I was in a good mood today. But then I got a call from an unknown number.
I realized something was wrong.
"Are you student Choi Yeo-ju?"
"Yes..? I'm Choi Yeo-ju."
"My mother is in critical condition. Please come to the hospital."
I dropped my phone. I collapsed. When I came to, I found my phone, its screen completely blank, in my hand, and my mother, her eyes closed, before me. The person who gave up my youth, my school years, for me. My mother gave birth to me at the age of 18, raised me until I was 18, and then passed away at the same young age.
••••
The funeral was over. I saw my grandparents for the first time in my life. They called me a mother-eating bitch, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything, so I just hit them. They said I should've prevented you from being born. It was hilarious. The two people who hated my mother were blaming me to ease their guilt. I was sitting in the alley in front of my house, on the outskirts of the city I'd moved to only a few months ago after working my entire life. Mom, why... why did you leave so early?
"...Mom, why...are you feeling at ease? How is the sky?"
"I want to follow you, but I don't have the courage, Mom."
And I looked at the man walking in front of me. His eyes were empty. And his eyes were looking at me.
"Why are you looking at me?"
".."
"Do you feel sorry for me?"
"..Why, are you sad?"
"..yes?"
"You're not dead. I think it's your mother who's dead."
".."
"Why are you sad?"
It wasn't a question of nitpicking. It was a question of genuine curiosity.
"Are you kidding me? You should feel sorry for me instead."
".."
"It might be funny to you, but..."
".."
"..I, I'm going crazy right now!!"
The man was flustered. His expression was like, "Why is he angry?" It was annoying. That look of incomprehension annoyed me more than the pitying, mocking looks at me at the funeral.
"..who are you,"
".."
"Who are you to make things difficult for me from the very first time we met?"
"You don't remember, do you?"
"..Have we met before?"
"If I say Jeon Jungkook, will you remember me?"
"Who is that? You've got the wrong person."
"It doesn't matter if you don't remember. We met again, and that's what matters."
"yes?"
"The person who will help me find my feelings. I'm glad I met you."
The man called himself a psycho.