Redemption
Title: Redemption
Pairing(s): HanChul, KangTeuk
Genre(s): Psychological, angst
Length: 5234 words
Rating: PG-15
Summary: I could wade into this river, let my sins drown to the bottom, let the waters carry me someplace far. Someplace with no ghosts, no memories, and no sins…
Inspiration(s): Demon in the Elevator got me this idea. All of the quotes are from Hosseini’s The Kite Runner, one of my favorite books.
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what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime
On March 13th at fourteen hours, an elevator stopped functioning in between the twentieth and twenty-first stories. It was the strangest occurrence. There was a grand sum of three elevators, and only that one stopped. It had been running for a good twenty years with absolutely no problem (probably the most reliable piece of machinery in the whole thirty-story building), and there were only four people in it-considerably less than its maximum carrying capacity.
To this day, nobody really knows what happened. Some believe that there was a glitch in the electricity, possibly a short circuit. Others assert that the elevator was getting old and it was just a matter of time before something went wrong. The imaginative ones came up with eccentric theories involving ninjas, pirates, and the mafia.
However, to those four men who spent a whole five hours in the tight little cramped space of the elevator, it was destiny.
nothing wrong with cowardice as long as it comes with prudence
A Chinese man with sunglasses was the first one at the scene. He came from the P2 level where he parked his old Toyota that he inherited from his father when he was sixteen. Beat up car, not much value, but still functional to last a few more years. He entered the elevator with a heavy heart, a beer bottle in his hand. His cheeks were sunken and his skin was sallow, and to any other being he would have looked like a walking corpse. His fingers hesitantly pushed into the 30 button, his lips pressing together when the orange light lit up.
It stopped on Ground floor, where a large brawny man walked in, smiling pleasantly at the other who only nodded in response. The newcomer was one of the building security guards judging by the black uniform he was wearing. There was a walkie-talkie clipped onto his belt and a pen sticking out of his front pocket. He pressed the 27 button and turned towards the foreigner. “When’s the party?” he asked pleasantly, motioning towards the beer bottle.
“Soon,” the Chinese man mumbled, eyes downcast.
The elevator then stopped again at level 7, where a frail-looking and pale blond man walked in dressed entirely in white, giving off the impression of an angel. He was shorter than the other two, but it was evident that he was oldest from the clairvoyant look in his eyes and the composed way in which he held up his head. Angelic as he seemed, he reeked of cigarettes and had a suspiciously awkward gait. He smiled at the security officer, a dimple clear as day on his left cheek. “Twenty-six, please,” he said, eyes faintly seductive.
The guard raised an eyebrow in amusement and pressed the 26 button.
A charming young redhead was the next person to enter at level 12. He was a thin man with a pointy face and mischievous eyes, and had the habit of cockily flicking his shoulder-length red hair. His clothes were skintight and expensive-looking, making him look like a diva. A cellphone was in his hand, and he commenced texting the minute he stepped foot into the elevator. “Twenty-nine,” he called out without looking up, his voice arrogant and imposing, as if there was no other choice but to do as he commanded.
There was silence for the rest of the ascent until the jolt of inertia just before hitting the twenty-first floor. The redhead jumped noticeably, hand covering his heart in fright. The security guard cried out in surprise, eyes wide. The angelic man was shivering. All were tensed, grabbing onto the handle bars, each at their own corner. No sound was uttered and no movement was perceived as the lights flickered on and off, on and off, on and off, until it buzzed with a dim intensity, eerily.
“What the hell happened?” the redhead screeched.
“Is the elevator defective?” the man dressed in white asked quietly.
“I think we’re stuck,” the security guard declared in his low mellow voice.
“What do we do?”
The guard pressed the alarm button.
A voice heavy modified by machinery answered. Yes?
“Hi, it’s Youngwoon, I’m part of the security crew, number 18. Just letting you know that elevator 2 is having technical difficulties. We seem to be stuck near the twentieth floor. There are three other people in here with me. It would be stellar if this problem is fixed as soon as possible; we probably all have very important business to attend to.”
We’ll work on it. Hold tight. Make sure that- And then the line went dead.
“Hello? Hello?”
“Is everything alright?” the Chinese man asked, accent thick in his voice.
“The line went dead all of a sudden.”
“Well, at least they know that we’re down here,” the angelic man offered hesitantly. “Right?”
The redhead heaved an annoyed sigh. “You have got to be kidding me! I have an important business partner to meet with. We were going to strike a million dollar deal!”
“Don’t worry about it, guys,” the kind guard smiled soothingly. “The security in this building is top notch. They’ll fix the problem in no time.”
But they didn’t, even after five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. By the time twenty minutes passed, it was clear that the elevator was having some major difficulties that the repair men were going to have to deal with.
“They’ll fix the problem in no time, my ass,” the redhead muttered under his breath. The security guard bristled but said nothing.
that was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it, because the past claws its way out
An hour into the situation, the blond man spoke up. “You know, since we’re all here together,” he started cautiously, “Maybe we should get to know each other. My name’s Jungsu. Park Jungsu.”
Nobody spoke up for a good thirty seconds, but then the security guard held out his hand in introduction. “Kim Youngwoon. I’m a security guard here.”
“We would have never guessed,” the redhead rolled his eyes.
Youngwoon turned on him, eyebrows raised quizzically. “And you are?”
“Kim Heechul,” he replied immediately, arrogance spewing out of him like a tidal wave. “Cutthroat businessman and sales advertiser. Probably the best telemarketer in town.”
The Chinese man muffled a snicker.
Heechul snapped his head around. “Got a problem with that, foreigner?”
The snickers died down, and a grave expression took over his face. “If you would be so kind, I would like to be called Han Geng, not foreigner.”
“Fine, Han Kyung,” Heechul mocked in a jeering tone. “Happy?”
“So, Han Kyung,” Jungsu piped up cheerfully in an attempt to ease the tension in the all-too-crowded room. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a cook,” he responded nonchalantly.
“Really now? How cool! What restaurant?”
“It’s called Cheng San, or ‘umbrella’ in Mandarin. All of you probably don’t know what it is; it’s a small dumpling shop run by my mom and me.”
Jungsu grinned amiably, his dimple appearing out of nowhere. “I love dumplings! I’ll be sure to visit once we are out of this predicament.”
“How many customers do you have per day?” Heechul inquired, cocking an eyebrow.
