《280 Years Of Mixing Magic With Farming》 The House Had No Lights Park Yoojun was tired. One of his friends had made him play the game¡ªAdventure Sword. He was a farmer not a gamer. Why did he even think he would enjoy playing, when his dear chickens were waiting to be fed, back home. He sighed, for the twelfth time. And yes, he was bored enough to count it. He would have counted how many times he had breathed by now if it were not for the constant questioning as to if he were enjoying¡ªby his friend. Who was clearly blind, because what part of a man leaning against a tree gave any inclination of fun. Fun was plowing the land, it was the fresh air, the shade¡ªother than the first, all was here. But Park Yoojun was not someone who admitted things easily. Then he sighed. And soon, he fell asleep. Soft slumber beneath the mango tree. On top of the smooth grass. Watching a boring battle. When he woke up, it was midnight. The sky was a beautiful orange and other shades of peaches. He let the wind brush his hair. On looking around a land with not a soul nearby, he understood his friend had left him. This was the third time he had done that. It was the fifth time he had played in this game. He looked at the bracelet that was given by the system. He opened the game window. He tapped the exit option. [NOT WORKING] His eyes widened. He tried again. [NOT WORKING] [NOT WORKING] If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. [NOT WORKING] [TOO MANY TRIES¨CNOT WORKING] The man slammed his head against the tree. He wanted to think that all of this was a bad dream. But the sunset was still prevalent. And his head hurt. A lot. He checked for a healing potion. Drinking it his head felt better. All those anime had taught him that healing potions were the best. It made him feel a little giddy. He understood a little of the appeal. Of why games like these. They made you feel like you could live an adventure. Something different from reality. He walked around, the wide green, and soon to become dark fields. He checked the markets. Guilds and hunting grounds. There was no one but the game Non-player-Characters. He walked and walked and walked. But he found nothing. As he started to run around, his legs shaking and his lips bleeding from all the biting. A man who was far older than him, grabbed his hand. "Could you take me home?" Yoojun wanted to ignore the man. But the man was injured. A bruise on his hand. A bleeding knee. Park Yoojun gulped. He sighed. Then he nodded. They both walked, but the older man was clearly struggling. And so the man picked up the older man. "Where is your house?" Yoojun asked. "On¡­some fields?" The old man replied. His voice was airy and drunk. "Do you¡­not know?" Yoojun bit his tongue. "I do, I do¡­I just don''t remember." The man mumbled, tears forming in his eyes. "I''m sorry, I''m so sorry, I miss my wife, I don''t know what to do without her." The old man sobbed. "Can you describe to me your house, or the area?" Yoojun somehow restrained the urge to curse the old man. If he was so useless, why did he get out of the house? "It has cucumbers, I remember my wife giving some to me once." The old man held on tighter to Yoojun. "There is a cucumber garden?" Yoojun sighed. "No¡­she once said she was going to cut some of the eggplants as well?" The old man leaned his against Yoojun. "A big vegetable garden?" "Yes! There was my cow¡­posie!" The old man cheered, as Yoojun walked forward. "Was it a farm?" Yoojun questioned. "Why yes? How did you find out, young man?" The young man grinned widely. "I need to help my wife! You see, my wife is sick!" He grumbled. Yoojun just nodded. "Where is it? In the fields?" "Opposite to the field, really." "Alright!" Yoojun suddenly ran towards the field. He wanted to go home quickly. If he could. "I wanted my wife to get some sunlight, so I laid her down near the window!" The old man spoke, he smiled. It had been a long time since the wind was felt with such strength. "Is that so?" Yoojun had no interest. "My wife loves sunflowers, she used to grow them." He remembered his wife, his words graced with adoration. "Uh-huh." Yoojun wondered if he would be loved like that one day. He knew he would not be. He reached the field. Sun was about to set and he was getting worried. He ran around the sea-like fields. Carrying the old man. He wondered if the health potion had increased his strength. Then he saw a little house. He jerked the old man who had fallen asleep. "Is this your house?" He asked, and the old man who woke up confused brightened up. "Yes! Yes!" He got off Yoojun and ran to the house. The house had no light. The wife must be really sick¡ªYoojun wondered. The old man screamed and asked him to come. Yoojun sighed and opened the game system¡ª[NOT WORKING] As he walked closer and closer, he could smell the rotting of vegetables. The smell of moths having eaten the cucumber, or the insects breeding on eggplant. He ran a little faster. And he could smell intense rot. And as he got inside the little gate, the smell was unbearable. "Come, come! This is my wife, isn''t she beautiful?" The old man yelled from the sunlit room. And suddenly it made sense why the room had no lights. Because the old woman was never sick. Yoojun watched as the old man swatted flies from the body. Skin sagging and hair falling. Nails degraded and the smell, the smell was horrifying. He looked around. The garden was a mess. The cucumber and eggplants were dying. But they were more alive than the old man''s wife. Yoojun scrunched his nose. The smell was unbearable. He was a farmer, he had held his own against pungent smells, again and again. But the dead body was terrifyingly suffocating. Yet, the old man held the woman''s hands, as though she was there. As though she was looking at him the same way he was. Yoojun excused himself. He walked out, out of the gate. He threw up. Nothing just acid that had stayed in his body. His eyes watery. He felt the worst about the old man. His body felt heavy. He leaned against the gate. He should run. He should run. He should run. He opened the gate and went back in. Maybe Both Yoojun took a spoonful of the rice. His eyes met the woman''s dead ones. He looked away. He swallowed his saliva as he ate the rice he could not taste. The odour was increasingly