I felt pain.
Trendous, indescribable pain.
And slowly...
...darkness claid my mind.
...
...
...
A young boy sat quietly on a couch, his dull, lifeless eyes fixed on the phone in his hand, the soft glow illuminating his pale face. His fingers hovered above the screen, but he seed lost, disconnected from the world around him.
"He's back... again?" murmured a woman seated in the far corner of the room, one of the receptionists. She shot a furtive glance at the boy, her brow furrowed in concern.
"Yeah," another woman beside her whispered, crossing her arms. "This makes it the... tenth ti?"
"No... eleventh," the first woman corrected, her gaze still locked on the boy's motionless figure. "Haah... so that makes it the eleventh ti sothing strange has happened."
"There's no doubt about it... sothing's definitely wrong with that child," the second woman muttered, glancing at him with a mix of pity and fear.
"You know," the first woman lowered her voice, "what really bothers is that look on his face... He's always so lost in those gas, never reacting, never speaking."
"I used to feel sorry for him," the second woman admitted, her voice softening. "But now... I'm starting to get scared. What the hell is up with him?"
A heavy silence fell between them.
The boy's presence unnerved everyone around him. Misfortune followed him wherever he went. First, there was the plane crash, where he had been the sole survivor. Then the explosion at the orphanage, narrowly avoiding another disaster. And as if that wasn't enough, there was the massive abduction incident at his school, where all the students disappeared... except for him.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Every orphanage or child institution he was sent to always t a grim fate. Mysterious circumstances would lead to their closure, or worse... they'd burn to the ground.
But through it all, the boy remained. Always found alive, always unscathed, either staring into the sky with vacant eyes or silently playing gas. He never cried. Never scread. Never showed a single ounce of emotion.
He was strange.
...Very strange.
"So, what happened this ti?" asked the second woman, breaking the tension as she looked lazily at her colleague.
The first woman sighed. "This ti's worse. For so reason, the school bus and all the students vanished. He was the only one found... unconscious, beneath Wilston Bridge."
"The bus? The other kids?"
"Still missing," she replied gravely. "The cops are on it, reviewing CCTV footage, conducting thorough investigations. But..." she hesitated, her expression darkening. "I have a feeling they won't find them."
The second woman frowned. "Shouldn't they keep him... locked up or sothing?"
"Jina, he's still just a kid," the first woman interrupted, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Tsk. I don't know anymore," Jina muttered, her frustration evident. "I just don't want anything mysterious happening here... What the hell is wrong with that kid?"
At this, the first woman sighed again, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't know... but if you ask , it's almost like the kid's... cursed."
...
...
...
I smile.
A lot.
Not because I don't cry.
It's because I can't.
I can't... because if I do...
...I'll only fall deeper and deeper into despair.
I laugh, I joke around, wear a mask to keep people at a distance. I can't let them get too close. I know what always follows when they do.
I keep to myself, isolated from the world. I run away the mont I feel myself starting to care again.
I do this because I'm afraid.
Afraid of what happens when I let people in.
People never seem to understand .
In fact... most of them are afraid of .
But I knew it from the start.
I was cursed.
Sothing was wrong with .
I wasn't like everyone else.
I was never ant to be loved.
I was ant to be alone.
The things I cherish... always slip away.
So, I stopped cherishing.
I stopped trying to form bonds.
The only solace I found was in the gas I played.
The one thing that remained constant.
Perhaps I'll never find real happiness.
But that's okay.
At least this way... I won't feel like a murderer.
I won't feel guilty for their deaths.
But it seems...
...Fate isn't satisfied.
It seems I haven't suffered enough.
Just... what do you want from ?
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