Han Geng lowered his eyes. “Business is low these days.”
The telemarketer smirked. “Thought so. Just looking at you makes me wonder if you have ever bought new clothes before.”
Youngwoon clear his throat in warning while Jungsu nervously twiddled his thumb.
The cook was unfazed. “Clothes do not make the person. Dressing like a homeless person does not necessarily make you homeless. Dressing like an actress does not make you an actress.” He eyed the redhead’s glamorous over-the-top outfit and grimaced. “And hopefully dressing like a diva does not make you a diva.”
Heechul glared at him but said nothing, sinking into a small ball of silence.
“So, Jungsu,” Youngwoon reverted the subject. “What do you do for a living?”
“I do gigs, mostly.”
“Oh, like a musician?”
“Something like that.”
“What instrument do you play?”
The blond tensed for a second before smiling sweetly, eyes drooping seductively. “Anything that they want me to. I’m on call, so I have to be quite versatile with my job.”
Youngwoon laughed. “You must be very talented, then, to be able to pick up any instrument you want. I tried learning the piano when I was young, but it proved too difficult for me so I quit after a while.”
Jungsu only shrugged.
there are bad people in this world, and sometimes bad people stay bad
At sixteen hours with absolutely no change in circumstances, conversations sparked once again. Jungsu, for one, had started sweating and breathing heavily, shivering like there was no tomorrow. He was pale-almost paler than the clothes he was wearing. He looked so pale that instead of an angel he molded into a breathing corpse.
The security guard was the first to address his concern. “Hey, Jungsu, you alright? You don’t look too good.”
“Just need some air,” he breathed out, panting with his eyes closed. Sweat dripped down his temples, gluing blond hair to his face.
Gasping, Heechul widened his eyes, a twinge of worry coating his face. “Oh my god, you are claustrophobic, aren’t you? My father was claustrophobic; never went near an elevator.”
Jungsu swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple twitching ever so slightly. “When I was little my punishment for being a bad was to be locked in a cupboard for several hours. Scariest place for a four-year-old.”
“Your parents?” the Chinese man inquired softly.
He shook his head. “The owner.”
Youngwoon frowned. “Owner?”
“The owner of the place I work at right now. Strict man, but fair in all ways.”
“I thought you were a freelance musician.”
A weak laugh. “I didn’t say that.”
“So where do you work exactly?”
With a bit of difficult, Jungsu lolled his head towards the larger man with raccoon eyes. “Do you know that greyish-red square building on the west side of downtown? The biggest one?”
Heechul raised his eyebrow. “Isn’t that the whorehouse?” Revelation made its way on his face. “Oh. Well, no wonder you reeked of cigarettes.”
Jungsu let out a bitter laugh in between heavy breaths. “Congratulations, everybody, you are all stuck in an elevator with a prostitute. Feel free to contact me for my services once we get out of here. Remember, I’m on call.” He swayed from dizziness and lack of air intake, and would have fallen to the ground if Youngwoon had not caught him on time. “It’s not as if I like having other men feel me up,” he babbled mindlessly. “But it pays good money. I’m one of the most expensive ones on the list. It’s the angelic image that attracts customers, you see.”
The Chinese man cleared his throat while Youngwoon carefully lowered the half-conscious man to sitting position, wiping off cold sweat with his sleeve. “Try to keep awake,” he urged worriedly. “Fainting will get you nowhere in this situation.”
“Oh I assure you that I won’t. I fainted when I was with a client once. It got deducted off my paycheck; I never did it again.”
Heechul wrinkled his nose. “Why do you that to yourself? Haven’t you ever heard of finding your own career? Or applying for other jobs?”
“Pfft, good luck with that. I wonder what I say when they ask what previous work experience I have.”
“You lie. Duh.”
The other three stared at the redhead in astonishment, suspicion, or both. No one spoke a word, even after Heechul realized what he had said. Calm apprehension swept over him in an almost amusingly slow rate, his face reddening, his blood running cold.
“So you are saying that being a fraud would help him,” Youngwoon stated, his voice hard and callous. “That’s sick.”
Heechul huffed. “I prefer the term ‘self-preservative’, thank you.”
“There is a difference between self-preservation and outright deceit. Honesty is the key to success.”
“Honesty can kiss my ass!” Heechul spat out through clenched teeth. “If I was honest, I would be on the streets right now and nobody would be giving a damn about me. If you stretch the truth and tell people what they want to hear, life becomes easier. How else would I have gotten my job, huh? Because from what I know, nobody wants to hire an ex-con artist. I’m just doing what I can to keep myself alive!”
“By being a fraud?”
“Better a fraud than hungry and homeless,” he bit out.
The security guard voiced his disagreement, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Easy for you to say,” the redhead screeched. “You are not in danger of being bankrupt and you don’t have a landlord knocking on your door every single bloody day of the week.”
“I just don’t understand why you don’t try honest work,” Youngwoon narrowed his eyes. “It’s not that hard, you know. In due course, if you work hard enough, somebody would hire you.”
Han Geng finally spoke up. “That’s not true.”
“Shut the hell up, foreigner, I can fight my own fights!” Heechul screamed, pointing his finger at him.
“That was not in any way meant to defend you,” he replied calmly, taking a swig of his beer. “I was just disagreeing with Youngwoon, because from my experience, it is almost impossible to get a decent paid job when you have no background and no connections.”
Youngwoon shook his head. “I didn’t exactly have a great background, and I eventually got a job. That has to account for something, don’t you think?”
The half-conscious Jungsu, half-forgotten in the midst of the tension, weakly placed his hand on the guard’s elbow.
“Uh huh, how terrible and heart wrenching was your life?” Heechul rolled his eyes. “Did your mommy dump you at the nearest orphanage for being too ugly or something?”
The prostitute frowned warningly while the foreigner stifled a laugh.
Youngwoon clamped his eyes shut. “If you really want to know, I stabbed a man to death when I was eighteen. Spent six bloody years in jail for it.”
Jungsu’s hand immediately recoiled, face paling even more than humanly possible.
“But it was an accident!” he insisted, eyes pleading at the angelic man who was at present trying to scramble away with the little energy he had left. “It was my eighteenth birthday and I was drunk when it happened, but I sure as hell didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even know the guy, for Christ’s sake!”
Heechul pressed his back into the jut of the elevator bar opposite the security guard, eyes filled with angry fear-infested tears. “And you called me sick!”
