Life, Once Again

After Story 42

What is today’s date again? I tried to remember as I clutched my forehead. Wednesday? Thursday? Or was it Friday? The thick fog inside my head showed no signs of dissipation. I bent my thumb and stuck it in my mouth before biting on it; only then did the fog disappear. Today was Monday.

“Should we get some food at the convenience store?”

“Let’s go to Dolsook’s and get some jeyuk-bokkeum.”

The students sitting in the lecture room packed their belongings and left one by one.

Oh, it’s lunch. I had lost my sense of time from some time onwards. I just didn’t need it anymore. Time is a luxury to someone abandoned on an uninhabited island. It was fine as long as it was possible to discern between night and day, between time to act and time to sleep.

No, actually, even that distinction was unnecessary. For me, the distinction between dream and reality had blurred a long time ago.

I picked up the writing stencils and my textbook on the desk. I had not opened the textbook throughout the whole lecture. I just carried it around out of habit.

Indeed, this body was simply held captive by the gravity created by the house and the college, and it was impossible to escape. Not that I want to either.

“Lee Jungho.”

That was my name, but it felt unfamiliar to me.

There was someone who called me by that name to the death until just a while ago.

Jungho, hey, Jungho — that girl called my name over and over again.

Lee Jungho, Lee Jungho.

I could smell something sweet from her mouth when she said my name. It was a sweetness that was like the smell of violet; I was fated to be enraptured by it. It was a sweetness that made me proud of my name.

“Hey.”

A fog appeared in my mind. My ears became numb.

What is it that’s in front of my eyes?

Round face, black earrings, a baggy t-shirt, and washed jeans.

I walked around in the fog for a while before finally remembering a name. It was a name that had no significance.

I said as I picked up the bag I hung on the chair, “What?”

“You okay?”

“What?”

“Don’t give me that.”

I stared at the ‘insignificant name’ hesitating before me before putting on my bag. I knew the reason she called me, as well as the reason she was putting on such an expression.

Yeah, she’s a good person, but so what?

“It’s a pity about what happened to Mijin, but you can’t hold onto her forever.”

Mijin. The moment I heard that name, I recalled the funeral. In the middle of the parade of black clothes, in that place filled with cries of sorrow, Mijin was smiling. She was the only one wearing color and the only one with a bright smile on her face.

I approached Mijin with a flower in my hand. Mijin, who was taxidermied by time, did not call my name. She only showed that violet-colored smile.

Back then, I was thinking of one thing: Ah, I want to be taxidermied in that same time slot; ah, I want to live in that cramped photo along with you.

I clutched the desk. My neck dangled like my neckbone was broken. My forehead fell towards the desk. The instant of pain cleared my head.

When did it become like this? I couldn’t even count how many days had passed since she died. It felt like yesterday, but it also felt like a month ago, or even a few years.

I bashed my head again, hoping that the fog cleared up.

I could feel gazes on me. Everyone was looking at me.

Among those many eyes, Mijin’s was absent.

The world turned white. Everything lost significance.

Should I go with sleeping drugs, or should I just slit my wrist? Jumping off a tall building would inconvenience many people, so should I just jump into the Han river instead?

How great would it be if there is a switch on the body? A switch that could allow me to just let go of all control over this body just like flicking on and off a light switch?

I was unable to overcome the overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

The murmurs became distant. I wish I could disappear like this.

My senses dulled and my mind sunk deep into the sea, tied onto a block of lead.

That was when I saw her. She was standing at the door to the lecture room.

It was Mijin.

I hurriedly pulled my mind back up. My vision spun for a second as though I had surfaced too quickly after diving and my bones ached, but I couldn’t care less. I tensed my grip on the desk and pulled myself up.

Mijin was looking at me expressionlessly. My chin trembled endlessly. The sound created by my teeth clattering removed the fog slightly.

Color started appearing in my monotone world. I uttered her name with trembling lips.

“Mijin.”

While I called her name, Mijin just stood there by the door.

I didn’t need anything like logical thinking. What mattered was that she was in front of my eyes. I felt like I could finally breathe after being stifled this whole time. It felt like I woke up from a terrible nightmare.

There was no way Mijin died. Everything was a dream, whether it was how I called Mijin out in the middle of the night, whether that fucker was at the driving wheel while drunk, or whether Mijin was laying on the ground until her body turned cold.

It had to be a dream. Mijin was looking at me right now.

I pushed the desk aside and walked to the door. I want to give Mijin a hug. I wanted to tell her to call my name with those lips of hers.

When I arrived at the door, I had to look around for a long time. Mijin disappeared. Mijin, who was ‘here’ until just one moment ago, had disappeared.

I grabbed onto the door sill and peeked out the door. The corridor was empty. There was not a single human silhouette.

The fog assaulted me again. It was thicker than at any other time.

I blocked all the orifices on my head with my hands.

Mijin, oh, Mijin… my body swayed.

My back hit the wall. I collapsed just like that. A nightmare assaulted me.

