task zero
Characters: Jun-he, NPCs Setting: Busan, South Korea - 1999
task zero, crying eyes
fright
Busan, South Korea
thirteen years ago
The sound of bustling busy streets made an inescapable background noise that had always been a part of everyday living in Busan. Behind the small trucks on their daily routine a thirteen year old boy stood, propped against one of many brick walls lining the street under a blistering sun. Here there was no standstill for life to slow down. Stores sold their fruits to mothers, thousands of pens to school children, cellphones to business men, and broken dreams to those with nothing.
His hair was short, two inches of fine, soft strands swayed in the breeze. The smell of fish was in the air where two blocks away the markets thrived. His white t-shirt hung loosely to his thin hips; he was a boy made for speed. His old tacky blue track pants hardly set him apart from the crowds.
Thirteen was a young age to be watching people just to watch them and though he was no exception he simply watched, his shoulders hunched slightly while looking side to side casually. There was nothing to be had easily today and spent most of the day wandering different areas for something, it seemed. With a wasted day nearing its end, he finally stood straight, placing both hands in his pant pockets. Raising one brow momentarily as he caught sight of overly cheerful school girls, the boy placed one foot in front of the other and made his way to the crosswalk just as it changed to proceed forward.
Casually walking to the other side of the street, he remained careful in his attention, never looking anywhere but ahead. There were several stands of fruit along the stretch of sidewalk and ahead of him he saw an elderly woman picking through oranges while the younger woman on the other side of the stand tended to her. Not to be entirely empty-handed, he managed to swipe an apple from the corner of the stand, grabbing it quickly and without hesitation before slipping it in to his right pocket.
Nightfall would come before he reached his destination by foot, but he simply enjoyed the time to himself every once in a while and for all his mother knew, he was still in school. Busses cost too much anyway.
As soon as he turned down the next street, he slipped the red apple out from his pocked and bit in to it making a crunching sound against his teeth.
It had been a couple hours since his petty crime had been successfully executed. Not one of his finer crimes but a crime it was and for the most part, the thirteen year old felt somewhat accomplished. There was no doubt a scolding coming from his school for his absence and likely a good slap on the back of the head from his mother. Truthfully, she never struck him hard enough for anything to stick but no one ever really said anything about it. He grinned slightly to himself as he approached his house.
The streets were lit by glowing lamp posts, giving the grubby back alley a sense of character but even the weak lighting could not hide the bag of garbage sprawled out on the concrete near his doorstep. He knitted his brow curiously, perplexed by the unusual sight. Pulling his hands out from his pockets, the young boy approached, running a hand through his hair. He was careful in his approach, quiet and slow in confusion. One of the potted plants along the back of the home had been knocked over its pot smashed and dirt strewn. Making a face, he walked over the used paper and various bits of food that had once taken residence in the black plastic bag. It was perhaps his punishment for skipping out on school… and maybe someone had finally let his mother know that her weak hits meant nothing if they didn’t scare the boy in to behaving. He really doubted that conclusion, and tossed it out much like the garbage before him. His mother was entirely too soft.
There was an audible thud from inside the house, causing him to pause momentarily in his step. Instead of continuing to the door he lifted his body up on its toes and peered in to the window which led in to the kitchen. It was hard to see through the grate protecting the window from intrusion but what he saw were small bowls of kimchi and rice, uneaten and alone.
Scanning down he noticed the black hair and blood upon the floor. Gaping, he stretched himself up as far as he could go; gripping the ledge of the window and seeing his mother’s face cold and dead. An unpleasant sight, one bullet to the forehead was all it took, he knew. Mouth gaping, a cold sweat began to form as he saw the next body of his older sister, her legs half way in the next room where they were to eat. She had been stripped from the waist down and as he saw her there she too saw him.
“Jun-hae,” she said softly, but he did not hear her. DAL LI DA she mouthed clearly and his eyes widened. In that moment, a rough looking man with shaggy hair and stubble on his face wandered in to the room. He was older, middle-aged and dressed in old clothing. There was a small frantic state to him as he caught sight of the boy at the window.
Eyes wide, Jun-he felt his heart beat almost as though he could hear it clearly around him. He stepped back and tripped on the once solid pot and dirt. Catching himself before taking a complete tumble he heard the quick shuffle from inside and just as his sister told him, he picked himself up and ran.