“Unlike you, I made this mistake one time and I didn’t do it intentionally!”
“How can I believe you?” the con artist asked. “For all I know, you are a serial killer on the run.”
Youngwoon’s eyes flashed. “I’m not a murderer.”
“Yes you are. You stabbed a living person. You stole somebody’s life!”
“I’m not a murderer,” the guard repeated, more emphatically this time.
“Once a murderer,” Heechul accused, “always a murderer.”
He looked down at the panting claustrophobic helplessly. “Please. You have to believe me.”
Jungsu, sobbing quietly and quivering in both discomfort and fear, refused to meet his gaze, burying his face into his knees as he curled up in fetal position.
Youngwoon took a step forward but Heechul glared at him in a don’t come any closer way. Guilt and sorrow were tangible on the guard’s face as he turned around and sat down slowly, as far as he could from the other three but certainly not far enough for their comfort (if their wary glances were any clue). The first tear fell from his face when he digested the fact that he was being judged once again for the one mistake that ruined his life. Because no matter how hard he believed that he was not a murderer, he knew that he would never be able to get over the fact that on the night of his eighteenth birthday, he was no better than a murderer.
It hurt knowing that there was no way to escape. It hurt like a bitch.
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night
At five forty-five in the afternoon, Jungsu finally lost consciousness. Ignoring Heechul’s pointed glares and Han Geng’s intrinsic wariness, Youngwoon’s protective nature acted up and he left his uncomfortable position on the opposite side of the elevator to take care of the man he knew he needed to protect.
Heechul, frowning, deliberately sidestepped him and took a seat on the other side just in case the man with kind eyes really was a serial killer. After all, he was not joking when he said that he valued self-preservation; it was the only way one would ever be able to survive in the world. He opened his cellphone, hoping to pass some time, but found himself cussing instead. Han Geng chuckled, which made the redhead look up and glower.
“Dead?” he asked.
Heechul shook his head. “Worse. There’s no signal and no wireless.”
“What did you expect?” the Chinese man joked, sitting down beside him. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small can of beer. “Want one?”
The telemarketer nodded tiredly. “Badly,” he said, accepting the drink. He would have eagerly accepted any sort of alcoholic drink at that point in time, really. “How many of those do you have on you?”
Han Geng shrugged, drinking from his half-empty bottle. “I usually take around six cans with me every day just in case.”
“Why?”
“It helps me keep sane.”
“More like it helps you avoid reality.”
“Same difference.”
Heechul cracked a smile.
“You know, you should not have accused him like that,” he motioned towards the security guard who was gently holding the limp prostitute close to his chest. “Even if he is-was-a murderer, he seems like a nice enough guy. At least from here.”
“It’s hard for people to trust murderers.”
“Well, it’s also hard for people to trust con artists,” the foreigner raised his eyebrow.
The redhead rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to accuse me of being a hypocrite, do go right ahead. I’m warning you, though, I won’t listen.”
“I know, I know, self-preservation,” Han Geng smirked. “I’m just saying that you should trust people a little bit more.”
“If I trusted others, I would be cheated and tormented to insanity.”
“I would rather be cheated and tormented,” the Chinese man stated sadly, “than to realize in the end that the person who I distrusted was the one who deserved my trust the most.”
Heechul looked at him oddly, face reddish from the beer. “How do you know?”
“Personal experience. I’ve wronged many people in my life because of my distrust in them, Heechul.”
“Why?”
“I was too proud,” Han Geng sighed. “My mother, for one, loved me more than anything in the world. When I was thirteen, I snuck back home early from school and saw her in a maid’s uniform, and I totally flipped out at her. I said so many things that I shouldn’t have. I told her that she was the lowest of the low, the disgrace of the family. I told her that I would never see her as my mother again. All she wanted was to see me attend university.”
The telemarketer cast his eyes downwards. “Asshole.”
“It gets worse. My cousin married an English woman five years ago. She had brown wavy hair, a pointy nose, and was quite stocky though still pleasant-looking. I cut off all ties with him once I found out.”
“What’s wrong with English women?” Heechul wrinkled his nose. “Some people actually like brunettes.”
“I didn’t mind so much that she was a brunette,” Han Geng explained. “It’s just that she wasn’t Chinese.”
“So you were a terrible son, a status whore, and a racist?”
“I prefer the term straightjacket, thank you.”
Heechul laughed.
And from there, comfortable companionship emerged.
there is a way to be good again
At seven in the evening sharp, the elevator started working again. The mechanical buzzing started up, and inertia was felt for a split second before threshold velocity was met. Youngwoon had dozed off with Jungsu in his arms when it happened, while Heechul and Han Geng were mildly tipsy, sitting together with their heads balanced against each other’s in pleasant doubtlessness. It was a silent time for the four of them, so silent that the opening of the elevator doors seemed analogous to the sound of a thunderstorm.
Youngwoon was the first to exit, deciding that Jungsu needed medical attention. He stood up slowly and carefully scooped up the unconscious angel. Youngwoon frowned; he was much too light to be living. He got off at the next level, bent on restoring himself by giving back the life that he stole. He walked out of the elevator knowing that he would never eradicate the guilt that he felt for his eighteen-year-old self, but he also left knowing that he did not have the potential to be a cruel person. And it hurt knowing that he would never escape his past, but with that uplifting thought in mind, it was bearable.
Han Geng was the second to regain his senses from the beer he consumed. Figures, he had been drinking like an alcoholic for long enough to learn how to handle inebriation, thank you very much. He blearily looked to his right and softly bumped his nose into a tuft of sweet-scented red hair. Unknowingly, he smiled, looking almost a good five years younger, eye bags diminishing involuntarily. Fraud or not, Han Geng could not deny that he liked the telemarketer, quirky diva and all, but that just made everything worse.
He looked up at the elevator buttons, and his eyes darkened when the 30 button lit, its orange glow taunting him like meat in front of a dog. Mechanically he stood, making sure that Heechul leaned against the elevator wall in a more or less comfortable position, and walked out.
Level 30 of the building was the rooftop, and Han Geng knew that he was tipsy enough to do what he needed to do. Shakily, he walked towards the edge and closed his eyes, relishing the feeling that all his worries would be gone soon. “Hello Father,” he said, allowing a single tear to fall from his face. “I hope that when I meet you in the other side, I will be able to look you in the eye again. You must know that I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you know that I never meant any harm and that I never wanted any of this to happen.”
