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“ Kang Sae-byeok. ”
Someone was calling her name. The voice was high, and then low. Loud, and then soft. Sharp, and then muted. She could’ve sworn she recognized it, through all the dizzying decibels and morphing notes that swam around her in the mist like elusive glass fish. If she had lifted her fingers she might have just been able to pluck the voices right out of the air and hold them in her hands, tangible and real before they faded into obscurity once more. Sensations crashed into each other and melted on her skin, cold and hot and explosive all at once. There were things around her she couldn’t describe, things that she didn’t know how to describe. And a chilling, haunting sense of familiarity that would have soothed her in another life.
Where was she ?
Everything echoed back at her, and yet there was nothing at all. She couldn’t see how high anything above, behind, and in front of her went, and she was standing on something that she couldn’t even feel through her dirty white shoes.
“ Sae-byeok, ah .”
Amma , she whirled around to face her mother.
She had remembered her mother to be taller, her barest slip of a face ridden with worry that had been invisible to her own children. Sae-byeok was no longer a child, but she sure felt like one standing before her mother again. Her mother’s face was red, the color of life. When was the last time Sae-byeok had seen her?
“Amma,” she said, almost afraid that speaking aloud would shatter the illusion.
They were in the kitchen of the house Sae-byeok had grown up in. Her mother was making lunch for her and her brother, just like she always did. She had never allowed Sae-byeok to help her, whether out of love or distrust Sae-byeok may never know. Both, probably. She would always be that little girl to her mother. Sae-byeok could never have helped her mother out of the grief of losing those closest to her. She had lost an older brother, but her mother had lost a child. Sae-byeok had carried that feeling of helplessness with her into adulthood, the ugly weight of her entire world on her shoulders flaring up again when she hadn’t been able to help her brother out of that damned orphanage. She felt so useless way too often.
“You want to eat japchae today?”
Her mother smiled at her, a toothy but sad grin.
“Yes, Amma,” she whispered, trying to hold onto the tendrils of this sensation. The feeling of being taken care of again. The feeling of safety. The feeling of a home. There had been few moments Sae-byeok had ever felt at home, and one of them…well. She could not quite remember the face that swam to the forefront of her mind with its kind smile.
The memory was starting to break apart and fade away.
“Don’t spill the sauce this time.” Those were the last words she heard her mother say before she found herself somewhere new.
The orphanage yard.
Sae-byeok saw the light flickering in the distant building and ran towards it, the rain pelting down onto her and slapping onto the cold, hard ground. She had been here before. That rainy night. She had stood there out on the road, staring at the building, knowing that she didn’t have the courage to see her brother when she had nothing to offer him but empty promises.
Her brother’s voice.
She couldn’t make out what he was screaming, but she knew it was a cry for help. And she knew who it was directed at: her .
She kept running, her shoes slapping across wet dirt. She ran towards the orphanage, the building flickering with the only light in sight. She kept running and running and swinging her arms to propel her forward but the rain never stopped, and the building only seemed to retreat further and further away from her—taking her brother with it.
“No!”
One moment she was running, and the next she was tripping.
She fell.
The orphanage was no longer there when she got up.
“Hi.”
Sae-byeok whirled around, stunned.
“I know you.”
“Yeah, you do.” The girl waved at her from afar. “ Kang Sae-byeok. ”
Sae-byeok gasped as all the memories started punching back into her, gritty pieces that cut and sliced on their way back through the haze. She remembered everything now. She remembered the cruel game. She remembered how she got here.
“Ji-yeong.”
“You finally remember,” Ji-yeong said, smiling. She looked the same as ever, the same as the last time Sae-byeok had seen her. The last time she saw her was right before—
“You idiot.” Sae-byeok walked towards her.
“It’s nice to see you too.”
“Where are we?” Sae-byeok looked out around her, but she couldn’t see anything besides Ji-yeong. Her surroundings were in a color she couldn’t describe, for she had never seen it before. If she reached out her hands, there was nothing to grasp. “How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember everything after all,” Ji-yeong whispered. “This is where the dead go after they die.”
“...I’m dead?” Sae-byeok stared at her.
“Well, not yet,” Ji-yeong said. “This is the in-between. You’re dying.”
Sae-byeok looked down at her hands. They looked like the same hands, but something was different about them. She couldn’t feel her body anymore, as if her consciousness was slowly floating away by the second, ebbing out of her limbs and mind.
“I—”
“It’s okay.” Ji-yeong reached out her hand and put it on Sae-byeok’s shoulder.
Sae-byeok nearly jumped at how real and alive the contact felt.
“Do you remember?”
“It’s blurry,” Ji-yeong said. She smiled. “I don’t remember much.”
Sae-byeok nodded, looking down at the ground. She didn’t quite dare to look Ji-yeong in the eyes, as if looking into her smile and face might trigger a whole avalanche of emotions and memories she hadn’t had the time to process yet with everything that had been going on in the games. Sae-byeok belonged amongst the kind of people who thought it a luxury to be able to feel your pain.
“What’s it like being dead?”
“Boring,” Ji-yeong laughed, a soft sound. The sadness that colored her words did not go unmissed. “I wished you were here. A lot.”
Sae-byeok blinked at her in amusement.
“They always say to be careful what you wish for,” Ji-yeong said. “I never wanted to see you here if it meant you had to die.”
Sae-byeok slowly raised her shaking hand, taking Ji-yeong’s in hers.
“I never meant for you to die.”
“I wanted you to live,” Ji-yeong whispered. “And if it meant me dying…”
They stood in the roaring silence, facing each other— remembering . The pain, the laughter, the sleepless nights. They would never have met were it not for that wretched game. Their encounter was one borne of unfortunate circumstances, but Sae-byeok couldn’t help but feel an unwavering sort of warmth every time she looked at Ji-yeong.
“You’re the only real friend I’ve ever made for as long as I can remember.”
“We’re friends?” Ji-yeong asked.
Looking at the easy grin on her face, how could Sae-byeok ever tell her otherwise?
“And the only person I’ve ever really liked.”
“Liked?”
“You know.” Sae-byeok looked away. “In that embarrassing way.”
Ji-yeong’s excitement was uncontainable now.
“Don’t get all sappy about it.”
“You like me,” Ji-yeong said simply. “I like you too.”
Her hand felt right in Sae-byeok’s own. Sae-byeok smiled too. It wasn’t easy for her to smile, but she was smiling nonetheless. Ji-yeong had fallen quiet, staring down at where their hands intertwined. Her own fingers were hidden beneath Sae-byeok’s fingers as if she could stay there forever. And maybe she really could now. They were somewhere far away from the game, away from the bloodshed and the violence and the insanity. They were alone now, and for the first time, the word “alone” brought her warmth instead of sadness.
“Go back.”
“What?” Sae-byeok blinked.
“I need you to go back,” Ji-yeong whispered, so quiet that Sae-byeok thought she had heard wrongly for a second. “It’s not your time yet.”
“But you—”
“ Please .”
Ji-yeong’s eyes were churning oceans that Sae-byeok could get lost in if she looked for too long and too hard. So she didn’t look. She just kept holding her hand.
“Okay,” Sae Byeok broke the silence after a long while.
Ji-yeong smiled.
“I know you’ll find me again.”
Everything was starting to fade away around Sae-byeok. She could feel the sensation returning, starting with her fingertips and her palm, where Ji-yeong’s hand was still nestled in hers. Her eyes were starting to fill up with an unrelenting light, blurring out Ji-yeong’s face.
“Kang Sae-byeok.” One last smile . “Come back to me, okay?”