[ONESHOT] Psyche
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally supposed to be the first chapter in a long-term fanfiction I was pondering over choosing before I decided on Royal Stanza.
The storyline was that North Korea had taken over the South, and the government is sending a hand-picked collection of citizens that contribute to its culture - writers, artists, professors, leaders, etc. into space for their protection and safety. They would've landed on a distant planet, and the story would've been about how these people interacted with each other, and finally make the decision to return to Earth.
Needless to say, it was scrapped for a reason. However, this first chapter was already finished before I made the decision to throw it in the trash. It seemed to be a bit of a waste just sitting there in my folder, so I've decided to go ahead and release it.
So, please enjoy the first (and only) chapter of "Psyche".
From the diaries of CDR Jiwon Kim (ret), ROK Marine Corps (2015.6.28):
I looked around my office one last time today.
It had been a while since the electricity had worked, but today…it was working. Ironic. The last day I’m on this planet, the electricity decides to work. Is God playing around with me? If it is, it’s one sick joke.
A sick joke that has taken billions of lives.
My lives. The lives that I was sworn to protect.
I can still remember the young petrified faces, fresh off the streets, going about their daily business one second…the next second, being caught by the scruff of your neck and being tossed into the back of a military van. Leaving behind screaming mothers and crying sisters. Boys as young as ten, being fitted with a rifle - later pocketknives, when we ran out of rifles.
I argued against the draft. I said that it wouldn’t accomplish anything, that we had already lost, that it would be a useless waste of fine young men.
As usual, the fat necks up in the National Assembly didn’t listen. They only care about what looks right, not what is right. They should burn in hell along with the rest of them.
So I sent off young men to get mowed down by Howitzers. Thousands upon thousands of Howitzers.
The North Koreans, they’re brutal. Savage.
They might’ve won the war. But I’ll be damned if they can find a single thing of value in all of South Korea. It’s all been burned to hell.
Hell and ashes.
I shut off the light and lock up. It’s meaningless, but I do it anyway.
I’m ashamed of myself. The captain’s supposed to go down with the ship, and what am I doing?
Running away, with my tail between my legs, scampering into a nice cozy spaceship to sleep away the decades until my homeland’s safe again.
North Korea will pay for the blood they have shed. For the brutality with which they decimated my country. Someday, I will return…and they will wish to God I hadn’t.
From the notes of Dr. Sharon Wang:
I left Los Angeles early on the morning of the 27th, heading towards Seoul to fulfill my duty for my homeland.
My colleagues at the San Diego Zoo told me I was suicidal.
No, I replied. Patriotic. Willing to do what it takes to keep my cultural heritage alive. South Korea boasts over 3,000 unique species of plants and animals. It is my task to keep them all in my brain. I told them that I wouldn’t be coming back.
The last day before I left, they threw a going-away party for me.
It was painful to watch them try to be happy. They told me things like, “Good luck on your journey.” “I hope to see you again.” “Save your homeland.”
They tried. The cake, the decorations, the deejay.
But all I could think of was the horrific images on television. Images of Seoul burning, the 63 Tower collapsing on itself, the blowing up of the Han River Bridge…and in the fields, masses of bodies, lying dead, some decapitated, on top of each other, like carrion for vultures.
Everything gone in a whirlwind of smoke.
I watched President Obama make a statement on live TV. “Due to rising tensions in the Korean Peninsula, and in order to protect our troops, we will be pulling out of the area effective immediately - ”
Bullshit. Everyone knows that the government’s afraid of the nukes that might fly our way if we do so much as raise our eyebrows.
Then, I got a call from the South Korean government. They told me I could help. Help rebuild our nation.
Sure, I said. What can I do?
They told me.
I hung up on them.
They called me back a few days later. We really need your help, they said. I could single-handedly keep South Korea’s plant and animal culture alive.
I said yes.
From the files of Prof. Jungmin Choi, Ph. D.
I watched Gyungbok-gung burn from my office window, from my wheelchair.
I also watched my wife be taken by soldiers, be raped, then be dead.
I, in my wildest, most horrible nightmares, never imagined that these two events could’ve ever been possible.
Destruction everywhere. Chaos in the streets.
If I ever write another history textbook about Korea - unlikely - I’m pretty sure I would have something to say about this chapter in Korean history. Maybe as an author’s note or something.
I got the call last week. I had just returned from burying my grandmother, who had starved to death. Thankfully, she wasn’t raped.
I was taking off my coat when the doorbell rang. Two military types stood outside.
Professor Choi, they said. We need you.
I’m not interested, I said. I live in a wheelchair. I can’t fight.
We don’t need you for fighting, they said. There’s a reason you’re safe from the draft.
They why do you need me?
The President is waiting.
Chongwadae voice memo, 6/28/2015 @ 4:39 PM
As of ten minutes ago, I am no longer the President of the Republic of Korea.
There was no successor.
I watched as the National Assembly, in the early days of the war, grew more and more panicked as the North Korean troops inched ever closer to the borders of Seoul.
And yet, they did nothing. Just sat there and discussed in a committee whether or not we should add 5,000 additional troops to the front lines. One day, the debate was over the meals served to the troops. Should we add 2 additional ounces of rice per day, or not?
Some fool brought up the economy. I felt like kicking him out of the room.
In the end, the ounces stayed where they were, and they moved on to the quality of tires in the Humvees.
Only later, when the Assembly building was evacuated for the last time, did they realize their mistake.
Not that it cost them anything. Airlifted to safety in posh helicopters. They were probably in Japan, watching the carnage unfold through live television and shaking their heads slowly, saying to themselves, what a shame.
Then they would go right back to eating their breakfasts.
I’ve experienced firsthand just how miserably deficient democracy can be.
If - when - I return…that is going to change.