He thought back to the phone call that he received only months before. Han Geng remembered how his father’s nasal voice screamed out for help from the cellphone he held to his ear, and how he stubbornly refused to listen no matter what, pissed out of his mind at his father for losing the whole business in a game of poker. He wanted that corporate business, and he was determined to inherit it and make it more prosperous than ever, but his father ruined that. He had so many plans, but his asshole of a father ruined all of them! And so he hung up and turned his phone off, not knowing that on the other side of the communication line his father was running for his life from a gang of thrill-seeking teenagers. He was violently beaten up in an alleyway and died before the garbage man found him.
“It’s all my fault,” Han Geng confessed. “Isn’t it? If it weren’t for me, you would still be alive. If it weren’t for me, mother would not be crying every night for you. We would still be happy together, and you would have lived for a good century or so before dying in your bed.” He took a step forward, smiled, and felt himself fall forward.
However, before he could do anything, his back hit the roof.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?!?”
Once birds stopped flying around his head, he looked up to find a very angry-looking Heechul looming over him. He scowled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
The redhead kicked him, making him grunt in pain. “Idiot! Suicide is the least honorable way of dying! That and freak accidents!”
“I don’t deserve to have an honorable death,” the Chinese man bit out. “And don’t you dare talk about self-preservation!”
“What’s there to kill yourself over? Yah, you ignored your father’s call. So what? You had no idea that he was in trouble. Do you think you would have ignored him if you knew?”
Tears spilled out of Han Geng’s eyes. “But I did ignore him. And that’s all that matters.”
Heechul kicked him again. “Answer my goddamn question. Would you have ignored him if you knew?”
The Chinese man laid his head onto the ground in defeat, face wet from crying. “No. I wouldn’t have.”
“There we go!” Heechul acknowledged. “So what’s the problem?”
“He’s dead. That’s the problem.”
The diva sighed and kneeled, grimacing as his pants touched the grime and cinders of the rooftop. “Everybody dies, Han Geng. That’s the fact of life. I’m not going to lie, you really are a stuck-up asshole. First you diss your well-meaning mom, then you diss your favorite cousin, then you diss your father. But Jesus, do you think that killing yourself would solve anything? Think of your mom: she’ll have to spend the rest of her life alone, and God knows how much income your stupid dumpling shop gets.”
Han Geng chuckled.
“Point is,” Heechul continued in his shrill voice. “You have been selfish and proud for all your life and committing suicide would be the most selfish thing that you would ever do at a time like this. Don’t you want to redeem yourself for once?”
A nod.
“Then scrap the idea and go back to your mommy. It’s for the best.”
Han Geng tilted his head and stared suspiciously into the other’s eyes, and despite everything, something in his gut told him that Heechul, con artist or not, was telling the truth.
and that, I believe, is what true redemption is, Amir jan, when guilt leads to good
Jungsu woke up in a white room. Which was great because he loved white and felt safe whenever there was something white with him. It made him feel more or less clean and untainted-something that he definitely was not.
“You’ve finally come to,” a voice startled him from his dazed stupor.
He blinked several times and was met with a pair of kind eyes. “Youngwoon.”
“Hello. Sorry if I surprised you.”
The bedridden man’s lip twitched. “You didn’t.”
“Good.” Youngwoon sighed through his nose. “You really scared me back there, you know. You looked like you were on the brink of death, pale and all.”
Jungsu blushed. “I’m just naturally pale. Plus, when you are a claustrophobic in a cramped space, you literally feel as if you cannot breathe-I myself felt on the brink of death.”
“I’m just glad that you aren’t,” the larger man smiled, his sincerity spilling out like a tidal wave.
“I’m glad as well,” the prostitute grinned. And when Youngwoon looked at him in that way, full of care and worry in place of the lustful glowers that he usually received, he felt almost pure again.
for you a thousand times over
Han Geng went back to his mother a different man. First he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a long heartfelt embrace-actions that he refused to do before in fear of being casted a mama’s boy. Then with his natural business talent, he started planning towards a bigger and better future that could provide his mother with the life that she deserved. His dumpling shop grew, and with the help of Heechul’s advertisement abilities, three more shops were opened after sixth months in different areas of town. He finally had enough money to get himself through university, and graduated as valedictorian of his class four years later.
On the other side of the spectrum, Heechul became a property lawyer (it turns out that he paid for his law school tuition by conning his way through life but that’s beside the point) and used his background in telemarketing to excel in the field (Best price of the year, ladies and gentlemen, you will never land such a great deal if you don’t seize it now!), becoming a great realtor and negotiator. He still lied on a regular basis and he still used his manipulative skills to achieve what he wanted, but with Han Geng’s avid encouragement he never cheated anymore. Eventually he only told lies that would come true and carried out manipulative schemes for benign reasons, and after a while he found himself exponentially happier than he ever was before.
Youngwoon continued with his life as a security guard, and made it his personal objective to protect everybody in the building even on his break. He was certainly strong enough. Besides, he would never forgive himself if somebody died because of him again. He wanted to be a person he was not ashamed of, and he knew that if he was just able to keep everybody safe, he would be able to look at himself in the mirror without the words “murderer” and “killer” popping up. Heechul told him that he was being dramatic. Youngwoon told him to look in the mirror.
And with much persuasion on Youngwoon’s part, Jungsu finally left the brothel. He applied for jobs for a good seven months with no prospects until one day a modeling agent saw potential in his pretty face and innocent appearance. Though he quite liked being labeled a “wingless angel” in every magazine he appeared in, he eventually quit the business after three years due to the meager diets and the competitive spirit of the modeling community. By some stroke of chance, however, he met Han Geng’s mother, who hired him as a waiter in one of her newly-opened dumpling shops. The best part about the job was when the customers left tips-as a reward for his friendliness as a waiter, not because he was pleasing to the eye.
And so happened their happily-ever-afters.
life goes on, unmindful of beginning, end… crisis or catharsis, moving forward like a slow, dusty caravan of kochis (nomads)
Ambition can lead to tragedies when abused, but it can also result in great success if employed wisely. Liars are deceitful, but that does not mean that they cannot tell truths. Murderers may have stolen a life, but that does not guarantee heartlessness. Angels can be corrupted, but their innocence still stands.
