#w. lee yuram 001.

[littlemarie]

there’s always something in the dark.

the thought is a vestigial ligament running through her wrist like a forgotten catheter. see, not many remember this, but sumi was once ill. she’d been afflicted by a disease that many thought incurable. it’s why mother sends her away, isn’t it? it’s all for the greater good, to seek treatment in metropolitan eden because it boasts a suite of medical interventions that rural andong could not provide. sumi was once ill, bed-bound, and cursed with an ailment that hung out of her like an unwanted limb— but now she’s fine. there’s an alarm in her phone set to ring every night reminding her to take her medicine, and it keeps the problem at bay.

so she’s fine. except mother still keeps her away in metropolitan eden, the raucous melody of the alarm reminds her that she’s still technically sick, and no matter how much she tries to reason with herself, she can’t unthink it: there’s always something in the dark.

it’s why she grips onto her bag the way that she does. over her chest like a shield against her heart, except she’s not really sure what she’s protecting: that is, her heart, or that thump, thump, thump that threatens to give her away. to let yuram know that she was once ill. that she still is. it’s why she runs off as abruptly as she does, a hand over yuram’s wrist to let her know that she’s heading to the bathroom and an odd crunch at her feet as she jolts off.

now she’s got an ornate lighter in one hand and she’s staring at the flickering flame as she begs for the power to come back. somewhere during this, her phone rings, and she reaches for the smaller compartment in her bag to find it unzipped and empty. where the fuck is her medicine? the light flickers. sumi pulls a toilet paper roll from its holder and she’s huddled over the corner of the bathroom, watching it catch aflame. watching it grow into something brighter, something more, that can protect her. but seconds turn into minutes, and now the sprinklers are coming on. she thinks she yelps, tries to protect the fire with her palms, but there’s too much water and it all turns into ash.

there’s too much happening all at once, like the door opening and she’s spinning, sees the world in a white haze the way one does when their heart’s beating out of their chest and they’ve just woken up from a nightmare. sumi wonders when the reprieve will come. “yuram…?” she doesn’t realise the fire alarm’s blaring until she has to scream to hear herself, “i need—” there are wet strands of hair falling over her face that she pushes hastily back, “i lost my medicine!”

flatline  /  @iinksplit