Mirage

Everything will be the same. On the streets rotting cherry blossom petals will be littered and the wind will be dry and coarse. It never changed. Hometown, it doesn’t befit that word. A town once lived in, that would be more correct. A place once lived in a long time ago.

The place never changed. Even the name of the town meant ‘tranquil town’ in some language of the past. Tranquil town, that’s laughable. Something like ‘Nothing town’ would be better. Absolutely nothing ever happened there. Come to think of it, they never changed that tattered old town sign either. It was a hateful sight. The wood cracked, the letters so worn off that nobody could actually tell what was written on it, and all those scrawls by those little idiots. It was just like the place; out of date, messy, still.

16 years of patience, now that’s a feat. After all these years it’s still a surprising fact. The frustration was so thick and sour. Oh, that Alice Thompson. Her bragging letter had broken the heart of that young girl so much years ago. The hatred was mutually balanced until she sent that letter. Wonder what she’s doing now. She probably married a fancy-looking nothing of a man and would be regretting that decision now. How sweet.

It was that letter that provided the bitterness. Without that bitterness the motivation wouldn’t have been enough. It did take much time and effort, and the people were so nosy. Preparing the money, packing, even planning the escape had had to be done in secret. Why, in the world, didn’t they allow people to leave that wretched place? Did they want every poor soul born there to suffer with them? Were they that cruel? Oh, what’s the use of it now. They are the past. Focus on the present. The landlady was convinced about the rent, right? Probably. Okay, don’t think about it until later. It will be dealt with, probably.

This bus still hasn’t changed. Just the same as the night of unsure freedom. The seats still rattle when the wheels jump over a rocky patch, and the cold wind leaks in through the tiny gap. Should have worn a thicker coat then. It was so cold, almost snowing. The resulting coughs lasted for a week. But that was partly because of that shabby room. The landlord never heated that place. But that was the best room available with that little money. Should have taken more money that night. But then the escape would have been two years later. The coughs, the cold room, the meager meals, they were all worth it. They were much better than that place.

Who had exactly died? Can’t remember, some friend of the family or something. A Mr. Reed or somebody. Nobody has the time to remember those trivial things. It was just an invitation, not a requirement. Isn’t it not worth the money for the train and this bus? These thoughts are pretty confusing. What’s the time? Almost 4, got to be near there. That shabby sign should be around here. Where is it?

No way. Absolutely no way. That’s the sign? That thing is made out of metal. It’s shiny. No cracks, no scrawls, no anything. The letters are clearly written. It’s…

It’s new.

By God, they have cement on the roads. Those are new buildings. That’s a cinema. That’s a café. Jesus, that’s a shopping mall. The trees are tall and green. No rotting petals. It’s clean. It’s pleasant. This is unbelievable. This place actually changed.

Are these tears?

There has to be a logical explanation. There has to be a reason for these tears. Why? Why are these tears coming out? So this place changed. That’s nothing to cry about. Isn’t it?

No, no, no. This place had to stay the same. It wasn’t supposed to change. It had to be the old terrible place. Now what? Is anything worth the suffering now? Is anything worth anything now?

What’s left of me now?

#fiction #sarahyoon