In the timespan of five hours, four people finally realized that redemption was not futile. It never is, really, if you still have the chance.
some stories don’t need telling…
Pairing(s): HanChul, KangTeuk
Genre(s): Psychological, angst
Length: 5234 words
Rating: PG-15
Summary: I could wade into this river, let my sins drown to the bottom, let the waters carry me someplace far. Someplace with no ghosts, no memories, and no sins…
Inspiration(s): Demon in the Elevator got me this idea. All of the quotes are from Hosseini’s The Kite Runner, one of my favorite books.
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what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime
On March 13th at fourteen hours, an elevator stopped functioning in between the twentieth and twenty-first stories. It was the strangest occurrence. There was a grand sum of three elevators, and only that one stopped. It had been running for a good twenty years with absolutely no problem (probably the most reliable piece of machinery in the whole thirty-story building), and there were only four people in it-considerably less than its maximum carrying capacity.
To this day, nobody really knows what happened. Some believe that there was a glitch in the electricity, possibly a short circuit. Others assert that the elevator was getting old and it was just a matter of time before something went wrong. The imaginative ones came up with eccentric theories involving ninjas, pirates, and the mafia.
However, to those four men who spent a whole five hours in the tight little cramped space of the elevator, it was destiny.
nothing wrong with cowardice as long as it comes with prudence
A Chinese man with sunglasses was the first one at the scene. He came from the P2 level where he parked his old Toyota that he inherited from his father when he was sixteen. Beat up car, not much value, but still functional to last a few more years. He entered the elevator with a heavy heart, a beer bottle in his hand. His cheeks were sunken and his skin was sallow, and to any other being he would have looked like a walking corpse. His fingers hesitantly pushed into the 30 button, his lips pressing together when the orange light lit up.
It stopped on Ground floor, where a large brawny man walked in, smiling pleasantly at the other who only nodded in response. The newcomer was one of the building security guards judging by the black uniform he was wearing. There was a walkie-talkie clipped onto his belt and a pen sticking out of his front pocket. He pressed the 27 button and turned towards the foreigner. “When’s the party?” he asked pleasantly, motioning towards the beer bottle.
“Soon,” the Chinese man mumbled, eyes downcast.
The elevator then stopped again at level 7, where a frail-looking and pale blond man walked in dressed entirely in white, giving off the impression of an angel. He was shorter than the other two, but it was evident that he was oldest from the clairvoyant look in his eyes and the composed way in which he held up his head. Angelic as he seemed, he reeked of cigarettes and had a suspiciously awkward gait. He smiled at the security officer, a dimple clear as day on his left cheek. “Twenty-six, please,” he said, eyes faintly seductive.
The guard raised an eyebrow in amusement and pressed the 26 button.
A charming young redhead was the next person to enter at level 12. He was a thin man with a pointy face and mischievous eyes, and had the habit of cockily flicking his shoulder-length red hair. His clothes were skintight and expensive-looking, making him look like a diva. A cellphone was in his hand, and he commenced texting the minute he stepped foot into the elevator. “Twenty-nine,” he called out without looking up, his voice arrogant and imposing, as if there was no other choice but to do as he commanded.
There was silence for the rest of the ascent until the jolt of inertia just before hitting the twenty-first floor. The redhead jumped noticeably, hand covering his heart in fright. The security guard cried out in surprise, eyes wide. The angelic man was shivering. All were tensed, grabbing onto the handle bars, each at their own corner. No sound was uttered and no movement was perceived as the lights flickered on and off, on and off, on and off, until it buzzed with a dim intensity, eerily.
“What the hell happened?” the redhead screeched.
“Is the elevator defective?” the man dressed in white asked quietly.
“I think we’re stuck,” the security guard declared in his low mellow voice.
“What do we do?”
The guard pressed the alarm button.
A voice heavy modified by machinery answered. Yes?
“Hi, it’s Youngwoon, I’m part of the security crew, number 18. Just letting you know that elevator 2 is having technical difficulties. We seem to be stuck near the twentieth floor. There are three other people in here with me. It would be stellar if this problem is fixed as soon as possible; we probably all have very important business to attend to.”
We’ll work on it. Hold tight. Make sure that- And then the line went dead.
“Hello? Hello?”
“Is everything alright?” the Chinese man asked, accent thick in his voice.
“The line went dead all of a sudden.”
“Well, at least they know that we’re down here,” the angelic man offered hesitantly. “Right?”
The redhead heaved an annoyed sigh. “You have got to be kidding me! I have an important business partner to meet with. We were going to strike a million dollar deal!”
“Don’t worry about it, guys,” the kind guard smiled soothingly. “The security in this building is top notch. They’ll fix the problem in no time.”
But they didn’t, even after five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. By the time twenty minutes passed, it was clear that the elevator was having some major difficulties that the repair men were going to have to deal with.
“They’ll fix the problem in no time, my ass,” the redhead muttered under his breath. The security guard bristled but said nothing.
that was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it, because the past claws its way out
An hour into the situation, the blond man spoke up. “You know, since we’re all here together,” he started cautiously, “Maybe we should get to know each other. My name’s Jungsu. Park Jungsu.”
Nobody spoke up for a good thirty seconds, but then the security guard held out his hand in introduction. “Kim Youngwoon. I’m a security guard here.”
“We would have never guessed,” the redhead rolled his eyes.
Youngwoon turned on him, eyebrows raised quizzically. “And you are?”
“Kim Heechul,” he replied immediately, arrogance spewing out of him like a tidal wave. “Cutthroat businessman and sales advertiser. Probably the best telemarketer in town.”
The Chinese man muffled a snicker.
Heechul snapped his head around. “Got a problem with that, foreigner?”
The snickers died down, and a grave expression took over his face. “If you would be so kind, I would like to be called Han Geng, not foreigner.”
“Fine, Han Kyung,” Heechul mocked in a jeering tone. “Happy?”
“So, Han Kyung,” Jungsu piped up cheerfully in an attempt to ease the tension in the all-too-crowded room. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a cook,” he responded nonchalantly.
“Really now? How cool! What restaurant?”
“It’s called Cheng San, or ‘umbrella’ in Mandarin. All of you probably don’t know what it is; it’s a small dumpling shop run by my mom and me.”
Jungsu grinned amiably, his dimple appearing out of nowhere. “I love dumplings! I’ll be sure to visit once we are out of this predicament.”
“How many customers do you have per day?” Heechul inquired, cocking an eyebrow.
Han Geng lowered his eyes. “Business is low these days.”
