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The sun was shining,the breeze was light and his favourite song was playing. Above all, Matthew was waiting for him at home.
It was looking to be a beautiful day—except some people could not fucking drive.
Especially drunk assholes in BMW’s going in the wrong direction.
One second he was peacefully heading down the highway, the next he was getting a bird’s eye view of the 400.
Am I a fungible person?
The thought floated through Gunwook’s mind as the car spun through the air, like a crocodile with prey in its grasp.
Hitting the pavement, the vehicle finally stilled after the windshield shattered.
Blood dripped into his vision as he hung upside down. Suspended in a moment everyone dreads.
Gunwook waited for his life to dramatically flash before his eyes.
When it didn’t, his mind went to the last conversation he had, a philosophical problem.
“Do you think a ship is the same if all its parts were replaced?” Matthew had asked, after the two robots on the show they were watching debated it.
“Of course not.” Was Gunwook’s response, but now he wondered.
With his legs crunched in place, and at least a shattered collarbone, Gunwook was trapped.
Since he had nowhere else he could be, he thought—why not try to work it out?
Thus a steady stream of questions and possibilities began flooding his brain. Endlessly flowing like the blood leaking from his veins onto the asphalt.
If they could repair his body, would he still be himself?
With every new limb and mended bone, what kind of person would be built?
After extensive rehab, he’d have to change his entire life and therefore himself, so he couldn’t be the same—problem solved.
Yet, he would still love ice cream, and the smell of damp flowers after it rained.
A broken leg wouldn’t change that.
Gunwook began to fret over what actually defined him.
People who didn’t know him would point to his physical form to identify him, but the people who loved him might say something different.
He tried again in vain to wiggle free, not seeing a real conclusion to this problem.
A cracked phone screen vibrated among the wreckage below—Matthew.
Ignoring a throbbing pain, he reached for the device.
Fingertips gazing the edge, Gunwook noticed one less digit than he started the day with.
What finger should I put a ring on now?
The screen darkened and Matthew didn’t call again.
Staring at the hollow space on his hand, Gunwook realized a transformation had already begun.
Eyes dancing across the interior, he searched for the missing appendage.
Would Matthew still love him if he changed?
Gunwook was beginning to feel sick, something was lodged in his throat.
He watched in horror as he coughed up several shards of glass.
Red stained everything.
Gunwook wasn’t positive how much blood a person could lose, but he feared he was nearing the threshold.
A new problem occupied his thoughts.
They might be able to scrape Gunwook off the roadside, but would he survive after that?
Death does something awful to the spirit.
Matthew wouldn’t be the same if he died—where do you go when you die?
The answer came in the form of the flames of damnation creeping towards his face— that Jehovah’s Witness was right.
Scratch that, the car was just catching fire.
Now he really wasn’t going to look the same.
Accepting that he was probably going to die, Gunwook turned his face away from the approaching danger.
As the flames licked at his shoulders, Gunwook noticed through his ruined window, a dandelion.
The yellow weed had bullied its way through the concrete and bloomed peacefully under the guard rail. A white puff ball swayed gently in the breeze next to it.
Not quite Fungible.
The same as another thing, but in different shapes. A paradox in itself.
A dandelion lost most of its essential properties, yet in every stage of its life, its identity stayed the same.
It doesn’t stop being a dandelion when its seeds waft across the breeze.
Through all those changes, its essence endures.
So maybe, just maybe, if Gunwook lost some of himself or transformed into something new, he could still be considered him.
He gazed at the flower. Shinning in the shadows and chaos.
There was a lesson to be learned here, but Gunwook’s vision was starting to blur. And it was getting unbearably hot.
As hope felt far in the rear view mirror, blue and red lights flooded the space.
The world and his mind cooled off. The fire shrunk away.
Leaving the heat of the flames, he now felt the warmth of the sun as he was pulled from the car. Every part of his body ached, and felt ready to crumble into pieces.
All the jostling disturbed the weed and the puffball seeds exploded into thousands of stars.
As they strapped him to the gurney, Gunwook watched the seeds float high into the sky—to begin again.
“I’m a dandelion,” he muttered, as the paramedics pushed him into an ambulance.
“Mark him down for possible brain damage.” One of the men said immediately after.
When Gunwook awoke again, the first thing he noticed was a ring of stitches lining his finger.
Back where it should be.
But the sheets dipped awkwardly where his right foot should be—not whole, changed.
The familiar warmth of Matthew curled at his side, brought him back to the present.
His boyfriend shook awake and let out a strangled sob as he hugged Gunwook.
After an hour of tears, I love you’s and you're taking the subway forever’s, Gunwook felt comfortable asking about the accident.
“Where’d they find my finger?”
“Behind some dandelions near the guardrail.” Matthew mused, snuggling closer.
“Ah! That reminds me, I solved that ship problem.”
“During the car crash?” Matthew gazed up, smiling.
“Yes, the answer is a dandelion!”
“Park Gunwook, you haven’t changed at all.” He chuckled, and Gunwook joined him.