My Original Short Stories

November 11, Tuesday, half asleep Kang dragged himself across the hallway to class. The usual glances and dodgy eyes followed. Pitter patter their small feet shifted around him. Standing alone in the cafeteria line, tray in hand. She didn’t look like someone trying to blend in, or someone waiting to be accepted. Her spine straight, chin lifted slightly as usual. Her hair fell smooth down her back, with a curtain of jet black that shined under the cafeteria lights. Her eyes were small and shaped light, small opals, sharp and honed. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t shift her weight. She didn’t pretend not to notice the room rearranging themselves around her. She held herself with a confidence taller than a bean sprout. She felt like someone from a different planet just plopped onto the earth. Kangmin watched her longer than he meant to. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was his fatigue catching up to him, he had been drifting through school for months feeling half there, a ghost who didn’t fit in. Someone finally felt real. But today was the day he went up to her before he could talk himself out of it. “Hello”, he spoke, smiling way too wide. “I'm Kangmin.” She seemed a little surprised but didn’t say anything. She just gave him a fleeting look and walked off to a different table. Kangmin felt awkward, but he wasn’t about to give up. Okay, ice princess. Emotional frostbite is totally my thing. He gave in to his persistence. Today was his chance. Rummaging from his pocket he nabbed a paper box. It had Pepero in bold letters. Today in fact was Pepero day. While she was opening her milk, Kangmin held out the biscuit stick to her. “Hey, you’re Korean, right? It’s Pepero Day today. Look, this isn’t Pocky. This is real Korean Pepero.” He thought she’d like it because all the K-marts in Brasilia had only Japanese Pocky, never Korean Pepero. She gave the chocolate-coated biscuit stick a quick glance but still said nothing. Kangmin’s awkward eyes drifted to her shoulder. A shiny, tiny badge gleamed there…it was…Kim Jong Un’s face…! “Holy cow. You’re North Korean. I thought you were from South Korea.” She didn’t answer. She just started unwrapping her sandwich. “Then you can have this.” Kangmin put the Pepero box next to her milk. For the first time, she lifted her head and looked straight at him. “I don’t like chocolate.” Those four words weren’t anything like the North Korean accent he’d heard. On TV, it was always so much stronger. Even though she made him kind of embarrassed, Kangmin was glad that she finally answered and wanted to keep the conversation going. “You don’t like chocolate? North Koreans are picky eaters too? This is kind of like Choco Pie. You know Choco Pie, right? I know you North Koreans go crazy for Choco–” He didn’t get to finish. She shot up from her seat so fast the chair squeaked like it was scared of her. “What is wrong with you? Why are you South Koreans always arrogant pigs? You charity case. I don’t even want to know you. Especially when you act like we’re beneath you. North Koreans are a joke to you?” Kangmin froze, not knowing what to say. Just then, an adult man walked over quickly. He was Korean too. North Korean police? This is how I die, he thought. “Are you okay?” the man said. “Yes,” she said sharply. “Let’s just go.” She grabbed her tray and left with him. The man didn’t forget to turn his head and shot Kangmin a warning glance, the kind an overprotective Latin older brother would give. He stood there for a second, feeling the echo of her gaze still lodged in his chest. He took a few steps back. For the next few days, Kangmin tried to avoid her. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t know how to exist near someone who verbally drop-kicked him in front of an entire cafeteria. Her words replayed in his head at random times during the day, arrogant pig, Charity case, I don’t even want to know you. If she had wanted to stab his ego, she had succeeded. But even then, his pride limping around like a wounded dog, something about her stayed imprinted to his mind. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, she didn’t look his way even once. Not during lunch, not during break. Not during P.E when they ended up on opposite sides of the field. She walked around with the same unshakable posture. A tank that mowed down anything that stood in her way. Meanwhile, he felt like a deflated balloon every time he could see her at the corner of his eye. Why did he care? He didn’t even know her name. But he wanted to. He wondered how she had felt. If she even thought of him. A week passed and Kangmin had run out of places to hide. He couldn’t take it anymore. So on Monday morning, he went, she stood behind the school building near the drinking fountains. Her usual solitary, mysterious spot, peeling the plastic lid off a small yogurt bottle with her small delicate hands. Kangmin inhaled deeply and approached her like she was a landmine with bangs. “Hi,” he mustered up his voice. She didn’t look up, expectedly. Kangmin swallowed hard. “About the other day… I’m here to apologise” Her hand froze, as she stopped for a moment “I didn’t mean to insult you. I wasn’t trying to act like I knew everything about North Korea or about you. I just talk too much when I get nervous and I'm very nervous a lot.” Her eyes lifted, slow and sharp, like she was scanning him rather than listening. He kept going, “Obviously, I know nothing about you. I’m sorry. Really.” She watched him with those small, opal eyes, picking apart every word, every expression. He could feel her judging the weight of each syllable. “We’re not beggars,” finally, she spoke. Kangmin winced. “I know.” “Many