suffocating. The strong decay and rot danced around his nose. He tried not to breathe through his nose. But when he breathed with his mouth, the taste of spoiled food filled his mouth. He quickly ate a lot of rice. "You must have been really hungry, good thing I found you huh?" The old man laughed. His smile was a stark contrast to the dark night. Park Yoojun would have jibed back if he did not feel like throwing up. He smiled in a stiff manner. His body was sweating profusely. He felt cold. "You should stay the night, my wife seems to like you too," he stared at her. "Don''t think she is being standoffish, just a little shy!" "She has not spoken to me either¡­ever since she got sick." The old man mumbled the words. These very words made Park Yoojun stiffen up. He realized that the man knew she was dead. Somewhere deep inside, he knew. He had no idea as to what to do. He breathed loudly. He stared at the man, who was praising the pickles his wife made. Then at the body. There was a beetle on top of her left eye. The eyes unflinching. As expected of the dead. He took the beetle, he stared at it, it was a beetle he knew from his farming. "Oh good thing, my wife loved beetles, she collected them a lot during our youth!" The old man ate some fried mushrooms. Park Yoojun gulped, "You know, these are beetles that feed on the dead." The old man stopped eating the fried mushrooms. He looked at Yoojun, eye to eye. "What do you mean by that?" His words stumbling a bit. "She is dead, that is what I mean." Yoojun scanned the older man, who had started to shiver. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "Huh? What are you saying?" He argued. "She is dead." He repeated "Who are¡ª" "She is dead." "She is dead." "She. Is. Dead." "STOP!" The old man screamed. Tears in his eyes. He slowly stood up and sat next to his wife. He rubbed circles on her legs. Tears fell down his face. "Please don''t tell me that." The old man begged in a whisper. "I''m sorry, but you can''t live on like this." Yoojun mumbled. "Who is anyone to tell me how to live?" The old man cried, he wept holding his head in his hands. "Let me reframe, she can''t die like this." Park Yoojun stated, leaving no room for objection. "Let her rest." His voice was softer. He had no idea why he was doing this. It was clearly none of his business. But it did not sit right with him. People always used to say nothing sat right with him. He grimaced. He didn''t need to remember that. "We should bury her soon." Park Yoojun told the man. "No." His voice was sharp and wobbling. "Please." Yoojun softened his voice. "Why, why should I leave my wife all alone?" The man grumbled. Again and again and again. "I don''t know either." Yoojun replied after a pause. "But let me ask you this." Yoojun walked to the dead body, "Would you be happy if you saw your wife like this?" "Begging for your long gone body." Yoojun shut her eyes. "Would you be fine if you saw your wife holding onto a body where you no longer resided?" He looked at the old man. The smell was unbearable. But he guessed he could do this much for shelter. He leaned against the wall behind him. He looked at the old man. Who mumbled onto himself. As the night passed he fell asleep. On waking up he found a blanket wrapped around him. The body was not there. But the stench was there. Standing up he looked around. "Son, will you help me bury my wife?" The old man walked up to him. Wearing a black suit and tie. The tie was not tied properly. "Want me to tie the tie?" Yoojun asked and the old man nodded in a tender fashion. Yoojun took the tie, wrapped it around his neck, "Where is your wife?" "I dressed her in her wedding dress. She had always wanted to wear her wedding dress with me." "On my dying days I will die with a wedding dress and we will get married in heaven¡ªshe used to say that." The man smiled as he talked about his wife. His eyes were glistening. "I wanted to do that as well with her." He pointed to his outfit. "Yeah, just the tie." Yoojun gave the tie back and the old man wore it. He smiled, and Yoojun gave a thumbs up. "Can you carry her? I don''t want to drop her again." The man walked to the room his wife was in. Yoojun followed. Yoojun bit his tongue but nodded. As soon as he stepped into the room, the smell pierced his nose. He wanted to throw up. He looked at the woman, the dress a little torn. It must have been a tight fit. He slowly reached for the woman. His whole body repulsed. He jerked back a few steps. He bit his inner cheek, till blood flowed through. The metallic taste of blood distracted him. He picked up the woman. Moving out of the door. Her head was a little squashed. It reminded him she was a dead body. He took her to the open room. "I''ll build the grave now," the man smiled. "Do you want any help?" "No, no, you have helped enough," He stated. "I wanted my wife to feel the sun''s rays one last time!" "Then I will be back in a bit," He wore his shoes. "Please don''t bury her without me." Before the old man could ask he rushed off. The gates opened and closed. The old man was left alone, again. His wife was his everything. Now she was gone. Even back when they had been young, when he was stupid. His beautiful wife chose him. Nothing was worth more to him than his wife. He sat down next to her. He leaned and caressed her face. Memorizing every nook and cranny. He removed her hair from her face. Placing a little kiss on her temple. "May I find you again." He smiled, "In every life." The wind blew strong yet gentle. As though telling the old man it would be okay. Then the gate opened. Yoojun came inside, he was sweating as though he had ran over miles. He looked at the old man. "I didn''t have much money," He took out one sunflower. "We could place her in with her favorite flowers?" Yoojun grinned. The old man''s eyes widened. He looked at his wife, then nodded. "I thought you didn''t listen." The old man added as he took the flower and placed it between her hands. "I have a good memory." Yoojun picked up the body. The old man laughed. Yoojun placed the body into the grave. Slowly and with some effort. "She looks happier with the sunflowers." The man smiled at Yoojun. "She just looks happy at the thought of you marrying her again." Yoojun mumbled. "Maybe that, maybe this." The old man started. "Maybe both." She Liked Pickles [NOT WORKING] [NOT WORKING] [NOT WORKING] [NOT WORKING] [TOO MANY TRIES¡ª-NOT WORKING] Yoojun sighed. The air caressed his face as the heat from the afternoon sun burned his body. But a shiver ran over him when he realized he might not be able to go back to his farm again. He walked on the grassy lands. His steps were heavy due to the huge watermelon he was carrying. The old man had told him to buy the fruit. Well Yoojun himself had offered to do so. As he walked to the house, he realized the old man had given him more money than necessary to buy a watermelon. He opened the pale blue gate, a little paint sticking to his hands. He walked to the old man, who was sitting on a chair. He was looking at the grave stone. ¡°Should I cut up the watermelon?