Gray
Me, Sumi
Who am I?
Who am I but the shadow I’ve been declared to be?
I look around my gray cell somewhat listlessly, taking in the gray bars, white bed, black sink and toilet. There isn’t much else to do apart from fiddle with my hair and think about life, not now. Not anymore.
According to the king, there are two types of people in the world: greedy or giving, kind or cruel, selfish or selfless, good or bad, rich or poor, strong or weak, courageous or cowardly, hero or villain.
So my labels are this: greedy, cruel, selfish and bad, poor, weak, a coward and a villain. Someone to be hated. This is what everyone sees me as.
Is this true? The king says it is. Everyone around me agrees with him—I mean, he’s the king, how could he be wrong? Anyone who thinks so must be evil, because who would dare question his supreme will?
Well why do you think I’m here?
Before any of this happened, all I wanted was a peaceful life. I wasn’t perfect, but hey, who is?
Oh, right, “everyone” is, apparently.
And that’s the lie our society runs on.
If you agree with me, that this is all some grand lie, you’ll probably join me here in this cell. And once you’re deemed evil, there’s no coming back from it. You’re either the hero or the villain, and it’s which side you’re on that determines your fate.
My Guard Junko
Okay, so, Junko. She’s one of the classified “heroes” of this story, but here’s the thing: she sees herself as the good guy and yet stands here making sure I die. Heroes are supposed to save lives. Interesting, isn’t it?
“Can I have some paper?” I call out, trying to sound hopeful, maybe a little desperate. I’ve got nothing to do but try to convince her I’m not an evil person and to study her reactions.
“No,” Junko snaps back. “You lost your right to that when you decided to write from the perspective of a villain.” She’s definitely annoyed, with that hint of cynicism in her voice and that edge of denial.
So I groan. “I told you, I didn’t have a choice.”
Junko turns and faces me dead-on. Her stern gray eyes scan my disheveled green hair, wrinkled black clothes, annoyed red eyes. I’m everything we’re told not to be and so much more. “You always have a choice.”
“So do you,” I point out.
Junko knows exactly where I’m going with that. “I think not. You should’ve known better, especially with your prestigious family.”
“Things need to change!” It’s frustrating no one will listen to me. So frustrating. None of them understand that I didn’t choose to be this way. I didn’t choose to be Sumi, famously the daughter of two of the most powerful people in the kingdom, declared evil and thrown away like trash.
“So you do understand.”
“I understand what the king wants me to think. But here’s my question: why won’t you look me in the eyes and tell me I deserve to die?” My voice rises. “Maybe because you don’t believe it!”
Junko spins to face me. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?!”
I shot to my feet, grabbed the bars, leaned forward. “Why do I deserve to die?! Why can’t you look me in the eyes and say it?!”
Junko pulls out her sword, points it at me from outside the bars. Our eyes meet again, hers angry, mine angry. “Do I need to tell you again?”
“Funny how you always get defensive when I bring this stuff up.”
Junko spins around, stalks back around the corner, calling, “The answer to your request is still no. The king will decide your fate tomorrow,” over her shoulder.
“Why can’t I choose my own fate?!” I question, annoyed and desperate. She’s my only chance out of here. “Why can’t I just be myself?! Why do I always have to pretend to be somebody else?! Isn’t that the greater evil?!”
Junko doesn’t answer me.
A Confession
The first day of my imprisonment, I covered my ears since I didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to know my fate. I didn’t want to hear the terrified screams, the desolate cries and wails, knowing it was my future. I was already imagining the moment when the double doors opened. Silence descending on the arena. All cameras on me, then the king, standing there with his sword.
“Does the prisoner have any last words?” he’ll ask.
It brought burning tears to my eyes and a pressure to my chest and a dizzy feeling in my head. I struggled to my feet and stumbled to the back of the cell, breathing heavy, hands shaking, pushing the images away once again. The reality that I was going to die.
Eventually, the screams faded away, but when I turned, my guard hadn’t returned yet. Instead there was some stupid guy standing there checking me out.
“Is looking at a girl stuck in prison really the right thing to do?” I challenged immediately in an effort to cover up my fear.
