A Nightmare Made Flesh
My throat is parched.
Thick, dry saliva clings to my throat.
I swallow with a heavy gulp, but a thirst this deep isn't so easily quenched.
On the screen in front of me, my name, "Kim Minjun," and the title of my screenplay glowed brightly.
Below that, the words "Logline & Concept" blinked in the silence.
"...And so! Through this film, I want to unpack the inexplicable anxiety of modern society and the tragedies born of mob mentality, all within the genre framework of an 'urban legend.'"
My voice echoed through the audiovisual room.
"Hmm..."
"Mmh..."
Below the podium, the expressions of the three judges sitting at the panel were impossible to read.
There was Kim Yujung, an alumnus and successful production company CEO in Chungmuro; the directing professor who took twisted pleasure in giving me C-pluses; and the screenwriting professor who practically had a medical condition preventing him from smiling.
They were three massive mountains I had to scale to pass this pitch and secure my production budget.
Breaking the silence, I pressed on.
"Ultimately, this film is about asking a question. Not 'Why do we choose death?' but rather, 'What is driving us to it?'"
I laid out my vision for the film and the necessity of why this story had to be made right now. As I spat out the final sentence, I felt the strength completely drain from my body.
"Hmm..."
"Mmh..."
Silence fell once more.
The alumnus CEO flipped through his papers and spoke up.
"Minjun."
"Yes, sir."
"The idea is fresh. But... does this actually work as a movie?"
My heart began to pound.
"You can find stories like this all over YouTube these days. Channels like 'Three-Minute Ghost Stories' or 'Urban Legend TV' are a dime a dozen. Is there really a reason to spend ten million won to shoot this? More importantly, can you even pull this off visually without it looking incredibly cheap?"
A sharp, biting question.
"Yes, absolutely. I've already drawn up the entire storyboard. This isn't something I threw together overnight; I've been preparing this script for months—no, years..."
"Well, if you're that capable, it might be faster to take that talent and look into music videos or web dramas instead."
Mockery disguised as concern.
It was a tired refrain I'd heard to death in this department.
It was the exact same garbage my rivals among my peers would snicker and whisper behind my back.
The screenwriting professor adjusted his glasses and chimed in.
"Genre films carry high risks. Especially horror. Adapting urban legends to recreate them in your own style isn't a bad attempt. However, a graduation project is both a student's portfolio and the face of our university. It needs to be either more mainstream or aim strictly for high artistic merit. Right now, Minjun, your work falls into an awkward middle ground."
Listening to him, the face of my classmate Choi Woojin—who had pitched right before me—flashed through my mind.
That bastard had presented a script stuffed with long takes and vacant stares that looked like they were cut-and-pasted straight out of a Jia Zhangke film.
Complete with a pretentious title: A Study on the Violence of Capitalism Through the Inner World of Marginalized Urban Laborers.
On top of that, it was a story that required virtually zero budget to shoot.
And what were the judges' expressions like back then?
Warm, generous smiles. Nodding along as they showered him with praise.
"A very sharp perspective." "Now this is what cinema is all about." "You could easily aim for the next Jeonju International Film Festival with this."
The bastard was probably already celebrating his first-place win.
Damn it...
I couldn't muster a single word to counter the judges' criticisms.
I could only squeeze the microphone tighter. My palms were slick with sweat.
A short while later, the results came out exactly as expected.
My name was nowhere to be found on the list for first, second, or third place.
First place got a ten-million-won budget. Second place got seven million. Third place got five million. I wouldn't be receiving a single cent.
That afternoon.
A dingy pub near the university, thick with the smell of grease and humid air.
"I'm telling you, those bastards are a joke, Hyung. What do they even know to be tearing your movie apart like that?"
Kang Deokhu ranted, tossing a chicken bone onto his plate. A sound major, Deokhu was one of my few teammates and my sole supporter in the department.
Beside him, Yoo Minhae nodded quietly.
"She's right, Sunbae. The professors and that alumnus, they only like the most predictable movies. Either that, or films with a high chance of winning festival awards. It's so infuriating how they only push projects that benefit their own careers. Your movie is special. Why can't they see that?"
Minhae, a photography major, was a junior who understood the tone of my films better than anyone.
We had gathered here, as we always did, to soothe the sting of rejection. But as grateful as I was for their comfort, their words only drifted past my ears and scattered into the air.
Their heartfelt consolation bounced off me like sound waves hitting a soundproof wall, failing to reach my core.
I took a sip of my flat beer.
If I can't even get recognition in this tiny pond of a university, how much colder will the vast ocean of the real world be?
Self-doubt. Fear. And utter helplessness.
Above all, the very real terror of not being able to graduate seemed to wrap around my ankles. I didn't have the money to shoot a movie out of my own pocket. I was already scraping by just to afford my studio apartment, which cost a five-million-won deposit and four hundred thousand won a month in rent.
And yet.
"Hey."
At my call, both of their eyes snapped to me.
I set my empty beer glass down on the table with a soft thud and declared:
"I'm making this movie. No matter what."
"What? Hyung, what about the budget? Don't tell me you're going to loan sharks?"
Deokhu asked, his face pale with worry.
I let out a dry chuckle.
It was time to play the final card I've been holding onto for a very long time—one I had never dared to use until now.
"I'm taking a leave of absence. I'll go do some manual labor."
"...What?"
"Sunbae, what are you talking about? Manual labor?"
Their eyes went wide.
I refilled my glass as I continued.
