Hyun: You’re Not Real

There is someone in my room -- more specifically, there is a young woman in my room. It’s the same young woman, in fact, that I’m personally blaming for how extra strange my life has become lately. It’s the same one I saw on a massive horse in front of the hwarangdo studio; the same one that has definitely been stalking me since that first time, whether it be at the studio or even, I think, on campus. Either that or I’m completely paranoid which, let’s be honest, is a probability.

I haven’t seen any one thing this often since my old imaginary friend from when I was young. Let me tell you: the psychiatrists had a fucking field day with that one. My parents, on the other hand, tried very hard not to let it show how incredibly concerned they were that I had an imaginary friend who, apparently, glowed and had a bunch of old pale scars up and down his body. Honestly, I don’t recall him too well; I don’t even remember his name. But this young woman fills me with more questions than whatever convinced me to sneak out as a kid in the middle of a winter’s night and nearly kill myself at the lake next to the temple.

I don’t even think. I fling my pillow at her face. She bats it away easily.

“The fucking actual fuck,” I splutter.

“I do not believe that is a proper sentence from a linguistic standpoint, but that is hardly the point in this moment.”

“The fuck…”

“Is coitus-related profanity the limits of your vocabulary?” she frowns at me.

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Anger boils up within me before screeching to a halt. I hold up a finger at my delusion and reach down to dig around my bag until my fingers find the rattling bottle. TAKE AT THE FIRST SIGNS OF SCHIZOPHRENIA, the label shouts at me in big familiar letters. Normally they might depress me, but right now, they’re a strange comfort. I shake out the dosage, pop the pills in my mouth, swallow them dry.

I breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Is this going to take much longer?” she asks.

She’s not real. Just breathe. Don’t pay her any attention and she’ll go away.

“I assure, I am quite real and those chemical inhibitors will not have any effect whatsoever--”

“Stop reading my mind--”

“You were mouthing the words -- do you not realize you do that? Humans…”

I open my eyes. She’s still there, pinching the bridge of her nose with a shake of her head. Save for her showing up constantly like a personal curse, it has been a long time since I have needed to take my meds; surprising even to me, I actually manage to keep my stress at a manageable level, thanks in large part to hwarangdo.

“You’re still here,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Death.”