“Woah, that’s some spunk there.” The guy smiled. “I like you already.”
“Wait.” I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re subbing in for my normal guard. Where is she anyways?”
“Oh, Junko?” The guy shrugged. “She passed me a little bit ago and told me to take a turn, then stomped off. I think all this guard business is getting to her.”
That was the first time I’d heard her name. “Coming to terms with her inner villain, then? Guess I’ll have to ask her about it.”
“I think we both know who’s the real villain here,” the guy commented.
“You?” I offered. “Come on—what’ve you done? It’s not like anyone will believe me if you tell me.” He seemed like the type.
“Well I steal,” the guy answered nonchalantly, brushing his blond hair to the side like it made him cooler or something. “And I’m still going.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Junko will believe me sometime.”
“She won’t. Everyone knows you’re insane.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re truly obsessed, repeating the same things over and over again.”
I stepped closer, my hands clenching to fists. “Maybe if people actually listened, I wouldn’t have to say it so many times.”
“Maybe if you’d followed the rules like a good little girl, you wouldn’t be in here,” he countered. “But we don’t all have to follow the rules, do we?” He started reaching forward, towards my chest. “I could show you what you’re missing.”
I backstepped. “Yeah, not interested, sorry. Go find someone more desperate.”
The guy sighed, turning around. “I’m going to go check on the other prisoners. Name’s Gin, by the way.”
“Don’t care!”
Mom
We never really got along, Mom and I. I think I get along with Gin better. From the day I could talk, she didn’t like me, because I was the exact opposite of her. I was questioning, demanding, stubborn, rebellious. She followed the rules, did what she was told, compromised. Everything we’re supposed to be, basically. I couldn’t keep up with her expectations and I didn’t see the point in doing stupid things. She always hated that about me.
“Sumi, get back into your room,” Mom ordered, her voice stern, finger trembling with frustration.
I glared back. “I’ll do my homework later. I’m writing right now.”
She grabbed my hand, yanked me to my feet. Her bright orange eyes were practically on fire with anger. “Sumi, this is your last chance to make things right.”
I swallowed hard. “What if I don’t want to?” My angry gaze met her own. “Let me drop down a level in math. I can’t do this.” Tears burned in my eyes. “Stop trying to make me.”
So she turned, yanking me behind her, throwing me outside. Rain slammed into me, instantly soaking my hair and sending a biting chill down my spine. She pulled my paper out of my hand, tearing the section still clutched between my cold fingers, and slammed the glass door shut, slowly ripping it in front of me.
I ran forward and slammed into the door. “Wait!” My voice was practically a scream. “No! No please don’t do this--please!”
But even through the glass, even through my pounding and my tears, it felt like I could feel the slow tear of that paper ripping through my chest, burning through my soul, taking away the only little piece of freedom I had ever had to be myself, express myself, discover myself.
Mom opened the door a crack, holding it shut when I tried to yank it open. “When you agree to do your work, you can come in, but until then, you stay out here.”
And then the door shut.
The Scoundrel Gin
If Mom’s the embodiment of righteousness and good in the eyes of our society, then Gin’s that suck-up teacher’s pet that can get away with whatever he wants because he’ll lick the boots of anyone with money. He’s a blazing example of how to get away with being a villain in a heroic society, and unlike me, he’s a real villain. Corrupted to the core.
I hope he lands in jail before I'm executed so I can rub it in his sorry face.
“I’ll go have a chat with her.”
That’s not what I want to hear from him.
“Don’t.” Junko sighs. “It’s not worth it. She’ll make your puny brain explode or something.”
Gin walks out and looks me over. “Junko driving you insane?”
“More like society,” I sigh. “And you. I don’t feel like I should be killed for existing.”
“Maybe you should’ve chosen differently.”
“Can I at least have some paper?” I plead. “What harm can come of me writing down my thoughts on paper?”
“Your taintedness may spread to others.”
“What if I’m just a normal person?!” I demand, shooting to my feet once more and clenching my hands into fists. “Why doesn’t anyone understand me?! Can’t you just listen?!”