"Just six months. I heard if you bust your ass at a semiconductor construction site in the countryside, you can easily save up fifteen million won. Honestly, rather than working as a low-paid production assistant on some professional set, doing manual labor for a bit sounds much better. I'll take that money, shoot the film exactly how I want, and shove it right in their faces. I'll show them what real cinema is."
There was no bluffing, no empty bravado in my voice.
This was pure desperation, and the very last of my pride.
I would prove them wrong. I would prove that my story wasn't a mistake.
It was a silent battle cry.
That night, riding the momentum, I opened my laptop and logged onto a job search site.
[Pyeongtaek Semiconductor Site]
Room & Board Provided | 6-Month Short-Term Positions Available
Without a single shred of hesitation, I clicked the apply button.
The moment I got the confirmation text, I was going to pack up and leave.
Summer vacation was just around the corner anyway, and as a senior, I didn't have any more graduation credits to worry about.
Sigh...
Now that I had actually applied, I could already picture myself sweating bullets in the sweltering heat of a construction site this summer.
My mind was a chaotic mess of emotions.
But at the same time, a fire kindled deep in my chest.
Yes, fifteen million won. That would be more than enough. Without anyone else's interference, I would be able to capture the exact vision I had dreamed of.
Perhaps because I had finally made up my mind, the tension in my body began to melt away.
A heavy wave of exhaustion washed over me.
I collapsed onto the tiny patch of floor I had cleared amidst the chaotic piles of scripts and stacks of DVDs.
Staring up at a faint stain on the ceiling, my eyelids grew heavy.
Who knows how much time passed.
A strange sensation tickled the soles of my feet.
Huh...?
When I opened my eyes, I was sitting back in that cold, sterile audiovisual room.
What is this?
I was definitely asleep.
Is this a dream?
Looking down from the stage, where the judges should have been sitting, a formless black shadow stood, staring up at me.
Around it was nothing but pitch-black darkness.
The shadow opened its mouth.
A low, majestic, and deeply echoing voice struck my eardrums.
It sounded vaguely familiar, yet completely alien and bizarre.
"Are you truly that desperate?"
I flinched, taking a step back.
What... what are you talking about? Who are you?
I tried to ask what the hell was going on, but—
No sound came out of my mouth!
The heavy, shifting voice of the shadow washed over me once more.
"I shall grant you a gift. Live through the world you have created. Prove yourself that way."
With those final words, the shadow pointed a finger at me.
What?
In an instant, I felt the sensation of the ground vanishing beneath my feet.
"Ugh!"
I gasped, jolting awake in terror.
It was just a dream...
My entire body was drenched in cold sweat, and my heart was hammering wildly against my ribs.
Looking out the window, the faint, bluish light of dawn was just beginning to creep in.
"Damn... what a bizarre nightmare."
I panted heavily, trying to catch my breath.
Live through the world you have created. Prove your story.
The voice from the dream echoed vividly in my ears.
The next morning.
I set up camp in a campus cafe, armed with my laptop and a leave of absence form.
"Sigh, since things turned out like this anyway... I might as well polish the script one more time."
I was in the middle of revising the opening scene of The Haunted Bridge when—
Thud.
My fingers froze over the keyboard.
What was that?
A dull, heavy sound echoed from outside the window.
It sounded like something incredibly heavy crashing to the ground.
A car accident...?
Dismissing it as nothing major, I was about to look back at my screen when—
"Oh my god!"
A female student sitting by the window let out a sharp shriek and bolted upright.
What's going on...?
Her eyes were glued to the building across the street, her face completely pale.
"Look... over there..."
Prompted by her reaction, several people in the cafe turned their heads toward the window. I did the same. Soon, a wave of murmurs began to ripple through the room.
"What is it? What happened?"
"Why is she acting like that?"
"Wait, did something just fall?"
The commotion began to swell.
What... what are they looking at?
My gaze drifted toward the twenty-story studio apartment building across the street.
And then, I saw it.
"Huh...?"
A single black dot.
No, it wasn't a dot.
It was unmistakably a human figure, flailing its arms and legs as it plummeted.
Splat!
What followed was a sickening, wet thud—like a soaked rag being slammed violently against the floor.
A crushed car roof, and a rapidly spreading pool of crimson liquid.
It didn't even take a second for the silence in the cafe to shatter.
"KYAAAAAAAH!"
The girl by the window was the first to scream.
Her shriek acted as a trigger, plunging the cafe into instant chaos.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Did they die?!"
"It's... it's not just one person!"
"They're... they keep falling!"
Some collapsed into their seats, while others gagged and covered their mouths. Shock and terror twisted everyone's faces into masks of disbelief.
Crack!
Another one. This time, straight onto the asphalt.
The horrific sound of a skull fracturing leaked faintly through the glass window.
Thud!
It didn't stop.
From the rooftop, from open windows, from balconies.
As if they had all agreed on a pact beforehand, people threw themselves off the building one after another.
They rained down like water—no, like hail. There was no sign of it stopping.
"No!!! Stop!!!"
Inside the cafe, someone screamed in agony, pounding on the glass.
But their cries were nothing more than empty echoes.
"There's another one! At the window!"
"They're... they're falling again!"
The woman at the adjacent table finally lost her stomach and threw up on the floor.
Holy fucking shit...!
The cafe's panoramic window had become a massive screen broadcasting a live feed of hell.
While everyone in the cafe pressed against the glass, screaming and wailing in sheer panic,
I realized.
This insane spectacle. This horrific, surreal disaster.
The city fell silent, and people fell like rain.
This was the exact opening scene of the screenplay I had written: The Haunted Bridge.