* * *

It felt like he had watched an accident. If he wasn’t holding the camera, he would probably stand there dazed. Everyone in the lecture room looked at Maru, who was sitting down in front of the door. There were looks of shock and some looks of worry.

Despite never having been taught acting, their eyes were realistic and natural. No, they were probably not acting. They were emotions purely drawn out by the actor Han Maru’s skills.

He could guarantee that his friends had forgotten that this was a shoot. Maru’s acting just had that much power to draw them in.

Ever since he gave the cue sign, Maru’s expression had changed. Back then, he felt a sense of disparity. After all, Maru had been joking with him until just 10 minutes ago. However, the moment the first line escaped Maru’s mouth, the person standing there was no longer Han Maru but Lee Jungho. The character that Yoonseok had only pictured in his imagination had appeared in reality.

It was chilling.

The eyes looked like what he wanted, the actions looked like what he wanted, and the voice sounded like what he wanted. The voice was definitely from the same person, but the texture was different. It felt like the voice lacked some of the core components that made up a human.

Yoonseok was enraptured by the act that made him seem like he would disappear at any moment.

Before the shoot, Maru said this: he should shout cut if he didn’t think it was right and boldly demand things out of him.

Demand what though? How was he supposed to give any opinions on that? Maru’s acting had changed the atmosphere from the very beginning, but it spread another wave of shock when he looked at the deceased Mijin. That was the first time Yoonseok realized that it was possible to act through the eyes. It felt like someone was really standing at the door of the lecture room, which was totally empty.

When his friends turned their heads following Maru’s gaze, Yoonseok felt a chill go down his back. The act displayed by actor Han was captivating everyone. They were drawn not into the world inside a script, but into the world of reality.

When Maru walked towards the door while staggering, some of his friends even spoke out in worry: Isn’t he going to fall like that? What’s up with him? Those words, that contained nervousness, were not words that were prepared beforehand.Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

That didn’t mean though, that his friends were proficient enough in acting to improvise on the spot. It was just pure worry that they felt when they looked at Maru, nay, at Lee Jungho.

Yoonseok turned the camera around from Maru to shoot his friends sitting around the lecture room. Maru could probably display the same act again even if they reshoot the scene, but this would probably be the one and only time he could see his friends make such vivid expressions. It was a judgment that stemmed from instinct.

The extras who didn’t know that they were being shot were looking at Maru, forgetting that this was a shoot, nervous and worried that something might happen. They were probably wondering what Maru’s next action would be.

“That’s enough,” Yoonseok said. He gave the camera to Moonho and walked over to Maru.

Maru, who was sitting against the wall in the lecture room, took his hand off his face. He blankly looked at the floor for a while before standing up after calming down his breath.

“Hyung, you’re okay, right?”

Despite knowing that he was acting, Yoonseok couldn’t help but feel worried. From up close, Maru looked so pale that it made him wonder if he was really ill. How could someone’s impression change so dramatically in such a short period of time?

“This is a fun character, and at the same time, it’s hard. Well, that wasn’t bad considering that it’s been a long time since I last concentrated. Though, I think I did go a little overboard.”

“Overboard?”

“I’m just talking about my standards. So, how did you feel? Was it decent enough?”

“Forget decent. Look at them.” Yoonseok pointed at his friends, who were still dazed. “They’re still out of it. I was also watching you blankly and barely managed to turn the camera around.”

“That’s not something a director should be saying. Get a hold of yourself.”

“Alright, I will.”

He then walked over to Moonho with Maru, who was massaging his cheeks slightly. He showed Maru the video he took just now. This was supposed to be a master shot to capture everything at once, but it looked so good that he might as well use it like this in the final product without any editing.

“For this scene where Jungho sees Mijin and falls down at the door, I’m going to climb a ladder with the camera and shoot it from above. You’re going to have to get into the act once again, so are you okay with that? Or should I just use this one?”

“Try shooting both and comparing them. The director’s skills only truly shine during editing. Also, don’t ask me. Demand things from me. My role is to show the act that you want. There’s no director more unattractive than one without confidence.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that.”

Like Maru said, he had to get himself together. He could tell from just one take that he had the finest ingredient in his hands. It was up to him as the director when it came to whether he would turn the finest ingredient into the finest dish, or something that was more suited for the trash bag instead.

“I’ll do the beginning scene once more, when that person reaches out to me,” Maru said.

“That looked good though.”

“I want to try changing it up a little. You look and decide. It won’t take long anyway.” Maru approached Nayoung. It was her who talked to Maru in the first little bit.

Yoonseok asked her for the job because while she had not learned any acting, she was not introverted, and she actually did better than he originally expected. The two of them talked to each other. Maru seemed to be asking her to do something.

Yoonseok prepared for the second take. He now had some more leisure because he had experience. This time, he was going to analyze the whole screen, not to mention Maru’s acting. What was also important was to find out what Maru’s preferred direction of acting is.

“Once you’re ready,” Yoonseok shouted. There was a faint sense of heat in his hand grabbing the camera tripod.

What kind of acting would he show this time? He was captivated by expectation.