“I hear you,” Gin tells me, “but that isn’t the same thing as listening.”
Of course it’s not. I know that. But it still stings since I was hoping they would listen. All this time I’ve been trying to get them to realize it doesn’t matter who I or anyone else spends their life with, or that a seemingly good person can be awful, and yet . . . nothing. Just—nothing.
I sink back down onto my bed and look down at my hands, trying to squelch the burning tears. “Fine, whatever. When you’re caught for the thief you are, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You haven’t warned me of anything,” he points out.
“Maybe you’re just not listening hard enough.”
My Story
You think I’m obsessed.
Maybe I am. Maybe I am obsessed with this stuff. Maybe repeating it over and over again is useless. But even still, as everyone talks about how “good” or how “bad” they are, I just don’t think they’re listening.
Mom thought I was obsessed. Do you know why she ripped up my writing? It was because I wrote a story, one about epic heroes and villains, but I switched it around and made the villains the real heroes of the story. Because they were all a mix of good and bad.
“I don’t want to hear you obsessing over this stuff again,” Mom snapped.
Tears filled my eyes. “It’s mine!”
“Not anymore.” Mom’s stern glare met my own. “And don’t you dare write another word about your little antagonist there liking another girl. People like that should be killed off—they’re not natural.”
I flinched back. That hurt.
“And I don’t want anyone thinking you might be insane.” Her voice grew heavy, but light like feathers. “I can and will personally turn you into the king so people don’t think I’m like you.”
“I—I’m your daughter,” I choked out.
“You’ll stay up in your room except for meal times until your grades shape up and you stop this foolish nonsense. And if you won’t contribute to this family, you’re better off not in it.”
I spun around and stormed back up the stairs, slamming my door. And then I cried. I don’t know why it hurts me so much to think about how little Mom cared about me. I was just a means to an end to her—never a person she loved, never good enough just being me.
I wondered—why, why, why was it that she was the good one? Why was she what society valued and rewarded? Were people like me really meant for nothing? Am I just nothing?
And then something snapped within me. Something just went. Like, okay, maybe I couldn’t be perfect. Maybe I couldn’t get perfect grades. Maybe I couldn’t win awards or make it into the top programs or put a fake smile on my face. Maybe I wasn’t them. Maybe I couldn’t ever be them. Maybe it was time the world got to see just what horrible people hid beneath the fake smiles.
So, as the sun started sinking below the horizon, I grabbed my cell phone and called her. My secret girlfriend. We pretended we were just friends to the world, but she meant so much more to me than that.
“Sumi?” Her voice was confused. “What’s going on?”
She was always so concerned about me. Perhaps the only person that cared. The words were on my lips—I could almost say them—but I was crying. And scared. So, so scared.
“Sumi?”
“I really like you,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stop this feeling.”
Everyone had told me I couldn’t do this. That it was wrong. But I loved her, and it felt so right, even if I knew the world would hate me for it.
“You’re scaring me.” Her voice trembled. “What happened?”
I never ever wanted to leave, but I knew I had to. Somewhere in me I knew it would be the last conversation I ever had with her. “I love you, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Trying to get As, hiding this from the world, pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m going to do something really stupid and I wanted you to know how much I love you. I love you.”
My voice choked off in a sob. “Goodbye.”
“Sumi!”
And then I hung up. Tears streaming down my face, snot building in my nose, that pressure weighing on my chest. I turned and I grabbed my computer and I started typing, just writing, all my frustrations, all my anger. My hands shook so hard. Everything I was doing was wrong but it felt so right. If I was caught I was going to die, but I felt alive again. I finally felt alive.
The sun sank below the horizon. The clock turned to twelve.
And I hit print.
I grabbed the stack of papers off the printer as I ran outside with my roll of tape and just started running, taping the papers on every pole and sign I could get to. There was so much adrenaline coursing through me. The words, written on the paper, damning to the king’s empire, I moved quickly, hoping, praying that no one would see me.
“We’re living a lie.”
My thesis, followed by everything else, exposing what evils my parents and all the other high-ranking officials of the palace did. Everything we weren’t supposed to be and so much more, encompassed in the leaders we swore our lives away to protect.
