Work Text:
On February 15 19xx, a newly born child was given a name. Like a double-edged sword, the name has two sides: as a reader or only child.
But then again, a sword can never only have one sharp side. It can only be used in a dangerous world, useless in a peaceful one.
If a sword is pointed at someone else, it can cause accidents. It might result in a small cut, a trickle of blood, a gaping wound, or a fatal thrust in a vital organ. Whether it is an accident or not, it will always leave a mark on the person.
Thus, the newborn child was given not only a mere name but a destiny. Not one to hold a sword, but rather, to be someone always at the other end of it. To be someone to get used to being cut by the sword instead of gripping it.
Kim Dokja.
—-
Screams echoed through the empty house, followed by shattering of glass.
A little boy, no older than 10, was curled up in his small closet. As loud slapping reached his ears, he pressed his hand further to his mouth in an attempt to cover his sobs. His pale face is tear-stained, his small body marked with multiple bruises, gaunt eyes, and sunken cheeks, unbefitting for a child.
The noises downstairs stopped and a shiver entered the boy’s spine. The house is now eerily quiet, save for his erratic breathing. Then, the noises started again. This time, it was the sound of heavy footsteps.
The door squeaks as it opens.
“Dokja, you can come out. Its safe now.” The gentle voice of his mother whispered through the crack of the closet. A small noise came from the rusted hinges and a warm hand cupped the cheek of Kim Dokja.
He opened his eyes he unknowingly closed and looked at his mother. He looked at her brown hair that shined due to the sliver of moonlight from the window, her eyes and lips curved softly for him. It didn't matter if the hair was greasy or if her eyes and lips were covered in purple and black bruises.
When her arms opened up, he immediately hugged her. He cried, as her hands rubbed his back. He continued to do so until his mother called for his attention again.
“Happy birthday. I'm sorry that this is all I can get you for now.” A crinkling sound, and then in front of him was a book. Lee Sookyung smiled as her son brightened up. His hands grabbed the book and inspected it, feeling the texture of the pages under his fingers. His eyes glowed at the mere sight of a book.
She brought out a lighter she stole from the man passed out downstairs and lit it up. She presented it to Kim Dokja, making it easier for her to see her child. Eyes dark and tired, pale complexion, thin wrist, bruised face, protruding bones.
I'm sorry that this is what you got.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, Happy birthday, Happy birthday to you.”
“Blow and make a wish, my little reader”
Kim Dokja blew the lighter and brought his hands together, for a wish. Lee Sookyung watches her son do all this. Despite the burdens he has experienced, he is still a child. To see him do a childish action, maybe someday, her son can still be saved. Maybe he can still live his life normally in the future.
“Would you like to read the book together, Dokja?” she offered. They read the book together and flipped the pages together. In here, they were together.
Later, the two slept with a small smile etched on their faces and a book between their laps. A peaceful moment was shared between them.
Lee Sookyung reminisced about that memory as she published her book and was brought to prison for murder.
—--
“The Underground Killer” was published by Lee Sookyung, revealing the history of pain that she and her son endured. Its fame skyrocketed due to its accurate depiction of domestic abuse….”
At the same time, Kim Dokja’s life was thrown into another series of tragedy.
This time, Kim Dokja is truly alone.
Under the custody of his aunt and uncle, his cousins were free to glare and spit harsh words towards him. Serving the food will always be short for one person. Sometimes, he will hear his aunt instruct her kids to eat all of the food and leave none but every night, his stomach will grumble and ache as he sleeps it off.
A barren attic was given to him as his room and without any wealth under his name, the room remained empty saved for a single ratty backpack, a small amount of clothes, and a charger plugged into the electrical socket.
At school, hushed voices and disgusted glances surround him. Students avoided him like a plague and rumored about him. Song Minwoo and his gang made it their mission to make his life more miserable. His grades are always low and his quizzes are always wrong, no matter how the answers are perfectly the same as what they said on the discussion.
It doesn’t end there as numerous reporters are trying to get his statement on the book his mother wrote. Endless shutters of cameras and microphones followed every step he made outside. It didn't help that his mother never talked to him as well. She never answered why she wrote a book about our sufferings.
Did she think about her child’s feelings before publishing that? Did she even care when he visited her? Why isn't she talking to him during those allotted hours in the visitation center? Why did she leave him all alone?
Years flew by and nothing in his life improved. His ribs and bones still protrude through his skin, his complexion is still pale due to the lack of nutrition, Bruises are still purple and black without being given time to recover. He was still that young pitiful child that hid in his closet, hoping that some miracle would save him from this nightmare.