The telemarketer smirked. “Thought so. Just looking at you makes me wonder if you have ever bought new clothes before.”
Youngwoon clear his throat in warning while Jungsu nervously twiddled his thumb.
The cook was unfazed. “Clothes do not make the person. Dressing like a homeless person does not necessarily make you homeless. Dressing like an actress does not make you an actress.” He eyed the redhead’s glamorous over-the-top outfit and grimaced. “And hopefully dressing like a diva does not make you a diva.”
Heechul glared at him but said nothing, sinking into a small ball of silence.
“So, Jungsu,” Youngwoon reverted the subject. “What do you do for a living?”
“I do gigs, mostly.”
“Oh, like a musician?”
“Something like that.”
“What instrument do you play?”
The blond tensed for a second before smiling sweetly, eyes drooping seductively. “Anything that they want me to. I’m on call, so I have to be quite versatile with my job.”
Youngwoon laughed. “You must be very talented, then, to be able to pick up any instrument you want. I tried learning the piano when I was young, but it proved too difficult for me so I quit after a while.”
Jungsu only shrugged.
there are bad people in this world, and sometimes bad people stay bad
At sixteen hours with absolutely no change in circumstances, conversations sparked once again. Jungsu, for one, had started sweating and breathing heavily, shivering like there was no tomorrow. He was pale-almost paler than the clothes he was wearing. He looked so pale that instead of an angel he molded into a breathing corpse.
The security guard was the first to address his concern. “Hey, Jungsu, you alright? You don’t look too good.”
“Just need some air,” he breathed out, panting with his eyes closed. Sweat dripped down his temples, gluing blond hair to his face.
Gasping, Heechul widened his eyes, a twinge of worry coating his face. “Oh my god, you are claustrophobic, aren’t you? My father was claustrophobic; never went near an elevator.”
Jungsu swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple twitching ever so slightly. “When I was little my punishment for being a bad was to be locked in a cupboard for several hours. Scariest place for a four-year-old.”
“Your parents?” the Chinese man inquired softly.
He shook his head. “The owner.”
Youngwoon frowned. “Owner?”
“The owner of the place I work at right now. Strict man, but fair in all ways.”
“I thought you were a freelance musician.”
A weak laugh. “I didn’t say that.”
“So where do you work exactly?”
With a bit of difficult, Jungsu lolled his head towards the larger man with raccoon eyes. “Do you know that greyish-red square building on the west side of downtown? The biggest one?”
Heechul raised his eyebrow. “Isn’t that the whorehouse?” Revelation made its way on his face. “Oh. Well, no wonder you reeked of cigarettes.”
Jungsu let out a bitter laugh in between heavy breaths. “Congratulations, everybody, you are all stuck in an elevator with a prostitute. Feel free to contact me for my services once we get out of here. Remember, I’m on call.” He swayed from dizziness and lack of air intake, and would have fallen to the ground if Youngwoon had not caught him on time. “It’s not as if I like having other men feel me up,” he babbled mindlessly. “But it pays good money. I’m one of the most expensive ones on the list. It’s the angelic image that attracts customers, you see.”
The Chinese man cleared his throat while Youngwoon carefully lowered the half-conscious man to sitting position, wiping off cold sweat with his sleeve. “Try to keep awake,” he urged worriedly. “Fainting will get you nowhere in this situation.”
“Oh I assure you that I won’t. I fainted when I was with a client once. It got deducted off my paycheck; I never did it again.”
Heechul wrinkled his nose. “Why do you that to yourself? Haven’t you ever heard of finding your own career? Or applying for other jobs?”
“Pfft, good luck with that. I wonder what I say when they ask what previous work experience I have.”
“You lie. Duh.”
The other three stared at the redhead in astonishment, suspicion, or both. No one spoke a word, even after Heechul realized what he had said. Calm apprehension swept over him in an almost amusingly slow rate, his face reddening, his blood running cold.
“So you are saying that being a fraud would help him,” Youngwoon stated, his voice hard and callous. “That’s sick.”
Heechul huffed. “I prefer the term ‘self-preservative’, thank you.”
“There is a difference between self-preservation and outright deceit. Honesty is the key to success.”
“Honesty can kiss my ass!” Heechul spat out through clenched teeth. “If I was honest, I would be on the streets right now and nobody would be giving a damn about me. If you stretch the truth and tell people what they want to hear, life becomes easier. How else would I have gotten my job, huh? Because from what I know, nobody wants to hire an ex-con artist. I’m just doing what I can to keep myself alive!”
“By being a fraud?”
“Better a fraud than hungry and homeless,” he bit out.
The security guard voiced his disagreement, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Easy for you to say,” the redhead screeched. “You are not in danger of being bankrupt and you don’t have a landlord knocking on your door every single bloody day of the week.”
“I just don’t understand why you don’t try honest work,” Youngwoon narrowed his eyes. “It’s not that hard, you know. In due course, if you work hard enough, somebody would hire you.”
Han Geng finally spoke up. “That’s not true.”
“Shut the hell up, foreigner, I can fight my own fights!” Heechul screamed, pointing his finger at him.
“That was not in any way meant to defend you,” he replied calmly, taking a swig of his beer. “I was just disagreeing with Youngwoon, because from my experience, it is almost impossible to get a decent paid job when you have no background and no connections.”
Youngwoon shook his head. “I didn’t exactly have a great background, and I eventually got a job. That has to account for something, don’t you think?”
The half-conscious Jungsu, half-forgotten in the midst of the tension, weakly placed his hand on the guard’s elbow.
“Uh huh, how terrible and heart wrenching was your life?” Heechul rolled his eyes. “Did your mommy dump you at the nearest orphanage for being too ugly or something?”
The prostitute frowned warningly while the foreigner stifled a laugh.
Youngwoon clamped his eyes shut. “If you really want to know, I stabbed a man to death when I was eighteen. Spent six bloody years in jail for it.”
Jungsu’s hand immediately recoiled, face paling even more than humanly possible.
“But it was an accident!” he insisted, eyes pleading at the angelic man who was at present trying to scramble away with the little energy he had left. “It was my eighteenth birthday and I was drunk when it happened, but I sure as hell didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even know the guy, for Christ’s sake!”
Heechul pressed his back into the jut of the elevator bar opposite the security guard, eyes filled with angry fear-infested tears. “And you called me sick!”
