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A boy ran in his school uniform, tumbling forward as wet branches scraped into his skin and ripped through his clothes. The white fabric was stained muddy and maroon and despite the way it hung off his frail form, he kept up his breakneck speed. Like a freight train shaking on steel tracks, straining breaths escaped his rusted throat. A few meters in front of him was an unfortunately placed tree root.
A white shoe caught and the whole body tumbled, plunged into damp, black dirt. Teeth clenched to avoid letting out a yelp of pain. He got up on his elbows and crawled behind the half-shaded shelter of a bush, then shoved a bleeding palm over his mouth and nose. Waited. Like a rabbit with its ears perked up. Nose twitching, searching the damp air for the scent of danger. Raindrops dripped off the foliage above him and landed in his hair, on his shoulders, washing away the evidence of survival. Survival. A word that meant he would see his mom again, a word that he clung on to.
If he survived this, he would never complain about his mom’s nagging again.
“Hey, class president!” A voice broke through the trees. “It’s quiet now that the rain has stopped. I can hear the birds above me.” A sigh, almost a laugh. “And the wind has died down. It’ll be so easy to find you now!”
With the smallest, slightest movements, he curled his legs closer to him, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He knew he was breathing too much, too loud, but he couldn’t help himself. His vision filled with black spots, floating and celestial, and—he couldn’t pass out now. His head rushed with pressure, made worse by the pain in his sides, his feet, his skull.
Louder, louder, the footsteps became. The crunching of leaves, the elated sounds of his assailant coming closer. He bit into his fist, tasting copper on his tongue. Begged his body to stop shaking but it wouldn’t listen. Scanned for movement in the rustling green, the trembling branches. Nothing. Blood rushed through his head, blurred his vision, thumped mutedly in his ears. Quiet, quiet, quiet.
Colors poked through the foliage. Bright red, like the juice of a pomegranate. It was him. It was over.
Then, gradually, the movement disappeared into the forest and the air grew quiet. A second chance, the boy prayed. He waited just a bit longer, to ensure distance, then sprang up and ran back the way he came, ignoring the aching in his muscles.
How far had he run into the forest? Which way was home? He had no idea, but his nerves were screaming at him keep going, get away.
All thought was stripped away when a fire burned through his thigh. The echoing burst of gunpowder came after, and his legs tangled together, turning him into a heap on the ground. Dirt on his lips and a hot agony that spread quickly and made his vision flare white. He sounded like a wounded animal, feral and pitiful. A shadow grew over him, but he could barely see anything through the blur in his vision. Just the vague shape of a red hoodie and a rifle to his face. Spare me, he wanted to say. Instead, it came out as an incoherent cry.
“Found you,” Hanseok said. His friend, Hanseok, who was now holding a gun to him like it was a plastic toy he could swing around. He sounded like a child. Like someone playing a game.
“Should I put you out of your misery, like a dying deer?” Hanseok seemed to consider it for a moment, frowning. “But I don’t want to. I’ve never felt so good in my life and that’s all that matters.” He pressed the barrel against the boy’s forehead. “Why should I sacrifice my own happiness so you can die faster, hm? Humans and animals are hardwired to survive as long as possible. You should want to live.”
The boy was sprawled out, hand digging into the dirt, trying to get a hold of something, anything. A dark, sticky liquid spilled into the ground and was hungrily soaked up by the earth. Any words that came out of Hanseok’s mouth went unheard, but he showed no indication of displeasure. Instead, he sunk low to the other boy’s level and examined him with keen interest. He had never looked more thrilled.
“Have you given up already?” Hanseok asked with a lilt to his voice. Leaning closer, he gripped the boy’s hair and used it as leverage to lift his head up so he could look him in the eye. “Come on.” He shook him. “Just get up and run—no, you don’t even have to run. Just crawl.” When the boy wouldn’t answer, he groaned and stood up. “Look, I’ve changed my mind. I won’t kill you here. Instead, I’ll count to, let’s say, thirty. That’ll give you a chance to escape.”
The boy breathed unnaturally, like an unbearable weight pressed into his lungs. “Why?”
“Because,” Hanseok said with a wide grin, “I want to see your pathetic attempt to run away.”
A minute passed and the boy was still not moving. Hanseok grew bored, thought of shooting him then and there but decided to wait a bit. It wasn’t nearly as fun when there was no challenge to be had. And his patience rewarded him because the class president finally began to show a little backbone. Panting heavily, the boy pushed himself up with his arms and tried to get to his knees, but with his thigh the way it was, he struggled to do anything.
He kept trying, struggling, until he had managed to move a few feet away.
Sucking his teeth, Hanseok looked satisfied. “I’m gonna start counting now.”
The boy pushed himself to his feet using a tree trunk. He glanced back just in time for Hanseok to start the count.
“Thirty,” he began.
The boy ran.