¡± Yoojun asked, using his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. ¡°No, no, I will do¡ª¡± ¡°I will be cutting it then.¡± Yoojun had no intention of letting the oldman do it. He went inside, the smell of death remained. A reminder that everything has to be let go of. Even what you love the most. The house was a traditional Japanese house. It had large vases and beautiful wallpapers. The game itself was from Japan. But all of it was dirty. The vases, the combs that still had hair on it. The dusty room, table, everything. He hadn¡¯t noticed before, but the house was not clean. It had not been cleaned in weeks. He walked to the kitchen. The tiles of the kitchen were wooden in comparison to the tatami mats on the rest of the house. The wood felt cold against his bare feet. He took a knife and cut it open. He cut it into four portions. He took two plates and placed the pieces on them. He slowly walked to the old man. ¡°Moo!¡± A cow¡ª-Posie, most probably, stood next to the old man. She looked thinner than normal cows. The man had been softly rubbing her body. And she moo-ed in happiness. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°Where was she?¡± Yoojun asked as he placed a plate on the floor near the sliding door. ¡°She was inside her shed, ever since my wife died.¡± The man¡¯s voice dropped just a decibel. Then he smiled,¡°But she loves watermelons.¡± ¡°Sharp nosed.¡± Yoojun snickered. ¡° Less of a cow, more of a dog.¡± The old man said, at this the cow rubbed its head against the man. Who just laughed. ¡°Here¡¯s a piece for Posie,¡± Yoojun took a piece from the plate he was holding. He walked to the grave, ¡°here¡¯s a final meal.¡± ¡°The remaining for us two!¡± Yoojun smiled. The old man hummed an old song, unable to look into Yoojun¡¯s eyes. Yoojun ignored the old man¡¯s dilemma and took a watermelon to himself. And soon the old man joined him. ¡°You know it''s time to clean the house,¡± Yoojun said and the old man stopped eating. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The old man mumbled. ¡°You do know, let¡¯s clean up after eating.¡± Yoojun took a big bite. And choked on it. The old man patted his back, ¡°You sure are fast.¡± ¡°The faster the better.¡± Yoojun¡¯s eyes watery. He smiled but looked like he was going to die. ¡°It would be funny if you died from eating the watermelon.¡± The old man laughed. Yoojun coughed and spit out a seed., ¡°It won¡¯t be funny for you!¡± ¡°One sneaky kid huh!¡± The old man laughed. ¡°I¡¯m not a kid¡ªI¡¯m twenty-eight.¡± ¡°Old enough to be my grandchild.¡± ¡°Shut up old man.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s clean up afterwards. I think for the remainder of my life¡ªmy wife would hate to see me broody.¡± The old man felt the cold of the wind calm his rising body heat. And then they ate in silence. ¡°Where should we start cleaning?¡± Yoojun asked. ¡°I want to start with her room.¡± The old man replied. ¡°The sadder the better.¡± Yoojun took both plates and went to wash them. ¡°The youth really lacks manners.¡± The old man smiled. The old man walked inside, he switched on the light. Closed the sliding door. And sat next to the blue hair comb that the woman had left. He took the hair out of it. Softly rubbing it. ¡°It¡¯s a pretty one, aint it?¡± The old man laughed, ¡°Yes, yes¡­my wife won it at a fair.¡± ¡°She was really good at shooting!¡± He stated. ¡°Was she also good at everything else?¡± Yoojun yawned, he laid down on the mats. ¡°By no means.¡± The old man chuckled. ¡°She was a terrible cook. She would burn the house everytime.¡± ¡°So you were the cook?¡± Yoojun asked. ¡°I did not know how to, but if I did not learn to, we would have starved to death.¡± The man laughed. ¡°There were times when she would try to clean the house and end up making it more dirty.¡± The man looked around, his eyes started to shine.¡°She had the habit of getting lost in her dreams¡± ¡°She used to love sewing, but pricked her hand each time.¡± He sighed. ¡°What about those big vases?¡± Yoojun thought they looked like something she would have chosen. ¡°Oh that idiot wanted to make pickles in them.¡± The old man grinned. ¡°Why those vases? Are they even meant to?¡± Yoojun sat upright. ¡°She thought pretty vases made pretty bases for pickles.¡± The old man remembered fondly. ¡°She loved making pickles.¡± ¡°One time we made so many that we had to sell it.¡± ¡°What did you even like about her?¡± Yoojun wondered out loud. ¡°I don¡¯t know?¡± The man wondered for a second, ¡°She was the most human I had seen anyone be. Filled with mistakes, filled with even more hope.¡± ¡°She was the most beautiful person I had ever met.¡± He laughed. ¡°Even now, even when I die, she would be the only one I would ever want to have chosen me.¡± ¡°Oh my God, you two must have been annoyances to the neighbours.¡± Yoojun sighed. ¡°No, as you can see¡ªopen land.