Siblings (1)
My younger siblings (1) had wiped every trace I'd left on the internet. Not that there was much to erase. I'd only deleted a community account and a game ID. Someday, I might play again. With that thought, I sank into my chair and scrolled through internet broadcasts.
[How to Start a YouTube Channel! Why Not Try This Step by Step?]
The first video that popped up was irritatingly cheerful.
"…I can't do it."
Most internet streamers showed their faces. Some even used their real voices. The thought alone made me want to die of embarrassment. And someone like me—someone dark and broken—streaming? "Everyone would end up depressed and dead." That was the kind of person I was. A charred remnant, burned out long ago. I couldn't catch fire again, couldn't warm anyone else, couldn't even cast a faint light. Someone like me had no business streaming. I'd only get mocked and socially buried.
"……."
Yet for some reason, I couldn't look away from the video. It was strange. I'd decided never to leave traces again.
-Click.
"…Watching one video won't hurt."
I popped a toothpick with sundae into my mouth and chewed while the video played. The usual platitudes: don't give up, keep working hard. But somehow those tired lines made my heart race.
"…!!"
The moment anticipation turned to dread, Father's voice echoed in my ears.
'Live like you're already dead.'
My breathing turned ragged. Once again, I was reminded that I shouldn't exist.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Dad."
Muttering that, I trembled, shut off the computer, and dragged my limp leg to the bed like I was fleeing. I didn't forget to grab the blue box cutter with my other hand.
Scrrrape! My hand shook violently. The blade rattled. It wasn't even properly disinfected, but it didn't matter.
"…Ghk."
Red. The bedsheets bloomed beautifully.
"……."
Lying on the bed, I stared blankly at my right arm, now bearing one more scar.
"It hurts."
I'd disinfected, applied ointment, and wrapped it in bandages. Since the wounds never healed, the pain only grew.
"…When did it start?"
I couldn't even remember when the scars stopped closing. Probably from the day I recalled my past life. From the day I desperately tried to draw Father's attention. From the day his fists and that unstoppable violence struck, and I pretended it was nothing. That was when the days began where even the smallest bruise refused to fade.
"My leg still limps, but at least the bruises are gone now."
I gave a small smile as I said it. The room was dark; no sunlight reached inside. It should have been peak activity hours, yet today I simply didn't want to move.
"…Jiwu said she'd bring Minwoo over sometime, didn't she?"
I sniffled and pulled the blanket over my head. It wasn't because I was sad—just a bit of a runny nose.
"……."
I should just sleep. It was only 11 p.m., still my usual active time, but I'd decided to rest. Too much had happened today. I needed a break.
The blanket reeked. I'd never washed it, and it smelled of rot—mostly the stench of dried blood. I didn't sweat much, and I never ate on the bed, so that was the only thing that stained it.
"…If I ever ate on the blanket……"
A terrible memory surfaced. The day I'd been beaten until I was covered in dust. Passing out, waking, passing out again. In between, I'd checked whether my siblings had been hit. If I cried or screamed too loudly, they'd get scared, so I'd smiled instead.
"…Can we ever be close again?"
Realizing I hadn't had a proper conversation with my siblings since I was twelve, I supposed I must have missed them.
'…Fuck, in my next life I want to be reborn as a pretty girl everyone loves.'
I didn't know why that thought came to me now. It was something I'd said before dying in my past life. I really didn't understand why it surfaced here.
That night, the pillow grew damp. My eyes had sweated a little too much.
I'm healthy. I'm living diligently. …I'm living a happy life. Even if I sometimes want to die.
The next morning, the phone started ringing at 9 a.m.
[Beloved Minwoo]
"……."
It was my younger brother, Minwoo. Twenty missed calls already. I stared at the list with bleary eyes while the phone rang again in real time.
"Minwoo……"
I sat up in bed and watched the screen for a long time. The call cut off, then rang again. Just before falling asleep last night, I'd wished I could improve things with my siblings.
"…Does Minwoo hate noona?"
He was my brother, so he probably disliked me. Siblings often didn't get along. My hands trembled. What if he just cursed at me the moment I answered? But I was used to being cursed at. It would sting a little, but—
'Better than giving up completely.'
Because Minwoo attended the police academy and lived far away, he rarely visited. Jiwu usually ran errands for me instead. This call was rare. Minwoo had just turned twenty. At such a bright age, he was stuck taking care of his worthless older sister.
"…Noona is sorry."
Staring blankly at the ringing phone, I muttered that, then answered with a shaking hand.
[…Hello?!]
Minwoo's voice sounded startled. It had been a long time, but it was definitely him.
"……."
Hearing his voice, I couldn't say a single word. I froze. I was terrified—what would he say to me now?
[…….]
"……."
Even after answering, only awkward silence stretched between us. Minwoo was the one who broke it. I'd been covering my mouth the whole time, afraid my voice might leak out.
[Noona, I'll stop by your place this evening.]
"……."
[I promised the little noona we'd help you clean. Ah, haha—is this too sudden?]
He laughed awkwardly. I still couldn't speak, my hand clamped over my mouth.
'They're coming…?'
I'd be forced to face my siblings. I had to refuse. I had to. I was scared to see their faces. Besides, making them clean would be too much for them. Still covering my mouth, I glanced around. Piles of trash. I could never clean it all. And I needed that trash to feel stable. It was the only thing that made me feel like I'd left something in this world. To me, that garbage wasn't just garbage.
I had to gather courage. I had to reject them. For my sake, and for theirs. I slowly lowered my left hand from my mouth.
"…Min, woo-ya."
[…!!]
I could almost see Minwoo flinch through the phone. Memories of young Minwoo and Jiwu flashed through my mind—how they'd looked at me with trembling eyes after I'd been beaten nearly to death by Father, forcing a smile as I approached. How they'd chat happily until I entered the room, then fall silent and fidget in front of me.
I had to refuse, but the thought of that scene repeating made me unable to say no.
"J-just… your face… I'll see. Cleaning… I'll do it… myself……."
My words trailed off as I bowed my head deeply. I'd meant to refuse, but ended up asking to see their faces. Now Minwoo and Jiwu would really come. They'd be shocked by the piled-up trash. The thought drifted through my mind. They'd definitely think it was disgusting. Even now, Minwoo probably saw me as pathetic.
'…I'm proud of you, Minwoo, for studying so hard and getting into the police academy even in that environment.'
All I'd ever given him was enough money for meals. Nothing else.
"……."
I'd wanted to tell him I was proud. But I couldn't say anything.
[…Yeah! Let's see each other! I'll come just to see your face, then.]
"……."
I couldn't even answer. Minwoo sounded a little excited.
[I'll be there around 6 p.m. today, okay? I'll come with the little noona.]
"……."
[…Okay?]
Minwoo asked carefully again. Instead of answering, I—
Click!
—hung up.
Scary. Too scary. I couldn't read Minwoo's intentions. Why did he sound happy? He was supposed to hate me. Why?
Scrrrape! The blue box cutter. Pain. Red. Once again the blade tore open, spilling red. My heart didn't feel any lighter.
"…Why… why am I like this… I can't even answer my own brother……."
No tears came. My dried-up tear ducts produced nothing. Only endless pain remained. Another scar on my arm. I discarded the bloodied bandage, stopped the bleeding, disinfected, applied ointment, and wrapped a fresh one.
"…Wiping the blood is annoying."
The floor was red.
…….
I decided to leave it.