A hand grabbed his hair tightly and dragged him across the hallway, heading towards the bathroom. The hallway was not empty yet quiet. He watches as other students make way while whispering and staring at him, disgusted by the mere sight of him.
Arriving at their location, Song Minwoo then throws him inside a bathroom stall. His back aches as his body hits the edge of the toilet. His vision blurring and refocusing, head turned towards the floor while containing his nausea.
Song Minwoo grips his hair once more and thugs it, making him stifle a groan through his teeth. Watching him bare his teeth with his eyes closed, Song Minwoo grins.
“Already imagining ways on how to kill me? Hah, as they said, the apple doesnt fall quite far from the tree. Here, ill give you more reasons to keep imagining.”
He laughed as he dunked Kim Dokja’s head into the toilet bowl. He lifted his head and shoved him in repeatedly, scratching his face against the toilet seat. He continued to do so until Kim Dokja’s body became limp. He pulls his head up one last time.
“Word of advice, just kill yourself and hope for a better mother next life.”
But a miracle was impossible from the beginning and even then, why would it choose to save him?
A scream from one of his classmates was heard as he ran to the nearest window and flung himself off the building.
–
The harsh lighting of the room made him squint before adjusting and observing his surroundings. There is a constant beeping beside him and everything around him is white. He raised his arms and saw the IV injected into his body.
The realization that he survived dawned on him. Grabbing his phone on the table, he opened it to check the time. It was currently 5:40 am. As he was about to turn off his phone, he saw the date today.
It is February 15.
“Ha…Haha…” Kim Dokja laughed hysterically. What started as a small laugh became a full-on laugh accompanied by an aching stomach and streaming tears. Then, the laugh had some hiccups. Those hiccups became sobs as tears continued to fall. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged himself. There was no warmth or thrumming of another heartbeat.
He wants to end it all. There is nothing left for him in this world except never-ending tragedies. He was barely surviving.
He opened his phone once again and searched, “Ways to survive”. It was a moment of desperation. Maybe another miracle will be granted. Just for something to show up for him to hang on. To say that this will end soon.
The first result was a web novel called “Three Ways to Survive an Apocalypse”. Opening it, there were more than 3000 chapters and the reviews were all negative.
In a moment of impulsiveness, he pressed the first chapter and began reading.
As he read through the words, he slowly forgot his current predicament. His will to live was filled to see the plot unfold and to witness the ending of this web novel.
—--
A night of going home after overtime is just an ordinary day for Kim Dokja.
His life as a corporate slave for some no-name game company is just as boring as anyone would think it is. Waking up early, sitting on your chair and staring at the screen for the 9 hours, then staring at it for a few more hours as the asshole department head forces you into another overtime.
A life devoid of anything but this is the only peace that Kim Dokja can get.
No friends nor family, a barren apartment, an expiring contract, a meal once a day, and a hanging threat of being homeless but it's better than being beaten up every day. Sometimes, you have to be content with where you are even if it’s at the lowest of the low.
He opens the door to the apartment he lives in. It is empty and lonely, only a place to survive, not a place he would call home. He opens the lights and removes his shoes. The lights flicker as he walks towards his room to charge his phone.
[2% battery… charging]
[11:50 pm, February 15, 20xx]
He stared at his phone, presenting the time and date in front of the default wallpaper. All the bakeries nearby are closed and he couldn’t afford to mess up his budget.
It’s just another day in his life. Nothing changed, nothing worth celebrating. This day was just titled as such but this day is just a normal day. Yet, he took out the remaining eggs in his refrigerator and turned on the stove. He cooked it just how he wanted it. He grabbed his lighter and lit it up. He presented it to himself, just as his mother used to back then.
“Happy… birthday to you. Birthday to you…”
He blew the fire out and stared at the omurice he made. It looks just how his mother used to make it but those memories were a decade ago.
He lifted a spoonful to his mouth. It tasted just how she made it yet, it felt so different. It felt dull, cold, and lonely. Maybe his memories were failing him, this is the recipe that Lee Sookyung gave to him. He suddenly became too aware of his thoughts.
When did he start differentiating his mother and Lee Sookyung? When did he start thinking of them as two different people?
He felt his appetite leave him as he stood up from the table. He lays on his bed, tired and sleepy. He grabbed his phone to set up his alarm and watched the clock go from [11:59 pm] to [12:00 am].
“Happy birthday, Kim Dokja. Though, I wouldn’t really call it happy.”