¡± The old man smirked. Yoojun leaned away. There was a moment of silence. Then Posie moo-ed, and both of them burst out laughing. One Month Yoojun had some money left in his pocket from the watermelon. It was only when his eyes opened in the middle of the night, that he noticed his heavy pockets. Both the old man and him had fallen asleep. The cleaning took a heavy amount of time. It seemed like the old man was losing weight with each thing that was getting arranged. And soon slumber caught the two. But Yoojun woke up. He checked the game screen. It did not work. Held himself in his arms by bringing his legs closer to his chest. His chin settled on his knee. The room was dark. He took the money from his pocket. He may have been a mage in the game, but his dressing was still like any common NPC. He chuckled at that thought. Maybe he was an NPC. Was he even real? Was everything about this life being a game¡ª-a dream? Was he just in stupor right now? He looked around the room which he could not see clearly. It might have been a tad too real for it to be a dream. The roughness of the mats, the feeling of the wall against his back, the watermelon that had filled his stomach¡ªit all felt far too real. He opened the sliding door to the outside. He wore his shoes and stood outside. The wind nipped at his open body. He could see the orange, yellow and pink of the sun mixing with purple and blue. He stood there. Until he walked out of the gate. He walked and walked, the celestial star making the path brighter, but surely taking its time. He went to the market. The very place all of this had started, at least meeting the man. The people were reading newspapers that were still warm. The shops were opening. The world was moving at its pace, even if they were not real. He was the only real person in the whole wide field of Adventure Sword. But he doubted the old man¡¯s love was any less than his. He doubted his could ever reach those heights. The men and women talking about their yesterdays and drinking tea or coffee¡ªnone of that seemed any less real than him. A world is only as real as the one that experiences it¡ªa quote he had heard someone once say. It was full of grandeur and bullshit that he didn¡¯t understand a word of. He was good with his hands, not his brain. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. But he guessed, he assumed ever so slightly, that this was what his sister meant. Whenever he felt like a fake, she told him that. But he did not want to remember her. He does not want to remember anything. He just wanted to farm his life away. His cows and chickens must have started fighting to death by now, as he stood in a corner, under a tree. Wondering some useless poetry. He saw the flower shop that he had bought the flower from at the funeral. It was a wooden shop. The flowers kept out, basking in the sun¡¯s glory. There was a woman, short and old. Her face was buried in wrinkles, but she had legs that carried her everywhere. She stood there with a smile. Plenty bought her flowers. It made sense with how active the person was. And he neared closer and closer¡ª ¡°Do you want something, young man?¡± She smiled like he was her own son coming back from a long day of work. ¡°Dahlia¡­and sunflowers?¡± ¡°A bouquet?¡± ¡°No, I don''t have that much money.¡± Yoojun mumbled, his cheeks flushing. Yet again he was at the same point he was just yesterday. ¡°You bought one yesterday too, any occasion?¡± The woman walked with the happiness of a person who had received all in life. ¡°Someone I know whose wife died is letting me stay in their home?¡± Yoojun mumbled, unsure of how to phrase the point. ¡°Oh my who?¡± The woman¡¯s eyes widened, it was not something sad¡ªjust curiosity. But not all curiosity was good. ¡°Um¡­can I get my flowers?¡± Yoojun looked down, he realized humans were the same regardless of which place they breathed in. The woman quickly tied the two flowers together, ¡°Sorry, that was rude of me.¡± She bit her inner lip and Yoojun just bowed and walked away. He wanted to go home. [NOT WORKING] Damn it¡ªhe mumbled under his breath. When he reached the quiet house, he realized the old man had not woken up yet. Yoojun decided to let him rest. He kept the flower next to the woman''s grave. He prayed for a soul that did not exist. He walked to the back of the house. Somewhere he never had been at. He saw Posie moo at him. Hewent over to her and caressed her head. She seemed to like that. She looked fuller than yesterday, the hay in her shed half eaten and full dry. He felt tired. ¡°There you are!¡± The old man came with soft footsteps that echoed in the emptiness. ¡°Weren¡¯t you asleep?¡± Yoojun asked. ¡°I was, I was, but I woke up.¡± The old man¡¯s eyes glimmered like those dresses that Yoojun had seen with his sister on the fashion walks. His sister loved anything that sparkled. ¡°Did you need anything?¡± Yoojun asked without much care. ¡°No, no.¡± The old man shook his head. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± The old man suddenly said and then he walked back to the entrance. Yoojun did not understand why he thanked him. But he felt annoyed. A thought¨Cwhy is he so happy when I am not¡ªslipped in. But he felt like the man¡¯s happiness was a good answer to not ask. He never really understood people as well as other people believed they did. He did not think anyone understood anyone, they were just lying. Hell, he did not understand his own feelings. And maybe that was the hardest part of everything¡ªbeing understood. But he decided it was time to cook food rather than think. So he went inside, just to find the old man cooking. ¡°Is this too salty? I can¡¯t taste it?¡± The old man took the soup or whatever he was cooking in a small dipping bowl. Yoojun tasted it. He scrunched his nose as his tongue felt numb. ¡°Too much.¡± He groaned. ¡°Oh¡­I¡¯m sorry I suddenly could not taste and added too¨C.¡± ¡°Because you are old, let me cook before you end up killing me.¡± Yoojun rolled his eyes and his sleeves as the old man looked down. ¡°You don¡¯t have anything to thank me for.¡± Yoojun mumbled to himself. ¡°Maybe you think so.