And I thought I’d managed it, too, when I ran out of fliers and sprinted back to my room, dripping in sweat and the nighttime rush of energy, uncaught by the guards for being out after curfew.
But I didn’t know my mom would go through my room. I didn’t know she knew my password and could find everything I’d ever hidden from her. I didn’t believe she would really call the king’s forces. I didn’t believe it when the guards showed up at my school and demanded I come with them.
I still can’t believe I’m going to die.
Though in the end, I got what I wanted. I finally got the ability to express my thoughts and ideas without someone caring enough to shut me back up, so I guess I should be grateful for that for as long as I have left.
Back to Junko
A couple hours pass after my conversation with Gin when boom, suddenly, Junko’s there standing in front of me. I can’t believe it. I’m always the one to call for her, not the other way around. So I stammer, “Hi Junko.”
“No clever words?” Junko questions. But I can tell she’s nervous on the inside.
I shrug. “You caught me by surprise—what can I say?”
She bends over to look at my paper, but I pull it away before she can see. “What’ve you got to hide?”
“Oh, I don’t know, everything, ‘cause every time I get paper it’s ripped out of my hands?” I answer sarcastically. “I’m lucky Gin sneaked it to me in the first place. They’re all that’s going to remain of me pretty soon, but anyone who sees them will experience this same stupid cell in the days before their execution.”
But Junko just sits down against the hallway wall, placing her sword on her knees, her eyes on the ceiling. I don’t even know what to think. Junko doesn’t normally just chat with me like this. She’s my guard. It’s her job to keep me demoralized and trapped in this cell.
So . . . why--
“You’re aware you’re gonna die tomorrow, right?” Junko asks suddenly.
This is even more confusing. Am I hearing remorse in her voice? Maybe I’m just delusional now.
Then I remember I’m supposed to be answering. “Yeah, I know.”
“Where’s the crying then? The attempts to steal my sword? The bribery?”
“Escaping would just prove that I’m really the villain everyone says I am,” I point out. “If I’ve only got a day or so to live, I figured I might as well get as much of my story written down as I can. Who knows—maybe someone’ll read it someday and understand.”
“Yet you start arguments with me,” Junko counters.
“I’m talking to you ‘cause I’m bored,” I inform her. “Take that as you will, but if I’m being honest, I prefer being in here to being out there. I’m more free in this cell than I ever was at home. At least in here, I can say whatever I want and no one cares enough to shut me up.”
Junko lets out a strained laugh and shakes her head. “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess this is what happens when I’m put on night shift too many days in a row—I start losing my mind and talking to you of all people.”
It’s nighttime? I didn’t realize it had gotten that late. I don’t like that, but I push the thought aside for the moment. It’s as close to an answer as I’ve ever gotten from her, so I scoot over to the side of my cell and lean against the bars. “Where’s that heroic side of you that’s supposed to hate me for being contrary? Maybe you’re just realizing that maybe I’m not the villain.”
“You wanna know why I’m a guard?”
“What’s with the sudden change in topic?” I return.
“So? Do you wanna know or not?”
I am curious, so I shut up and let her talk.
“My sister and I fought a lot,” Junko explains, more uncertain than I’d ever heard from her. It’s like she’s a different person all the sudden. “My sister was pushy and bossy, and I got sick of doing what she wanted, so I stole her lunch one day at school.”
“And she turned you in,” I guess, because if she’s really admitting to not being a hero, that’s the only conclusion there is.
Junko opens her mouth to snap back, but just lets out a breath. “Almost. She figured out it was me immediately, so she told the school someone was stealing lunches and threatened adding my name to the report if I didn’t straighten out and do what she told me.” A pause. “She wanted me to shun people like you.”
“She didn’t intend for you to run into some lunatic who distributed so-called propaganda and got thrown in jail, huh?” I surmise.
Junko laughs again. “Yeah. I’ll admit, Sumi, you remind me a lot of my younger self and how I could’ve ended up without my sister’s guidance.”