Seoul University Official Records, June 28, 2015
I sit amongst the dusty books, typing out this last official memo on an antique typewriter I scrounged from one of the basements on campus.
The electricity’s gone, but that doesn’t mean anything. None of the computers work anyways.
All of the students - what remained of them - were sent back to their homes last week, or what remained of their homes. For a vast majority of them, home no longer existed. The university had been their only provider of shelter and hope.
I watched as some of the smartest brains in the world trudged out of the gates, with black trash bags hung about their shoulders. God knows where they’ll be one week from now. Probably dead, or taken prisoner. Hopefully they’ll have the sense to throw away their uniforms at first opportunity.
As the Chancellor of the University, I suppose I’d better lock up.
This is Chancellor Oh Jinsoo, signing out.
Excerpt from Seohyun’s diary, 6/28/2015
It was my last day here.
It also happened to be my birthday. One of the army men guarding my door gave me his ration of chocolate this morning. It probably would’ve lasted him a week - I ate it by myself, and then felt sick afterwards.
I looked around my dorm one last time. It was our dorm, until a week ago when everyone except me was evacuated to Japan.
Well, everyone except Sooyoung. She volunteered to fight last year. I haven’t heard from her since April.
And Taeyeon, who slowly suffered to death in the hospital after a collapsing stage light at what turned out to be the final recording of Music Bank.
Hard to believe that just one week later after that incident, the troops penetrated Incheon. Any last semblance we had of normalcy went out the window then. All recordings were cancelled, all networks shut down and salvaged for scrap and wires.
The entertainment companies got together for the first time in history to rescue its artists. Most of us were transported to Japan or the States, where it was safer.
I was asked to remain behind by Ban Ki-Moon himself. He said I was needed. He explained it to me - it seemed far-fetched, but so did the story of North Korea invading the South.
I said yes.
And now, a Humvee’s at the door, waiting to transport me to the prep center. A young man with a baby face was at the wheel; he couldn’t have been older than seventeen. His face reeked of fatigue and hardship and toil, yet he smiled as SNSD’s Seohyun took a seat next to him.
I’m not SNSD’s Seohyun anymore.
“Happy birthday.” He told me. Apparently he was a fan. He told me so.
Before, I would’ve smiled and said thank you. Now, I feel like crying. Even in the worst of times, simple pleasures can and do exist.
Before I left the Humvee, I reached over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
I had expected him to squeal for joy. I didn’t expect to burst into tears on my shoulder. And I realized that that could’ve been his last kiss. Perhaps he had had a girlfriend, once.
I hugged him tightly. “Never lose hope.” I told him. Hopefully he never does.
Hopefully he’ll be able to escape with his life, and find a better -
He’s dead. One of the lab technicians who’s been sterilizing my hair told me. Apparently the Humvee had barely made it out the compound before a mine blew up in his face.
I’ve had enough of this. I want to leave this planet as fast as I can.
It’s my birthday.
I wonder what he’s doing. I haven’t heard from him since last week. He’s been drafted into the program, too. Along with dozens of doctors, scientists, leaders, and thinkers. Maybe we’ll be in the same transport, although it wouldn’t matter much - they explained to us we’d be under cryogenic hibernation for over 50 years.
God knows why they decided to place idols on the list. Surely there are better people than us, people more deserving to live.
Get me out of here.
Excerpt from Jung Yonghwa’s diary, 6/28/2015
It’s her birthday today.
I would’ve texted her, if I still had a cell phone, and if the networks were still intact. Unfortunately, they weren’t, and I no longer have a cell phone.
I last saw her in person at the fateful Music Bank stage. Saw her deathly-white face as we both looked up as the joints of the rafters creaked, then finally broke under pressure, crashing onto the stage.
Hyoyeon had a broken leg. Sunny had a fractured ribcage.
Taeyeon didn’t have a chance.
It was a disaster.
I lost one of my closest friends and my drummer. Minhyuk held on for a week before he, too, finally gave up.
We didn’t have a chance for a proper funeral - everyone was prohibited from going outside, and the graveyards were full, anyway. We ended up watching as he was put into the burner and his ashes sent into the air with a puff of smoke from the chimney.
Jungshin and Jonghyun left for the States shortly after that.
Cobwebs litter our - my - dorm. My room’s been cleared; the keyboards, the DJ equipment, the laptop - all gone. The only thing left is my acoustic guitar. I strum the strings as the sound emanating from the guitar breaks the silence.
The doorbell rings. We’re ready for you, Mr. Jung.
There’s no need to turn off the lights, since they didn’t work anyway.
I wonder if I’ll see her before the launch.
I feel a strange sense of renewal as I lock the doors for the last time. The officer takes my keys and promptly feeds it into the metal shredder. “For safety.” He explains.
This building would probably be burnt down by the end of the week, anyway.
The officer seems to have read the look on my face. “We’ll win this war.” He says with conviction.
Yeah, right. The only stronghold we have is the pointy-tip of Busan. Everything else is under their control.
My mother fled - she’s safe, at least, although she misses Haeundae. My friends have all been drafted. They’re all probably dead by now. Dead or taken. Along with nearly the rest of the South Korean Army.
I put on my radiation suit - the levels are still pretty high, even though only low-level nukes have hit Seoul so far.
As I sit in the Humvee, I’m made acutely aware of my VIP status. I don’t see any other cars on the road, military or otherwise. The driver explains that gasoline is under strict rationing.
I ask if Humvees are being used on the front. He shakes his head. I apologize for wasting fuel. He laughs, thinks it’s a joke on my part. I just go with the flow.
If I ever get to see her before we get put into sleep, I want to tell her Happy Birthday.
There are a lot of other things I want to tell her, but if I haven’t had the courage for five years, I’m pretty sure I won’t have the courage now.
Happy Birthday will have to do for now.