¡± The old man grumbled. Then they were silent. And the silence persisted for a whole month. Only interrupted by small talks that the old man would try to make. Yoojun ignored him. For the next few days, Yoojun boughat flowers, cleaned the house, checked if he could go home, took Posie for rounds, and bought groceries. The old man was always just looking at the grave. Since Yoojun did not allow him to do anything else. Yoojun tried to do everything. But on the twenty-seventh of the month, there were no flowers. It had been exactly one month since Yoojun couldn¡¯t go home. Nothing at All Yoojun did not wake up. For the first week he stayed on the bed. The old man did what Yoojun had been doing all those days. Every time he saw Yoojun he furrowed his eyebrows. He would cook food, he had no idea how they tasted, but he made them. He kept it beside Yoojun who was sleeping. The old man knew Yoojun was sleeping. But he wondered if he was in denial. But Yoojun was warm, yet he was frozen. Yoojun drank water, but never an ounce of food. He was always laying on the floor. Cramped into himself. The old man would pat his back. Soft and slow assurance he hoped Yoojun felt. But Yoojun felt like he was under water. Like that one time he fell into the pool and everyone laughed. Back then he didn''t know how to swim. He never knew anything. He did not know anything. He does not know anything. Everyone said his father adored him, then why was his caress always cold. Why was he always disappointed in Yoojun? But everyone said he was overreacting. He does not know anything. But everyone said his mother loved him the most, even if she used to scream every time she saw him. But he must have done something wrong, right? He knew nothing, after all. Everyone said his sister hated him. She would not talk to him. That he was not worth being loved. Ok standing next to her. But even if she had long left him, she came back running, her body wet and she huffed as she hugged him. She was someone who loved him. Stupid fool. What do leftover sandwiches have to do with love? What secret candies taste like love? Your sister hated you¡ªnever forget that. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. And so he believed she did. Even though she tried to be there, she could have never even liked him, forget love. But what about his chickens who came around asking for food? His cows who moo-ed everytime he walked by them? Or Katsudon, his pig? Miu, his pretty dog. They loved him. He knew that. Because then not a soul told him otherwise. He remembers their loving faces waiting for him to come back¡ªmore than his sister''s. He missed them. He missed his farm. He missed the wheat he harvested with the old men in the village, he did not know their names or faces, but he knew they liked him. No one had told him otherwise. If they did, he would probably believe them. He doesn''t know anything. Nothing at all. Another story he remembers would be the rainy day, the day he saw a girl. Hair as black as the mahogany trees. Her eyes were darker than the ever expanding universe. She stood in the rain, letting it swallow her. When she saw me staring at her. She pointed to the tree.there was a little kitten stuck there. He had wondered why kittens often got stuck. He walked over and gave the girl his coat and umbrella. He climbed the tree with great difficulty, mind you. He was a scrawny student before he became a muscle growing farmer. He climbed and climbed¡ªthe cat jumped down in surprise. It had ran away. Leaving him stuck on the trees. The girl laughed. She laughed so much she cried. She used to give him cafeteria snacks every time she saw him. Sometimes snacks that were not even available at school. All from her skipping school. She took him once. Then never again because he lectured her the whole time. The person that talked to him the most, in that school for rich people who were thriving. She had a lot of friends, a naturally popular kid. But she always came to him. But he knew she did not love him. Not like how lovers did at least. But she loved him like he was her family. Because while she barely listened to him¡ªshe was the only person who thought, though that he did know. Know enough. That day, or rather night¡ªPark Yoojun had cried. He had cried for hours, and hours, refusing to get out of the room. A shelter he had created for himself No not because she told him, but because there was blood on his shirt from her stupid ventures. For the first time in all her journey''s¡ªshe had not come back. And when she did her hands had deep, deep slits. The shirt was still with him. The only lasting token of remembrance. Of remembering his first friend. Of how she walked away, just to be never seen again. Her hands lead a bloody path. It was not his lack of closure that disturbed him, it was hers. She should have been alive, breathing, instead of him. When he thinks of her he thinks of his uselessness. But even when she was gone, it was her memory that gave him solace. She had once told him she would build a farm. He remembered how she had asked him to come with him. When he had asked why he should come. She simply said¡ª"I think you''d look much better on a farm!" She laughed. And he built it in her stead. He rebelled and ran away. He hid that. Because as brave as she was, he realized that she was the biggest coward. So as scared as he was, he could be brave. These memories drowned him. His best friend. His sister. His parents. His farm, oh how he missed it. How terribly dear it was to him. But now it was gone, for however long he had no idea. He wanted to go to his farm. He was lingering over affections that died a decade ago. He woke up. The weight of feelings was a little lighter. It had been enough days that his death lingered. He woke up. But the price to solitude is that you get used to it. When you don''t do anything, you keep on doing nothing. She had told him that once, his precious friend. Maybe back then it was her way of asking for help. As Yoojun sat down. Somehow, his legs did not give out in a moment. He sat down on the ground. He looked at the food the old man had kept beside him. He took a mouthful of rice. The chewy texture with no flavor was swallowed easily. But it made him feel sick. The dark room made him feel sick. His blanket, his body and his life¡ªhe was sick of it all. He slowly stood up. Barely not falling. He opened the sliding door. An effortless action that took all his strength. The bright sunlight hit him. It blinded him for a minute. "You woke up son?" The old man asked, he was sweating from the sun''s glare. And from the larger than life hoe he was holding. "No, I''m sleeping right now." Yoojun looked around the garden, the tomatoes were glowing. The rest were buds, he assumed. "..." "What are you doing?" Yoojun''s legs touched the land for the first time in days. "Building my farm!" The old man answered, "Because life is longer than mourning." "I doubt you have much life." Yoojun looked at the tomato. "I don''t but you do," the old man held his ear tightly. "So as long as you live here, grow this