“Unlike you, I made this mistake one time and I didn’t do it intentionally!”
“How can I believe you?” the con artist asked. “For all I know, you are a serial killer on the run.”
Youngwoon’s eyes flashed. “I’m not a murderer.”
“Yes you are. You stabbed a living person. You stole somebody’s life!”
“I’m not a murderer,” the guard repeated, more emphatically this time.
“Once a murderer,” Heechul accused, “always a murderer.”
He looked down at the panting claustrophobic helplessly. “Please. You have to believe me.”
Jungsu, sobbing quietly and quivering in both discomfort and fear, refused to meet his gaze, burying his face into his knees as he curled up in fetal position.
Youngwoon took a step forward but Heechul glared at him in a don’t come any closer way. Guilt and sorrow were tangible on the guard’s face as he turned around and sat down slowly, as far as he could from the other three but certainly not far enough for their comfort (if their wary glances were any clue). The first tear fell from his face when he digested the fact that he was being judged once again for the one mistake that ruined his life. Because no matter how hard he believed that he was not a murderer, he knew that he would never be able to get over the fact that on the night of his eighteenth birthday, he was no better than a murderer.
It hurt knowing that there was no way to escape. It hurt like a bitch.
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night
At five forty-five in the afternoon, Jungsu finally lost consciousness. Ignoring Heechul’s pointed glares and Han Geng’s intrinsic wariness, Youngwoon’s protective nature acted up and he left his uncomfortable position on the opposite side of the elevator to take care of the man he knew he needed to protect.
Heechul, frowning, deliberately sidestepped him and took a seat on the other side just in case the man with kind eyes really was a serial killer. After all, he was not joking when he said that he valued self-preservation; it was the only way one would ever be able to survive in the world. He opened his cellphone, hoping to pass some time, but found himself cussing instead. Han Geng chuckled, which made the redhead look up and glower.
“Dead?” he asked.
Heechul shook his head. “Worse. There’s no signal and no wireless.”
“What did you expect?” the Chinese man joked, sitting down beside him. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small can of beer. “Want one?”
The telemarketer nodded tiredly. “Badly,” he said, accepting the drink. He would have eagerly accepted any sort of alcoholic drink at that point in time, really. “How many of those do you have on you?”
Han Geng shrugged, drinking from his half-empty bottle. “I usually take around six cans with me every day just in case.”
“Why?”
“It helps me keep sane.”
“More like it helps you avoid reality.”
“Same difference.”
Heechul cracked a smile.
“You know, you should not have accused him like that,” he motioned towards the security guard who was gently holding the limp prostitute close to his chest. “Even if he is-was-a murderer, he seems like a nice enough guy. At least from here.”
“It’s hard for people to trust murderers.”
“Well, it’s also hard for people to trust con artists,” the foreigner raised his eyebrow.
The redhead rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to accuse me of being a hypocrite, do go right ahead. I’m warning you, though, I won’t listen.”
“I know, I know, self-preservation,” Han Geng smirked. “I’m just saying that you should trust people a little bit more.”
“If I trusted others, I would be cheated and tormented to insanity.”
“I would rather be cheated and tormented,” the Chinese man stated sadly, “than to realize in the end that the person who I distrusted was the one who deserved my trust the most.”
Heechul looked at him oddly, face reddish from the beer. “How do you know?”
“Personal experience. I’ve wronged many people in my life because of my distrust in them, Heechul.”
“Why?”
“I was too proud,” Han Geng sighed. “My mother, for one, loved me more than anything in the world. When I was thirteen, I snuck back home early from school and saw her in a maid’s uniform, and I totally flipped out at her. I said so many things that I shouldn’t have. I told her that she was the lowest of the low, the disgrace of the family. I told her that I would never see her as my mother again. All she wanted was to see me attend university.”
The telemarketer cast his eyes downwards. “Asshole.”
“It gets worse. My cousin married an English woman five years ago. She had brown wavy hair, a pointy nose, and was quite stocky though still pleasant-looking. I cut off all ties with him once I found out.”
“What’s wrong with English women?” Heechul wrinkled his nose. “Some people actually like brunettes.”
“I didn’t mind so much that she was a brunette,” Han Geng explained. “It’s just that she wasn’t Chinese.”
“So you were a terrible son, a status whore, and a racist?”
“I prefer the term straightjacket, thank you.”
Heechul laughed.
And from there, comfortable companionship emerged.
there is a way to be good again
At seven in the evening sharp, the elevator started working again. The mechanical buzzing started up, and inertia was felt for a split second before threshold velocity was met. Youngwoon had dozed off with Jungsu in his arms when it happened, while Heechul and Han Geng were mildly tipsy, sitting together with their heads balanced against each other’s in pleasant doubtlessness. It was a silent time for the four of them, so silent that the opening of the elevator doors seemed analogous to the sound of a thunderstorm.
Youngwoon was the first to exit, deciding that Jungsu needed medical attention. He stood up slowly and carefully scooped up the unconscious angel. Youngwoon frowned; he was much too light to be living. He got off at the next level, bent on restoring himself by giving back the life that he stole. He walked out of the elevator knowing that he would never eradicate the guilt that he felt for his eighteen-year-old self, but he also left knowing that he did not have the potential to be a cruel person. And it hurt knowing that he would never escape his past, but with that uplifting thought in mind, it was bearable.
Han Geng was the second to regain his senses from the beer he consumed. Figures, he had been drinking like an alcoholic for long enough to learn how to handle inebriation, thank you very much. He blearily looked to his right and softly bumped his nose into a tuft of sweet-scented red hair. Unknowingly, he smiled, looking almost a good five years younger, eye bags diminishing involuntarily. Fraud or not, Han Geng could not deny that he liked the telemarketer, quirky diva and all, but that just made everything worse.
He looked up at the elevator buttons, and his eyes darkened when the 30 button lit, its orange glow taunting him like meat in front of a dog. Mechanically he stood, making sure that Heechul leaned against the elevator wall in a more or less comfortable position, and walked out.
Level 30 of the building was the rooftop, and Han Geng knew that he was tipsy enough to do what he needed to do. Shakily, he walked towards the edge and closed his eyes, relishing the feeling that all his worries would be gone soon. “Hello Father,” he said, allowing a single tear to fall from his face. “I hope that when I meet you in the other side, I will be able to look you in the eye again. You must know that I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you know that I never meant any harm and that I never wanted any of this to happen.”