of us suffer from famine and poverty, yes.” He winced harder. “I’m sorry.” “But that doesn’t mean that we’re beneath you. Because it’s not our fault.” “I know.” Kangmin hesitated and said, “Can I say who is to blame? Because I know correctly this time.” He glanced around cautiously, as if he’d just uttered something forbidden. “No. Please don’t.” A tiny breath escaped her not a full laugh, but something close enough that he felt it. Kangmin smiled back. Her expression returned to its former seriousness. “Seriously.” Something softened in her posture. “I reacted too strongly,” she said. His head jerked up. “So… we’re okay?” She nodded. He had no idea if that meant yes or no, but it felt like breathing again after being underwater. “What’s your name?” he asked. She hesitated, then said, “Soorim.” “Soorim, nice to meet another Korean here. I’m Kangmin.” He nearly tripped over his own feet sitting down. “So, Soorim. Are you like one of the Paekdu Blood in North Korea? How are you even here in Brazil?” “My father is an ambassador,” she said. “Fancy. So, have you lived in other countries than Brazil?” “I have. Cuba before.” “I knew it…you kinda have that salsa vibe. So warm and chill.” She looked at him like she was trying very hard not to smile. After school, Kangmin lingered near the front gate pretending he wasn’t waiting. He checked his phone. Kicked a rock. Adjusted his backpack strap eleven times. Then he saw Soorim. When she reached the gate, she raised her hand. “Are you heading home?” he didn’t know where that courage came from. “Yes,” Soorim said casually. “Cool,” he said. Kangmin immediately regretted how stupid that sounded. She didn’t leave as if waiting for his next line. “Want to… walk together?” She seemed weighing something in her mind. “Is your brother coming to pick you up?” Kangmin asked. “My brother?” “Yeah, the one I met when you yelled at me at the-” “Ah. He’s not coming today. Let’s walk.” They started walking. “Hey, if you don’t like Peperro, what do you like?” She pondered, eyes narrowing slightly. It was the first time kangmin had seen Soorim actually ponder over a question. “Sesame candy,” she said. “Seasame candy?” Kangmin echoed. “Like the things old people like? The one one that feels like concrete in your mouth?” “It’s good,” she said firmly. “Alright, tomorrow you should come over to my house, and you will show me how to make sesame candy!” She seemed a little startled, though not in a bad way. She thought for a moment, and when the crosswalk sign flipped to red, she said, “that’s a great idea.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” She stepped away, but before she did, her voice softened “See you tomorrow, Kangmin.” Kangmin had spent the entire morning cleaning the kitchen even though his mom had already cleaned it twice. He wiped the counter until it looked bleached, rearranged the pots for the tenth time, and almost dropped the bottle of oil on his foot. Kangmin kept muttering to himself, “Relax, you are just making candy, with a girl that you like, who called you a pig, and then said yes to coming over.” Every five minutes, he checked the clock. Every five minutes, only 30 seconds passed. He tried watching TV, but couldn't process a word. He tried sitting on the couch, but his legs would keep bouncing. He tried the breathing exercises his sister always told him to do but he ended up hyperventilating. Stumbling around Kangmin caught a glimpse of his reflection on the oven. Hair sticking out, apron inside out, and sweat glistening on his forehead as if he had just come out of the swimming pool. He sprinted into the bathroom. By the time he looked human again, it was 2:58. DING DONG Kangmin froze. The doorbell rang again. He nearly tripped over the carped running to the door. He reached for the doorknob and there she was. “You’re holding a violet.” Kangmin’s voice cracked. Receiving the flower, he said, “I mean welcome. Thank you. Come in.” Soorim made her way into the kitchen. “So, you got all the ingredients?” she said. “Yes, Chef.” They washed their hands and Kangmin pulled out the ingredients. He turned on the stove. The flame jumped up. She didn’t flinch. She gracefully stirred them with calm precise movements. When the mixture thickened, she added the sesame seeds, the perfect amount, and with perfect timing. Together, they lifted the pot and poured the sticky, caramel mixture onto the parchment paper. After flattening it with a rolling pin. As the candy-cooled kangmin asked, “How old is your brother?” “He’s not my brother. He’s my…uncle Ilgyu.” “Your uncle? Then why does he follow you to school?” “He just has to.” They cut the cooled slab into pieces, and topped each piece with a hefty amount of sesame. “Try it,” He said, offering her a warm piece. She bit down and said, “…It is good.” They finished eating the remaining pieces of candy as kangmin began to wrap the leftovers in neat plastic bags. Soorim stood at the sink, rinsing her hands. Kangmin hovered nearby, his heart fluttered with elation. “Hey, do you want to go out on the parade tomorrow?” Kangmin said. "There's a parade downtown, a big one, with colorful lights and good food.” Soorim blinked once. No glare just thought. “It’ll be fun. We don’t have to stay long. We can just walk around. The lanterns are really pretty. And there’s this stand that sells strawberry-” “I’ll go,” she said. “Great, I will pick you up at your house, where do you live?” Soorim quickly took a piece of paper and wrote down her address. “It's an apartment.” The next day, Kangmin got there twenty minutes early. Well buttoned in his best shirt and he borrowed his fathers cologne. A shadow drifted toward him. He froze. She walked toward the gate with her usual straight-backed