“Bet it isn’t fun being a guard, watching over criminals and dragging people to their deaths,” I muse. “It’s the ‘right’ thing to do, but sometimes what’s classified as ‘right’ feels the furthest thing from it, doesn’t it?”
Junko just shrugs.
On a whim, I stretch out my hand through the bars and wait on her reaction for a moment. She blinks, surprised, gets to her feet, walks over, sits down.
And takes it.
Who am I?
Who am I but the shadow I’ve been declared to be?
I look around my gray cell somewhat listlessly, taking in the gray bars, white bed, black sink and toilet. There isn’t much else to do apart from fiddle with my hair and think about life, not now. Not anymore.
According to the king, there are two types of people in the world: greedy or giving, kind or cruel, selfish or selfless, good or bad, rich or poor, strong or weak, courageous or cowardly, hero or villain.
So my labels are this: greedy, cruel, selfish and bad, poor, weak, a coward and a villain. Someone to be hated. This is what everyone sees me as.
Is this true? The king says it is. Everyone around me agrees with him—I mean, he’s the king, how could he be wrong? Anyone who thinks so must be evil, because who would dare question his supreme will?
Well why do you think I’m here?
Before any of this happened, all I wanted was a peaceful life. I wasn’t perfect, but hey, who is?
Oh, right, “everyone” is, apparently.
And that’s the lie our society runs on.
If you agree with me, that this is all some grand lie, you’ll probably join me here in this cell. And once you’re deemed evil, there’s no coming back from it. You’re either the hero or the villain, and it’s which side you’re on that determines your fate.
My Guard Junko
Okay, so, Junko. She’s one of the classified “heroes” of this story, but here’s the thing: she sees herself as the good guy and yet stands here making sure I die. Heroes are supposed to save lives. Interesting, isn’t it?
“Can I have some paper?” I call out, trying to sound hopeful, maybe a little desperate. I’ve got nothing to do but try to convince her I’m not an evil person and to study her reactions.
“No,” Junko snaps back. “You lost your right to that when you decided to write from the perspective of a villain.” She’s definitely annoyed, with that hint of cynicism in her voice and that edge of denial.
So I groan. “I told you, I didn’t have a choice.”
Junko turns and faces me dead-on. Her stern gray eyes scan my disheveled green hair, wrinkled black clothes, annoyed red eyes. I’m everything we’re told not to be and so much more. “You always have a choice.”
“So do you,” I point out.
Junko knows exactly where I’m going with that. “I think not. You should’ve known better, especially with your prestigious family.”
“Things need to change!” It’s frustrating no one will listen to me. So frustrating. None of them understand that I didn’t choose to be this way. I didn’t choose to be Sumi, famously the daughter of two of the most powerful people in the kingdom, declared evil and thrown away like trash.
“So you do understand.”
“I understand what the king wants me to think. But here’s my question: why won’t you look me in the eyes and tell me I deserve to die?” My voice rises. “Maybe because you don’t believe it!”
Junko spins to face me. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?!”
I shot to my feet, grabbed the bars, leaned forward. “Why do I deserve to die?! Why can’t you look me in the eyes and say it?!”
Junko pulls out her sword, points it at me from outside the bars. Our eyes meet again, hers angry, mine angry. “Do I need to tell you again?”
“Funny how you always get defensive when I bring this stuff up.”
Junko spins around, stalks back around the corner, calling, “The answer to your request is still no. The king will decide your fate tomorrow,” over her shoulder.
“Why can’t I choose my own fate?!” I question, annoyed and desperate. She’s my only chance out of here. “Why can’t I just be myself?! Why do I always have to pretend to be somebody else?! Isn’t that the greater evil?!”
Junko doesn’t answer me.
A Confession
The first day of my imprisonment, I covered my ears since I didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to know my fate. I didn’t want to hear the terrified screams, the desolate cries and wails, knowing it was my future. I was already imagining the moment when the double doors opened. Silence descending on the arena. All cameras on me, then the king, standing there with his sword.
“Does the prisoner have any last words?” he’ll ask.
It brought burning tears to my eyes and a pressure to my chest and a dizzy feeling in my head. I struggled to my feet and stumbled to the back of the cell, breathing heavy, hands shaking, pushing the images away once again. The reality that I was going to die.