farm." "Why?" "Why?" "Because I think you''d look much better on a farm!" the old man laughed. Yoojun''s eyes glistened. It was not like he knew nothing at all. He knew all about farming. And that was not nothing at all. Moon The tomatoes were smaller than the normal ones. Their red, though, were like rubies that had started to melt in the sun. The eggplants had a lovely body. The violet was as vivid as the ones that the oil pastel crayons of the same shade. The cucumbers turned out to be longer and harder than normal. They were green like that of the leaves of an oak tree. But right now they were all being swallowed down by two men with nothing better to do. The acidic taste of the tomatoes were canceled when mixed with the eggplant broth and the chicken that the old man had brought last night. The cucumbers were mixed with red chilli, lemon juice and salt. The rice was rice. Yoojun drank the soup, his eyes closed as he gulped every ounce of soup in the bowl. Chewing the chicken in between. But he drank it like it was water. The old man ate some cucumber, the sound of the vegetable breaking clearly heard. Both of them ate not one or two or three but four bowls of rice. Not a word was said. Just silent competition of who could eat more. And Yoojun cleaned the bowls, not a spare drop left. Not a grain of rice remained. Even the remaining cucumbers were crunched like he was a little boy who had forgotten manners. They both had worked the whole day, picking and cutting the vegetables of their effort. After a month of taking care, planting and growing, today was harvest. And what better celebration than meals? After that they sat outside with two chairs. Drinking beer that fizzed as though the majority of the yeast were still inside, fermenting. The moon was white, silver, grey, or ivory. None of the men knew, but it had a charm that made them look at it the whole night. Wondering if they could grasp it in their tiny eyes then keep it in. But the thing about the moon is that it was never anyone¡¯s. Just like our lives. They are never just our¡¯s alone. We live through and for a lot of the people we knew, know or will so. And right now the old man looked at Yoojun, whose head kept swaying, and smiled. ¡°Why do you always fall asleep in the wrong places?¡± The old man chuckled. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. And so the next day Yoojun woke up with mosquito bites layered all around like a desperate lover¡¯s plea. The old man was gone, Yoojun assumed he was out buying new seeds. Yoojun ate the breakfast the old man had made. It was just yesterday''s feast heated up. This time Yoojun tasted how the broth was thick and yet smooth. How it felt going down his throat. He leaned back. The old man recently had the habit of going out in the morning. He always bought some fertilizer back. So Yoojun assumed he was out for it, but it took him too long. Yesterday, while both of them were sitting in the moonlit garden. The old man called him, ¡®Yoojun¡¯ instead of ¡®son.¡¯ While he was not his son, his name felt alien in the old man¡¯s mouth. It almost made him go back to his old days. Where his father¡¯s rough voice called him to every corner, then disappearing. His own father. Then what did he expect from a mother who had never given birth to him. He had been remembering those days a lot. He had cut his hands multiple times while taking care of the plants, while he was lost in thought. He looked at the string bandages. ¡°Yoojun,¡± The gate opened and the voice was recognizable. It was the most familiar voice for him ¡°Yes?¡± He asked without looking. ¡°Nothing, just wanted to make sure you were there.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because I am scared you will disappear.¡± The old man walked in, a piece of paper in his hands. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Yoojun asked and the old man walked into his room, without looking at Yoojun. ¡°What I mean is, that one day, you or I will be all alone, and when that day comes.¡± the old man paused. ¡°Look inside the drawer.¡± While Yoojun understood what the man meant. The words hadn¡¯t quite settled in. So he nodded. Because that¡¯s what he did, when he didn¡¯t understand. And slowly the old man got lost too. It was like both of them were in their own worlds together. The old man would mumble words he did not understand. He would stand behind Yoojun, his arms no longer had the strength to carry his wife¡¯s beloved hoe. It was as though the meal was the last one, the last one they had together. As though the harvest was the waiting period. For the vegetables to rot. But while Yoojun knew something was wrong. He hadn¡¯t pieced it together. Not until the old man spit out blood. And then smiled. His teeth yellow and red. As though he had been chewing tobacco. His teeth smaller than what he remembered them as. And soon he understood what was wrong. When the old man would not wake up. He pushed and shoved. And the man woke up frantically, as though he was falling inside a dream. Yoojun looked at the old man, the old man who for a second did not hold any familiarity in his eyes to Yoojun. Then a second later he smiled. His teeth were even smaller. The next time the old man called him ¡®Yoojun¡¯ was the last he ever called anyone. It was when they were looking at the moon. And Yoojun glanced at the old man. How the older man looked like he could be seen through. As though he were a ghost. And maybe the real old man had died. ¡°Yoojun, the moon has many phases.¡± The old man stated in a solemn manner. ¡°My favorite is when it¡¯s full.¡± He laughed, ¡°Because my wife grew up to be round¨Clike the moon.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Yoojun did not know what else to say. He did not even know who he was at that time. ¡°The moon is beautiful because it is not always full.¡± ¡°It is beautiful because it changes.¡± ¡°Those were all beliefs my wife had. And now I do too.¡± Yoojun did not speak a word the whole night. And the old man stopped going out in the morning. The old man stopped talking. He would sit on the floor, reminiscing about a life Yoojun knew nothing about. Now they were in two worlds, all alone. The old man had picked up on his habits. And refused to eat. He wondered if it was revenge weaved into whatever it was. Then one day the old man sat and sat and sat. Yoojun was so used to the silence, only noticed when the body started to rot. When he went to the body. He felt the cold of the blood not flowing. He felt it against the heat of his heart beating. And Yoojun looked at the body. ¡°You should have just said goodbye normally, you old idiot.