I hear voices all around me. They're like mosquitos that just won't let you sleep. You could ignore them biting you, but it's that whining, high-pitched noise they make in your ear that hinder you from sleep. I try to open my eyes, but it feels like lifting the curtain from those opera shows. Everything is so hazy. I see white lights, and occasional black figures hovering over me, speaking I don't know to whom. My head spins like those dogs running around the tracks chasing after a stuffed rabbit. I try to lean on my elbow to push myself up. The black figures above me move towards either side of me and hold me down with what feels like hands. They murmur nervously; I think they're trying to say "lie back down", but one can't be too sure after being crushed under cement and fire. Such conditions may impair one's hearings. My eyes slowly start to adjust. The black figures slowly turn white, at least that's the color of their clothes. One of them has a wooden board and is scribbling something down hastily. That's when I hear the voice; she's here. I look frantically around, opening my mouth to call her. My throat collapses and feels like someone's stuffing hot coal down it. The harder I try, the more my throat closes up. I finally turn left and see her; she's still as beautiful as I've remembered her to be, though she seems to have lost weight; a lot of weight. Her hair seems shorter, but my sight's not back to normal just yet. One of the figures in white is talking to her. Why's he talking to her? Why does her face darken with every passing second? Why does her eyes seem to turn red? Why is she cupping her mouth like that? Why is my sight getting better so quickly at such a time? She turns around and rushes away from me. No, no, no. I've made the mistake of letting her go once. I'm not planning on making the same mistake twice. I try to reach out to her, try to hold her, but I don't see my arm pointing at the doorway. Why can I still see the man in white standing there in the doorway rubbing between his brows? Why can't I seem my arm? And why is it that when I try to turn to let my feet touch the ground so that I can try to run and catch her, I only feel my waist move? Why don't I feel my legs slouch over the side of the bed? The monitor next to my bed beeps faster while the numbers on the screen seem to skyrocket. More figures in white rush towards my side. Someone yells, "I need some help in here! He's going into to shock!"
When I finally reached home, no one came out the front door to greet me. I expected my mother to stumble across the front porch to grab me by my shoulders and soak my shirt with her tears. I even expected dad to give me a hug and whisper "welcome home". I guess I expected too much. They're all gone. Neighbor tells me my mother came down with an unexplained sickness soon after I was dispatched to the army. She died almost two weeks into her sickness. Some rumors say that my dad committed suicide soon after. Others say that he went crazy and roamed the street like a schizophrenic. Others say that he drank away till his lungs filled with nothing but alcohol. There is no one left for me here at home now. Even she, the one person I had hoped to stick around me no matter what, left me. The day I was dispatched from the hospital she was standing in the front entrance. She silently glided past me and pushed my wheelchair. We arrived at a small, quite park. Red maple leaves danced around us as we silently watched the sun say goodnight past the buildings on the horizon. The scenery felt like dejavu, but I could quite recall when was the last time I had faced a dying sun with her. Before I could say anything, she said four words that explained it all, four words that was enough to push me off the edge of this world and away from her for eternity, enough to force me from asking questions. "I can't do this". I stared at her face for a few seconds. She could have quenched her thirst from all the tears. I then pushed the joystick on the arm rest and rolled away. No need for goodbye. No need for unnecessary clinging to her. She said she couldn't do this.
As I look past the last few years, I realize how often I thought of home, of running away from the battlefield, to crawl back into my bed and sleep soundly. I realize how much I missed eating my mom's pork cutlets and kimchi soup. I realize how much I missed our family's laughter around the dinner table. I realize how much I truly missed home. But my home's empty now. The rooms are empty. There's no laughter. Only sounds of occasional mouse scurrying across the attic and cockroaches skidding across the wooden floorboards. Just a man who returned to his home. But I wonder, was it worth coming back? Was the home that I longed so for so long to return to all worth it? Would it have made a difference if I didn't go back to save that one child? If I knew what I would have had to return to, I'd never have tried to come back in the first place. I'd rather have enjoyed the chiseled cement grating my skin like cheese and the flames slowly cooking me well-done. All that would have been better than to have returned home. I don't wanna stay here. I don't wanna go home.
When I finally reached home, no one came out the front door to greet me. I expected my mother to stumble across the front porch to grab me by my shoulders and soak my shirt with her tears. I even expected dad to give me a hug and whisper "welcome home". I guess I expected too much. They're all gone. Neighbor tells me my mother came down with an unexplained sickness soon after I was dispatched to the army. She died almost two weeks into her sickness. Some rumors say that my dad committed suicide soon after. Others say that he went crazy and roamed the street like a schizophrenic. Others say that he drank away till his lungs filled with nothing but alcohol. There is no one left for me here at home now. Even she, the one person I had hoped to stick around me no matter what, left me. The day I was dispatched from the hospital she was standing in the front entrance. She silently glided past me and pushed my wheelchair. We arrived at a small, quite park. Red maple leaves danced around us as we silently watched the sun say goodnight past the buildings on the horizon. The scenery felt like dejavu, but I could quite recall when was the last time I had faced a dying sun with her. Before I could say anything, she said four words that explained it all, four words that was enough to push me off the edge of this world and away from her for eternity, enough to force me from asking questions. "I can't do this". I stared at her face for a few seconds. She could have quenched her thirst from all the tears. I then pushed the joystick on the arm rest and rolled away. No need for goodbye. No need for unnecessary clinging to her. She said she couldn't do this.
As I look past the last few years, I realize how often I thought of home, of running away from the battlefield, to crawl back into my bed and sleep soundly. I realize how much I missed eating my mom's pork cutlets and kimchi soup. I realize how much I missed our family's laughter around the dinner table. I realize how much I truly missed home. But my home's empty now. The rooms are empty. There's no laughter. Only sounds of occasional mouse scurrying across the attic and cockroaches skidding across the wooden floorboards. Just a man who returned to his home. But I wonder, was it worth coming back? Was the home that I longed so for so long to return to all worth it? Would it have made a difference if I didn't go back to save that one child? If I knew what I would have had to return to, I'd never have tried to come back in the first place. I'd rather have enjoyed the chiseled cement grating my skin like cheese and the flames slowly cooking me well-done. All that would have been better than to have returned home. I don't wanna stay here. I don't wanna go home.
No comments:
Post a Comment