Eventually, the screams faded away, but when I turned, my guard hadn’t returned yet. Instead there was some stupid guy standing there checking me out.
“Is looking at a girl stuck in prison really the right thing to do?” I challenged immediately in an effort to cover up my fear.
“Woah, that’s some spunk there.” The guy smiled. “I like you already.”
“Wait.” I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re subbing in for my normal guard. Where is she anyways?”
“Oh, Junko?” The guy shrugged. “She passed me a little bit ago and told me to take a turn, then stomped off. I think all this guard business is getting to her.”
That was the first time I’d heard her name. “Coming to terms with her inner villain, then? Guess I’ll have to ask her about it.”
“I think we both know who’s the real villain here,” the guy commented.
“You?” I offered. “Come on—what’ve you done? It’s not like anyone will believe me if you tell me.” He seemed like the type.
“Well I steal,” the guy answered nonchalantly, brushing his blond hair to the side like it made him cooler or something. “And I’m still going.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Junko will believe me sometime.”
“She won’t. Everyone knows you’re insane.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re truly obsessed, repeating the same things over and over again.”
I stepped closer, my hands clenching to fists. “Maybe if people actually listened, I wouldn’t have to say it so many times.”
“Maybe if you’d followed the rules like a good little girl, you wouldn’t be in here,” he countered. “But we don’t all have to follow the rules, do we?” He started reaching forward, towards my chest. “I could show you what you’re missing.”
I backstepped. “Yeah, not interested, sorry. Go find someone more desperate.”
The guy sighed, turning around. “I’m going to go check on the other prisoners. Name’s Gin, by the way.”
“Don’t care!”
Mom
We never really got along, Mom and I. I think I get along with Gin better. From the day I could talk, she didn’t like me, because I was the exact opposite of her. I was questioning, demanding, stubborn, rebellious. She followed the rules, did what she was told, compromised. Everything we’re supposed to be, basically. I couldn’t keep up with her expectations and I didn’t see the point in doing stupid things. She always hated that about me.
“Sumi, get back into your room,” Mom ordered, her voice stern, finger trembling with frustration.
I glared back. “I’ll do my homework later. I’m writing right now.”
She grabbed my hand, yanked me to my feet. Her bright orange eyes were practically on fire with anger. “Sumi, this is your last chance to make things right.”
I swallowed hard. “What if I don’t want to?” My angry gaze met her own. “Let me drop down a level in math. I can’t do this.” Tears burned in my eyes. “Stop trying to make me.”
So she turned, yanking me behind her, throwing me outside. Rain slammed into me, instantly soaking my hair and sending a biting chill down my spine. She pulled my paper out of my hand, tearing the section still clutched between my cold fingers, and slammed the glass door shut, slowly ripping it in front of me.
I ran forward and slammed into the door. “Wait!” My voice was practically a scream. “No! No please don’t do this--please!”
But even through the glass, even through my pounding and my tears, it felt like I could feel the slow tear of that paper ripping through my chest, burning through my soul, taking away the only little piece of freedom I had ever had to be myself, express myself, discover myself.
Mom opened the door a crack, holding it shut when I tried to yank it open. “When you agree to do your work, you can come in, but until then, you stay out here.”
And then the door shut.
The Scoundrel Gin
If Mom’s the embodiment of righteousness and good in the eyes of our society, then Gin’s that suck-up teacher’s pet that can get away with whatever he wants because he’ll lick the boots of anyone with money. He’s a blazing example of how to get away with being a villain in a heroic society, and unlike me, he’s a real villain. Corrupted to the core.
I hope he lands in jail before I'm executed so I can rub it in his sorry face.
“I’ll go have a chat with her.”
That’s not what I want to hear from him.
“Don’t.” Junko sighs. “It’s not worth it. She’ll make your puny brain explode or something.”
Gin walks out and looks me over. “Junko driving you insane?”
“More like society,” I sigh. “And you. I don’t feel like I should be killed for existing.”
“Maybe you should’ve chosen differently.”