He thought back to the phone call that he received only months before. Han Geng remembered how his father’s nasal voice screamed out for help from the cellphone he held to his ear, and how he stubbornly refused to listen no matter what, pissed out of his mind at his father for losing the whole business in a game of poker. He wanted that corporate business, and he was determined to inherit it and make it more prosperous than ever, but his father ruined that. He had so many plans, but his asshole of a father ruined all of them! And so he hung up and turned his phone off, not knowing that on the other side of the communication line his father was running for his life from a gang of thrill-seeking teenagers. He was violently beaten up in an alleyway and died before the garbage man found him.
“It’s all my fault,” Han Geng confessed. “Isn’t it? If it weren’t for me, you would still be alive. If it weren’t for me, mother would not be crying every night for you. We would still be happy together, and you would have lived for a good century or so before dying in your bed.” He took a step forward, smiled, and felt himself fall forward.
However, before he could do anything, his back hit the roof.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?!?”
Once birds stopped flying around his head, he looked up to find a very angry-looking Heechul looming over him. He scowled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
The redhead kicked him, making him grunt in pain. “Idiot! Suicide is the least honorable way of dying! That and freak accidents!”
“I don’t deserve to have an honorable death,” the Chinese man bit out. “And don’t you dare talk about self-preservation!”
“What’s there to kill yourself over? Yah, you ignored your father’s call. So what? You had no idea that he was in trouble. Do you think you would have ignored him if you knew?”
Tears spilled out of Han Geng’s eyes. “But I did ignore him. And that’s all that matters.”
Heechul kicked him again. “Answer my goddamn question. Would you have ignored him if you knew?”
The Chinese man laid his head onto the ground in defeat, face wet from crying. “No. I wouldn’t have.”
“There we go!” Heechul acknowledged. “So what’s the problem?”
“He’s dead. That’s the problem.”
The diva sighed and kneeled, grimacing as his pants touched the grime and cinders of the rooftop. “Everybody dies, Han Geng. That’s the fact of life. I’m not going to lie, you really are a stuck-up asshole. First you diss your well-meaning mom, then you diss your favorite cousin, then you diss your father. But Jesus, do you think that killing yourself would solve anything? Think of your mom: she’ll have to spend the rest of her life alone, and God knows how much income your stupid dumpling shop gets.”
Han Geng chuckled.
“Point is,” Heechul continued in his shrill voice. “You have been selfish and proud for all your life and committing suicide would be the most selfish thing that you would ever do at a time like this. Don’t you want to redeem yourself for once?”
A nod.
“Then scrap the idea and go back to your mommy. It’s for the best.”
Han Geng tilted his head and stared suspiciously into the other’s eyes, and despite everything, something in his gut told him that Heechul, con artist or not, was telling the truth.
and that, I believe, is what true redemption is, Amir jan, when guilt leads to good
Jungsu woke up in a white room. Which was great because he loved white and felt safe whenever there was something white with him. It made him feel more or less clean and untainted-something that he definitely was not.
“You’ve finally come to,” a voice startled him from his dazed stupor.
He blinked several times and was met with a pair of kind eyes. “Youngwoon.”
“Hello. Sorry if I surprised you.”
The bedridden man’s lip twitched. “You didn’t.”
“Good.” Youngwoon sighed through his nose. “You really scared me back there, you know. You looked like you were on the brink of death, pale and all.”
Jungsu blushed. “I’m just naturally pale. Plus, when you are a claustrophobic in a cramped space, you literally feel as if you cannot breathe-I myself felt on the brink of death.”
“I’m just glad that you aren’t,” the larger man smiled, his sincerity spilling out like a tidal wave.
“I’m glad as well,” the prostitute grinned. And when Youngwoon looked at him in that way, full of care and worry in place of the lustful glowers that he usually received, he felt almost pure again.
for you a thousand times over
Han Geng went back to his mother a different man. First he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a long heartfelt embrace-actions that he refused to do before in fear of being casted a mama’s boy. Then with his natural business talent, he started planning towards a bigger and better future that could provide his mother with the life that she deserved. His dumpling shop grew, and with the help of Heechul’s advertisement abilities, three more shops were opened after sixth months in different areas of town. He finally had enough money to get himself through university, and graduated as valedictorian of his class four years later.
On the other side of the spectrum, Heechul became a property lawyer (it turns out that he paid for his law school tuition by conning his way through life but that’s beside the point) and used his background in telemarketing to excel in the field (Best price of the year, ladies and gentlemen, you will never land such a great deal if you don’t seize it now!), becoming a great realtor and negotiator. He still lied on a regular basis and he still used his manipulative skills to achieve what he wanted, but with Han Geng’s avid encouragement he never cheated anymore. Eventually he only told lies that would come true and carried out manipulative schemes for benign reasons, and after a while he found himself exponentially happier than he ever was before.
Youngwoon continued with his life as a security guard, and made it his personal objective to protect everybody in the building even on his break. He was certainly strong enough. Besides, he would never forgive himself if somebody died because of him again. He wanted to be a person he was not ashamed of, and he knew that if he was just able to keep everybody safe, he would be able to look at himself in the mirror without the words “murderer” and “killer” popping up. Heechul told him that he was being dramatic. Youngwoon told him to look in the mirror.
And with much persuasion on Youngwoon’s part, Jungsu finally left the brothel. He applied for jobs for a good seven months with no prospects until one day a modeling agent saw potential in his pretty face and innocent appearance. Though he quite liked being labeled a “wingless angel” in every magazine he appeared in, he eventually quit the business after three years due to the meager diets and the competitive spirit of the modeling community. By some stroke of chance, however, he met Han Geng’s mother, who hired him as a waiter in one of her newly-opened dumpling shops. The best part about the job was when the customers left tips-as a reward for his friendliness as a waiter, not because he was pleasing to the eye.
And so happened their happily-ever-afters.
life goes on, unmindful of beginning, end… crisis or catharsis, moving forward like a slow, dusty caravan of kochis (nomads)
Ambition can lead to tragedies when abused, but it can also result in great success if employed wisely. Liars are deceitful, but that does not mean that they cannot tell truths. Murderers may have stolen a life, but that does not guarantee heartlessness. Angels can be corrupted, but their innocence still stands.
In the timespan of five hours, four people finally realized that redemption was not futile. It never is, really, if you still have the chance.
some stories don’t need telling…