Short Story: A Fictional Narrative

“You see that little cluster of stars to the right?”

Jisoo slightly squinted his eyes, nodding contently; a wide smile blooming upon his lips.

“That’s us.” She said. “There’s me, and there’s you, your father-”

“And that’s Hansol!” Jisoo exclaimed, pointing to the smallest star of the group. “Because he’s only a baby!”

His mother laughed. She smiled too. But it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

“Because he 's only a baby," she repeated quietly."…Jisoo,”

“Yes Mommy?”

“I want you to promise me something.” She said, her voice gentle. “I want you to promise; that if you ever feel alone, or if you ever feel lost, that you’ll look up at us. That you’ll look up at our family of stars.”

She slowly turned to face him; the streetlights

Because even when the rain is pouring, even in the darkness; they’ll be there in the night sky, Jisoo. They’ll be shining so, so brightly. And the world can’t take them away from us. The world would never take away something that’s a part of itself.”

Jisoo smiled, holding out his pinkie finger. “I promise.” He whispered.

She gently linked her own finger with his and lightly kissed her son of the forehead.

She held onto him as if he was the only lifeboat in an ocean of desolation.

Jisoo looked up at her. He wondered why she was always so sad.

“...Will the world take you away from me, Mommy?”

She held on tighter. But she could still feel herself drowning. She could still feel the water filling her lungs. She could still feel the stinging in her eyes, and the crawling under her skin, and the pieces of her heart tearing away. She could feel it all, and she wished she couldn’t.

“Yes, Jisoo.” She replied quietly. “Eventually the world will take us all away.”

Junghan lived in the same apartment complex as Jisoo.

Which meant they had the same Ivy vines ascending outside their kitchen windows. The same deteriorating off-white wallpaper. The same substandard television reception. And the same family of swallows that found refuge on their windowsills when it rained.

But of course, with similarities came

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about Jisoo at all, because he certainly was.

He was thinking about Jisoo’s hair and how the afternoon light had seeped through the classroom windows; making the auburn strands look like silk falling across his forehead. He was thinking about Jisoo’s eyes; how they were sharp like pieces of broken ceramic, and always filled with crippled clouds.

Junghan was thinking about Jisoo’s words.

Jisoo’s words that were playing in his ears like a vintage vinyl that wouldn’t turn off. Jisoo’s words that were spoken like he wanted them to be definite, but also spoken like he wasn’t certain at all. Jisoo’s words that were like tiny golden coins of something that Junghan wanted to collect in little glass jars. Jisoo words that were spoken like he had been in love before.

I could draw his words. Junghan thought. I could paint his words. I could make his words into poems and prose. I could make his words into a melody.

We could both make his words into a melody.

I could. Junghan thought. But I won’t.

We could. But we