Did a white butterfly fly by at that moment? Did any of this even happen? The world is an impersonal space that keeps reminding us how small we are. When one organism disappears another takes its place. Everything just keeps on going, nothing matters.

Despite the calamity, no houses are collapsing. No hurricane flings people, struggling to hang on to the door, up into the sky. Not a single devastating epidemic circulates. The world doesn’t come to a silent halt. I’m still breathing—in, out. I’m nothing but a breathing, grotesque death mask.

Alibi

Alibi

“One ticket to Sanchung, please.” This is the first time in the past few days I let a peep out of my mouth. I pull off my mitten with my teeth to count the coins.

“Same, please.” As though she’s been waiting for this moment the whole time, someone emerges from behind and nods as we make eye contact. It’s Sol, my friend. “I was here the whole time, but you didn’t seem to see anything. You look like a blind person. What are you going to Sanchung for?”

“Nothing, really.”

“That isn’t your hometown, is it?”

“Why are you going?”

“I’m trying … to go see … Jimin. It’s been almost two months since she died, and I didn’t make it to her 49th-day mourning.”

“Yeah …”

“After stopping at Sanchung, I’m going to go home to Hadong. My mom’s been sad that I wasn’t coming home for Sul,3 but the gas station I work at is busier during the holidays.”

“We can go together then. I’m going the same way.”

Silence hangs between us. In any other situation, say, if we unexpectedly ran into each other on our way to the same concert, we’d be so ecstatic about the coincidence we’d jump up and down together. Well, we probably can’t jump together. She has a bad leg, and she limps. Okay. We could’ve whistled a song together. On our way there, we might have bought a box of crackers, torn it open, and pasted them onto a messy sign to hold up at the concert. But instead … what is this distant chill that I feel? Her wistful gaze stabs at me like an ice pick.