“Can I at least have some paper?” I plead. “What harm can come of me writing down my thoughts on paper?”
“Your taintedness may spread to others.”
“What if I’m just a normal person?!” I demand, shooting to my feet once more and clenching my hands into fists. “Why doesn’t anyone understand me?! Can’t you just listen?!”
“I hear you,” Gin tells me, “but that isn’t the same thing as listening.”
Of course it’s not. I know that. But it still stings since I was hoping they would listen. All this time I’ve been trying to get them to realize it doesn’t matter who I or anyone else spends their life with, or that a seemingly good person can be awful, and yet . . . nothing. Just—nothing.
I sink back down onto my bed and look down at my hands, trying to squelch the burning tears. “Fine, whatever. When you’re caught for the thief you are, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You haven’t warned me of anything,” he points out.
“Maybe you’re just not listening hard enough.”
My Story
You think I’m obsessed.
Maybe I am. Maybe I am obsessed with this stuff. Maybe repeating it over and over again is useless. But even still, as everyone talks about how “good” or how “bad” they are, I just don’t think they’re listening.
Mom thought I was obsessed. Do you know why she ripped up my writing? It was because I wrote a story, one about epic heroes and villains, but I switched it around and made the villains the real heroes of the story. Because they were all a mix of good and bad.
“I don’t want to hear you obsessing over this stuff again,” Mom snapped.
Tears filled my eyes. “It’s mine!”
“Not anymore.” Mom’s stern glare met my own. “And don’t you dare write another word about your little antagonist there liking another girl. People like that should be killed off—they’re not natural.”
I flinched back. That hurt.
“And I don’t want anyone thinking you might be insane.” Her voice grew heavy, but light like feathers. “I can and will personally turn you into the king so people don’t think I’m like you.”
“I—I’m your daughter,” I choked out.
“You’ll stay up in your room except for meal times until your grades shape up and you stop this foolish nonsense. And if you won’t contribute to this family, you’re better off not in it.”
I spun around and stormed back up the stairs, slamming my door. And then I cried. I don’t know why it hurts me so much to think about how little Mom cared about me. I was just a means to an end to her—never a person she loved, never good enough just being me.
I wondered—why, why, why was it that she was the good one? Why was she what society valued and rewarded? Were people like me really meant for nothing? Am I just nothing?
And then something snapped within me. Something just went. Like, okay, maybe I couldn’t be perfect. Maybe I couldn’t get perfect grades. Maybe I couldn’t win awards or make it into the top programs or put a fake smile on my face. Maybe I wasn’t them. Maybe I couldn’t ever be them. Maybe it was time the world got to see just what horrible people hid beneath the fake smiles.
So, as the sun started sinking below the horizon, I grabbed my cell phone and called her. My secret girlfriend. We pretended we were just friends to the world, but she meant so much more to me than that.
“Sumi?” Her voice was confused. “What’s going on?”
She was always so concerned about me. Perhaps the only person that cared. The words were on my lips—I could almost say them—but I was crying. And scared. So, so scared.
“Sumi?”
“I really like you,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stop this feeling.”
Everyone had told me I couldn’t do this. That it was wrong. But I loved her, and it felt so right, even if I knew the world would hate me for it.
“You’re scaring me.” Her voice trembled. “What happened?”
I never ever wanted to leave, but I knew I had to. Somewhere in me I knew it would be the last conversation I ever had with her. “I love you, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Trying to get As, hiding this from the world, pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m going to do something really stupid and I wanted you to know how much I love you. I love you.”
My voice choked off in a sob. “Goodbye.”
“Sumi!”
And then I hung up. Tears streaming down my face, snot building in my nose, that pressure weighing on my chest. I turned and I grabbed my computer and I started typing, just writing, all my frustrations, all my anger. My hands shook so hard. Everything I was doing was wrong but it felt so right. If I was caught I was going to die, but I felt alive again. I finally felt alive.
The sun sank below the horizon. The clock turned to twelve.
And I hit print.