calm, but something was different. She’d braided her hair. “You’re early,” she said. “You’re on time,” he blurted awkwardly. She looked at his well ironed shirt, “You dressed up.” Kangmin could feel her studying every detail on him. The bus whirred as they passed through the town. Soon lights appeared as colorful shops filled their eyes. Suddenly the bus came to an abrupt stop. Kangmin and Soorim flew into each other’s arms. “You smell nice,” she said. “It's called Sesame No. 5,” Kangmin said in a bougie way. Soorim chuckled. Music thundered from every direction. Drums pounded as warm pulses vibrated through the air. Bright floats rolled down the street spraying glitter and songs. Vendors yelled at each other, smoke rising from skewers and other foods. Soorim stiffened. “It's ... .loud,” she muttered. “Yeah,” Kangmin said. “Kinda awesome though, right?” She didn’t answer. The crowd was overwhelming, bodies pressing in from every direction. Without thinking, Soorim clung to the back of Kangmin’s shirt. “Hold my hand,” he said, offering it toward her. She grabbed his hand. The November sun was beginning to sink when they reached the edge of the parade. Drums echoed through the street, slow and warm, like a heartbeat guiding the crowd forward. Soorim gasped as dancers in blue and white skirts twirled past them, their ribbons catching the light like tiny waves. “Cool, right?” Kangmin said, trying to sound casual. “So pretty,” she whispered, her eyes wide enough to hold the whole festival. They walked side by side, their shoulders brushing every few steps, never on purpose, never entirely by accident. A vendor handed out small paper boats for people to offer to the sea goddess. Soorim held hers gently. “Let’s make a wish,” Kangmin said. Soorim closed her eyes, almost reverently. Kangmin waited beside her without saying a word, watching her eyelashes tremble slightly as she finished her wish. When she finally opened her eyes, Kangmin asked, “What did you wish for?” Soorim didn’t answer. Instead, she gave a tiny smile, stepped closer, and gently tapped a quick kiss on Kangmin’s cheek, light as a feather. “Thanks for today. It’s been one of the best days in my life.” Together, they placed their little boat on the water and watched it drift away, carrying their unspoken wishes into the glowing night. GONG. Soorim flinched. Something reminded her. Her eyes darted to the sky then to the digital clock on the pharmacy. 8:14 Her face drained. “Kangmin, we need to go” her voice was sharp and terse. He blinked, confused, “Go? Why? The parade’s not even over!” “Now.” Her voice cracked like glass. She grabbed his sleeve as kangmin and Soorim dashed. “My uncle,” she whispered. “He told me. Always. Always be on time. Never be late. Never.” “Hey, we’ll figure it out. It’s just one hour-” “No!” she said. “You don’t understand. It’s never just an hour.” They were halfway down the street when a tall shadow stepped out under. Soorim stiffened. It was her “uncle.” He didn’t say a word. Instead, he shot Kangmin a glare before he took Soorim by the arm. As she walked, Soorim turned at Kangmin one last time. Her eyes looked like the second saddest in the world. The saddest were Kangmin’s. The next morning she didn’t come to school. Not late, not missing, not sick. Just absent. The seat she always sat at, near the window bathing under the sun, was empty. Kangmin kept glancing at the door. Every time the door opened, his heart fluttered. Every time he heard vibrations of footsteps he would glance up. By lunch, Kangming was panicking. Where is she? Sick? Did something happen? Then, during recess he spotted him, her “uncle.” He stood by the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, scanning the school the same way that made kangmin’s skin crawl. Kangmin didn’t think, he just found himself stomping over, anger climbing up to his throat. “Where is she?” he asked. He blinked slowly, without any words. “Where is Soorim?” Kangmin asked once more now in a louder voice. “I don’t know anyone named Soorim. What are you talking about, kid?” “Don’t lie to me!” “You come to our land and find her there, then.” Kangmin clenched his fists and stopped away. The bell had rang, and the teachers called students in. Every second of class was excruciating. Every word and noise was blocked out by kangmin. He scribbled at his papers, punched his legs and when the bell finally rang, he sprinted outside. Her uncle was gone. Vanished. Kangmin ran to her house. He couldn’t stop, down the crosswalk, up the hill, his legs had given out a while back and it wasn’t once where he stumbled but Kangmin couldn’t stop. He had to keep going, he must. Reaching the apartment, he ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, and stopped in front of her door. But when he reached the small apartment building, something felt wrong. Too quiet. He knocked. No answer, he knocked again, harder. No answer. He knocked again, harder. “Soorim? It’s me. Kangmin.” He grabbed the doorknob. It turned. Unlocked, He pushed the door open. The air hit him hard. Empty. The only word that could describe it was empty. The table was gone. The chairs were gone. Nothing, not a single note or stand of hair left. They were gone. * Three years have passed since Kangmin returned to Seoul. He was now one of the Korean high school students. He was spending his days buried in preparations for the college entrance exam. One day, while he was eating breakfast at the kitchen table, memorizing English words, the sound of the TV his dad had left on drifted in from the living room. Then he heard a name he knew all too well. “We’ve just received a report that North Korean ambassador Jang Jintaek found dead after he was sent to the prison camp…”