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Crooked
Thursday, January 30.


        I pull my jacket closer around my body, hugging myself to keep warm from the cold foggy morning of Seoul. Slowly walking down the street, I notice everything is dark and everyone around me has stopped moving. They were all watching me. I did try to walk by them as best I could, try to ignore the way they stared at me; with their judging eyes and the way they whisper. When I open my mouth, not a word comes out. I can’t scream, I can’t yell, and I just can’t simply talk. I lift my hands to my mouth, trying to heat them but no air came from my lips. Lifting my hands higher, I feel a smooth, white round mask plastered to my face, only having eyeholes for me to see. How was I breathing? I found where the mask and my face are connected and try to pry it off. When that doesn’t work, I work up all my strength and try again and again. Nothing seemed to work and I was beginning to panic, feeling the anxiety rush through my body. I could feel everything beginning to slow; my heart, my breathing and even my vision was beginning to blur. Falling to my knees, my hand clenched my chest, gasping desperately for air. Those fuckers just keep staring. Why are they staring? Why aren’t they helping me? I hear their laughter, too. Laughing as I slowly begin to die. That’s what was happening, right? I was slowly dying and not one of those fuckers cared. Not one of them even tried to help me. Taking one last gasp of air, my vision finally darkens, my heart finally stops and finally, there is nothing but silence.






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