¡± Yoojun chuckled. Then he looked at the moonless sky. ¡°I should have been scared of you disappearing too.¡± The Letter That Will Never Reach Dear old man whose name I never asked That''s too corny. Even if you are dead. You might be wondering what I am doing. To be honest I don¡¯t know either. It¡¯s been some time since I came here. I don¡¯t know anyone. Not that I knew many people in the real world either. But regardless of all that. In some alley in this stupid game I met you old man. Maybe if I had asked your name that day, my regret would be a little less. Because you asked me my name. You asked me my name and I¡ªseriously am an idiot. I forgot to ask you back. What was I high on? I¡¯m too old for this. You were too old for this world. I want to laugh but all I can see is the blurring lines of this letter. I wonder if someone would ever find this letter or maybe it would be forgotten by me too. I think I forgot you the moment I buried you. I always had bad memory. My sister scolded me a lot for that. My parents too. Did you have brown eyes? Or were they black? Man my tears are smearing the words. I wonder, I truly wonder if I was born to you and your pickle loving wife. I would probably have had a better childhood. Maybe then I wouldn¡¯t be such a coward? Maybe then I would have been raised as a human rather than whatever the shit I am. I don¡¯t know what I am saying anymore. I think it has been a dozen days since you were buried. I learned from the florist lady that you¡ªthe you with the wrong sense for salt¡ªwas the village owner. That seriously doesn¡¯t make sense? You actually own the whole village. That¡¯s crazy. I have never written a letter before so sorry if it¡¯s too messy. Not that I can send it to heaven or maybe hell¡ªwho knows you might be the secret killer guy who ends up falling for someone and settles down in a village. That¡¯s stupid. That¡¯s stupid. Just like you, stupid old man. Couldn¡¯t you have told me you were on the verge of damn dying. Man death is such a light word with how many people go through it. Those who die in body and those who die in soul. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I wonder what I am doing. I wanted to say you are my family. Nah too cringe I ain¡¯t telling you that. Wait can you even read this with? Do you even know korean? What the hell? Am I writing this letter for nothing then? That¡¯s so unfair¡ª-like your death. But we don¡¯t talk about that. Let¡¯s ignore the elephant and hide from the ants. That¡¯s sorta funny. Or maybe my humor sense is just freaking whack. Anyways. I wrote this letter to ask¡­if your soul is lingering. But you probably are having fun with your wife. Why would you care about an idiot child, wasn¡¯t that what you called me, like me. My literary skills suck. Like seriously this is toddler scratch. Or was the phrase chicken scratch? Oh, who cares. I wrote to ask, why didn¡¯t you tell me? This was not what I wanted to ask. But this is all I can remember. My head hurts like I have been hit by a car. I would like that right now. I think I wanted to ask¡ªwhy did you never tell me your name? You were asking, couldn¡¯t I have remembered your name? Now I keep on forgetting who you are. I keep on forgetting how you called me son¡ªvery annoying. Or your wife and those shenanigans. Or that hoe that I have kept beside your grave. My hands are starting to hurt. The nib of the pencil I found after a little searching around, broke. I used a knife to sharpen it. Now I wonder what I should do? Should I start a flower garden? That would help! Right? No more need to buy from the flower woman. The word for the term I don¡¯t remember. Maybe I should start a farm. A farm with all sorts of fruits and vegetables. I have the magic skill too I think. That would help. Probably. Everything is probably. Probably. It''s a pretty word. Something could or could not happen. And probably I will grow up or stay as a man who forgot to ask a name. Never grew up. Thought I was capable. Maybe my sister was right. I am useless. But at this point I sort of am used to death. Probably. I should have asked for yours, and your wife¡¯s and the flower woman¡¯s name too. I never realized names were so important. But I always had a hard time remembering names. I don¡¯t remember anyone¡¯s. So if you told me I would have probably forgotten and wrote a letter asking you to remind me. That¡¯s so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid like me. This is funny. It''s not. I feel like I don''t know what is morning to what is night? Maybe I should start a farm. My farm animals must miss me. Are they even alive? Oh well. Oh well. My crops are probably dead. Poor wheat and rice. I loved growing them. Maybe I should start a part time job! To grow a flower garden¨Cthen my farm? Farming is something my best friend¡ªwhose name I don¡¯t remember. Or don¡¯t want to. She used to love farming. She loved the grass. Always ate her veggies. Always ate her food. Man, why does everyone die? Or go missing? Why don¡¯t I go missing for once? Oh well. Maybe it¡¯s time I get out of the house. Thinking about your house¡ªI don¡¯t know why¨Cbut that drawer? What was in it? Should I check it out? I am sitting next to it, on the very table with the drawer. Well, who is going to stop me? Who ever cared about stopping me? Well to the old man I am forgetting, a letter that will never reach By the young man who forgot to ask your name. Yoojun put the pencil down. He opened the drawer. The white¡ªalmost cream paper smelled like a certificate. After reading, he kept the paper on top of the letter. It read¡ªNakahara Satoru, given by his full will, all his property and belongings to Nakahara Yoojun. Yoojun never told him his last name. Job(1) ¡°Can I work at this shop?¡± Yoojun asked the lady who sold flowers. His voice was a decibel above a whisper. ¡°Ah,¡± she paused for a moment. ¡°Yoojun¡ªthat¡¯s your name right?