About

I wake up today to the same wretched sunlight. The silence in the house suggests my father has already left. I drag my heavy body into the living room. My feet make a sticky, squelching sound against the floorboards, damp from the rainy season. Entering the room, I spot the leftover soju my father drank yesterday, surrounded by scattered shards of broken glass. "Sigh..." As I quietly clear away the glass, a broken frame in the corner catches my eye. Inside is a photo of a smiling, happy family. Seven years ago, in the summer, my mother died. What was there even to steal in this dump? A burglar broke in looking for valuables. He trashed the place and killed my sleeping mother. After losing her, it was just my father and me. He became addicted to alcohol and cigarettes, and I started smoking back in my school days too. I finish cleaning up the glass and the frame, throw on whatever clothes are lying in the corner, and head outside.