hoseok tries to keep his vision clear. A specific rustic smell starts to stuff up his nose, the putrid smell of blood starts to fill the air. His shoes are wet. He tries to not thinking whose blood he just stepped on.
“Namjoon!”
It is useless, Hoseok’s heart clenches. His voice is small compared to the noise around him. He repeatedly stumbles upon someone’s body, and his shirt is now smeared with blood that is not his. There is no way he could find Namjoon like this.
Yet he manages to spot him, really, Hoseok doesn’t know whether to cry in happiness or remorse. Namjoon was far in front of him, kneeling in front of government forces. There are two of them, the soldiers. One of them is pointing the tip of his rifle inside Namjoon’s mouth, the other is kicking the dead bodies around them.
Hoseok wants to yell, he really does, but his vocal chord seems to betray him at the moment. He stops running abruptly, and it somehow catches one of the soldier’s interest. He meets his eyes, and Hoseok can hear the soldier’s voice, loud and clear, like Namjoon’s,
“Shot him,”
Just like it startles him, Namjoon’s eyes are jerked to Hoseok’s now, as well as the soldier, and Hoseok falls to his knee with a soft thud as the loud shot of the rifle is heard.
Bam.
He falls on top of someone from the university. Hoseok recognises the face, which is now growing steadily swollen. He doesn’t care. His gaze moves back to the motionless Namjoon, and the two soldiers, whose sneers are heard by Hoseok’s ears, loud and clear.
It was wide with fear, Hoseok notices.
Hoseok doesn’t come home. He knows his parents and sister will probably crying at home, worrying about him, but he has something more important to do. He goes to the place where they dump the dead bodies instead, hoping that he can take care of his friend for the last time. His shirt was wet from all the blood, it is now dry, though, and so is his sweat. His hair is sticky, but the wind softly ruffles his head, and his hair dances a little.
It is oddly quiet. The dawn starts to fall, the road where he walks by is empty. He doesn’t mind, though. People’s concern is the last thing he wants right now.
As if it answers his thought, someone is approaching him.
“Oh my god, Sir, let me patch you up!”
He frowns at the concerned voice directed to him. His feet successfully bring him to the place where they dump the dead bodies. Hoseok knows it is the right place because the air stinks. The person who talks to him is wearing a mask up until her nose. Her hands are in rubber gloves, and they are dirty with blood.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Hoseok brushes the hand. “I’m just— I’m searching for my friend.”
The woman who talks to him gasps. “Sir, the, the bodies today are—”
Behind her, Hoseok realises, there’s a mass dump of bodies. It is the corpses, Hoseok thinks. And Namjoon may be one of them. It is the source of the unpleasant odour around them. A few people are busying around the site, throwing liquid which Hoseok guesses as fuel. They also wear a mask and rubber gloves. Finally one of them throws something small, and slow but steady, the fire starts to eat the bodies.
As the warmth of the flame spreads, everything around Hoseok is muted, but he can hear the sound of the fire, crackling.
a/n: title is from Han Kang’s Human Acts, which is the main inspiration for this piece of writing for the first place.