¡± Yoojun¡¯s eyes widened. At the surprised look, ¡°Mr. Nakahara told me about a man staying with him.¡± ¡°He said you helped him a lot.¡± She continued, smiling. ¡°How is he doing right now?¡± ¡°He is dead.¡± There was a pause. The wind passed a little slower and the flowers seemed to decay. ¡°Are you okay?¡± The old woman said in a voice that a mother reserved for her wailing child. Yoojun nodded. ¡°Can I get a job?¡± He asked. Again. ¡°Sure, I would like to have some help.¡± The woman smiled. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Yoojun¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°Do you know anything about taking care of flowers?¡± She asked as she walked inside and he followed her. He shook his head. ¡°But I did use to farm? I want money to farm again.¡± He mumbled the last part. She hummed in acknowledgement. ¡°You know, I want you to grow this.¡± She pointed at a few bunches of pots. ¡°Okay¡­how though?¡± ¡°Figure it out,¡± She said, her smile never leaving her face. ¡°And bring me the grown one.¡± She took one pot and gave it to him. He stared at it. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you enough to buy anything for farming till you grow it right.¡± She said and he stared at her in wonder. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Yoojun smiled. She touched the pot, ¡°Just remember that the happiness of a flower returns when you place it in the right shade.¡± ¡°And that flowers need more than shade.¡± He repeated both lines. She chuckled. ¡°Now off you go!¡± She said and pushed him away. He turned away and carefully held the pot. Then he stopped. Looking back at the woman he yelled¡ª ¡°what¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Shizuka,¡± she yelled back. The wrinkles on her face disappeared for one moment. ¡°Thank you.¡± He bowed and ran away. Yoojun felt his heart race at the thought of being able to buy anything. It felt like his body got oxygen in every cell. He ran back. Back to the house. Posie was lying next to the grave, mooing. ¡°I got a job!¡± He yelled to the graves. ¡°See I¡¯m not a kid like you think old man.¡± Yoojun took off his shoes and walked inside. He put the pot on the ground. And then stares at it. There were small buds growing. He wondered what he should make her but? A pig? No too much work¡ªhe thought. What about chicken? He was getting excited about growing a farm. He looked at the pot. What should he do with it? He decided to place it outside. In the right shade. Like the woman asked him too. He watered it. He gave it some fertilizer. It didn''t budge. Meanwhile he asked the woman to buy some fertilizers. She agreed without any hitchhike. It felt unfair to ask it of her without any results and he felt guilty. But he asked anyway. The old woman treated him to dinner. And somet imes taught him extra things about farming. She was good at it. Shizuka was a good mentor. He understood that. Job(2) Yoojun was tired of growing the dumb flower or whatever was inside the pot. And Shizuka was not helping much. So he decided to get another job. It was at the little bakery where the old people rarely went due to it being the leading cause of their death. Though some still came there with stolen steps. Or so Shizuka said. There was a little girl who decided to eat one of the donuts. "Ah¡ªthe village owner''s son?" She wondered out loud, a declaration rather than a statement. "No." "But on the will¡ª" "None of your concern." He raised his eyebrows, "How do you even know about that?" "It''s a small world." She shrugged as swallowed the whole donut in one bite. She was a scrawny little thing of some ten years. "True." Yoojun mumbled. "What do you want?" She wiped her hands on her black shorts. Something Yoojun scrunched his nose at. His parents would have killed him. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. "A job?" Yoojun questioned himself. "Here?" The little girl furrowed her brow and made an incredulous expression. "I can do it for free?" He said. "Why? Like¡ª-" She pointed towards the empty space. "I can''t figure out how to grow flowers." "Okay, weird but who cares." She shrugged, everything was just another day¡ªat least for her. "Who is the owner?" Yoojun asked. "Me!" She pointed her thumb towards herself. "Where''s your mum?" Yoojun asked in a softer tone. "She went to heaven." The girl said, her eyes blacker than the night. Yoojun was silent for a moment, "The old man¨CI mean Mr. Nakahara Satoru went to heaven recently too." "Oh, maybe they met each other?" She tilted her head. "I doubt so." He shook my head. "Why?" She asked with her eyes bright with curiosity. "Because the old man was mean to me." Yoojun smiled. "Then my mother would definitely meet him." The girl smiled bright like the summer sun on a summer day. There was a pause, the girl dragged out two chairs on one of the tables. "You must not miss her then?" Yoojun asked as he sat down. "I don''t know," she sat on the chair. "Do you like this bakery?" Yoojun asked, leaning back to the chair. It was clean despite the old appearance. "No." She answers in the swift motion of a guillotine. "Who takes care of you then?" He asked. "No one." She looked into Yoojun''s eyes. "No grandparents?" He looked back into her eyes, taking it as a challenge. "Nope!" She continued to stare unblinking. "Wow." His eyes watered, he blinked. "How did you know your mum went to heaven?" "Everyone told me so." She smiled, a cheeky smile as though a cat were playing around with its prey. "But what do you think?" Yoojun asked. "That she went to hell," "Oh, alright." Yoojun wondered for a moment, "The old man is definitely in heaven." After a small pause she looked away and asked, "I didn''t know the man died." "So you do know." Yoojun''''s eyes perked up. "I''m fourteen, not ten¡­just so you know." She laughed. "You never know?" Yoojun smiled. "You must be stupid." She stood up, and went to the counter. "I''ve been told." Yoojun mumbled, remembering Shizuka calling him a dimwit multiple times. She laughed. "What''s your name?" He asked. "Naoko." She took another sweet, a cupcake. "I''m Park Yoojun." "Can I still get a job?" He asked as she took a bite of the sweet. "Sure¡ªbut no money." She said with a mouthful. Yoojun scrunched his eyes. "Sweets?" Yoojun questioned. "Maybe." She finished the cupcake and licked her fingers.