I grabbed the stack of papers off the printer as I ran outside with my roll of tape and just started running, taping the papers on every pole and sign I could get to. There was so much adrenaline coursing through me. The words, written on the paper, damning to the king’s empire, I moved quickly, hoping, praying that no one would see me.
“We’re living a lie.”
My thesis, followed by everything else, exposing what evils my parents and all the other high-ranking officials of the palace did. Everything we weren’t supposed to be and so much more, encompassed in the leaders we swore our lives away to protect.
And I thought I’d managed it, too, when I ran out of fliers and sprinted back to my room, dripping in sweat and the nighttime rush of energy, uncaught by the guards for being out after curfew.
But I didn’t know my mom would go through my room. I didn’t know she knew my password and could find everything I’d ever hidden from her. I didn’t believe she would really call the king’s forces. I didn’t believe it when the guards showed up at my school and demanded I come with them.
I still can’t believe I’m going to die.
Though in the end, I got what I wanted. I finally got the ability to express my thoughts and ideas without someone caring enough to shut me back up, so I guess I should be grateful for that for as long as I have left.
Back to Junko
A couple hours pass after my conversation with Gin when boom, suddenly, Junko’s there standing in front of me. I can’t believe it. I’m always the one to call for her, not the other way around. So I stammer, “Hi Junko.”
“No clever words?” Junko questions. But I can tell she’s nervous on the inside.
I shrug. “You caught me by surprise—what can I say?”
She bends over to look at my paper, but I pull it away before she can see. “What’ve you got to hide?”
“Oh, I don’t know, everything, ‘cause every time I get paper it’s ripped out of my hands?” I answer sarcastically. “I’m lucky Gin sneaked it to me in the first place. They’re all that’s going to remain of me pretty soon, but anyone who sees them will experience this same stupid cell in the days before their execution.”
But Junko just sits down against the hallway wall, placing her sword on her knees, her eyes on the ceiling. I don’t even know what to think. Junko doesn’t normally just chat with me like this. She’s my guard. It’s her job to keep me demoralized and trapped in this cell.
So . . . why--
“You’re aware you’re gonna die tomorrow, right?” Junko asks suddenly.
This is even more confusing. Am I hearing remorse in her voice? Maybe I’m just delusional now.
Then I remember I’m supposed to be answering. “Yeah, I know.”
“Where’s the crying then? The attempts to steal my sword? The bribery?”
“Escaping would just prove that I’m really the villain everyone says I am,” I point out. “If I’ve only got a day or so to live, I figured I might as well get as much of my story written down as I can. Who knows—maybe someone’ll read it someday and understand.”
“Yet you start arguments with me,” Junko counters.
“I’m talking to you ‘cause I’m bored,” I inform her. “Take that as you will, but if I’m being honest, I prefer being in here to being out there. I’m more free in this cell than I ever was at home. At least in here, I can say whatever I want and no one cares enough to shut me up.”
Junko lets out a strained laugh and shakes her head. “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess this is what happens when I’m put on night shift too many days in a row—I start losing my mind and talking to you of all people.”
It’s nighttime? I didn’t realize it had gotten that late. I don’t like that, but I push the thought aside for the moment. It’s as close to an answer as I’ve ever gotten from her, so I scoot over to the side of my cell and lean against the bars. “Where’s that heroic side of you that’s supposed to hate me for being contrary? Maybe you’re just realizing that maybe I’m not the villain.”
“You wanna know why I’m a guard?”
“What’s with the sudden change in topic?” I return.
“So? Do you wanna know or not?”
I am curious, so I shut up and let her talk.
“My sister and I fought a lot,” Junko explains, more uncertain than I’d ever heard from her. It’s like she’s a different person all the sudden. “My sister was pushy and bossy, and I got sick of doing what she wanted, so I stole her lunch one day at school.”
“And she turned you in,” I guess, because if she’s really admitting to not being a hero, that’s the only conclusion there is.
Junko opens her mouth to snap back, but just lets out a breath. “Almost. She figured out it was me immediately, so she told the school someone was stealing lunches and threatened adding my name to the report if I didn’t straighten out and do what she told me.” A pause. “She wanted me to shun people like you.”
“She didn’t intend for you to run into some lunatic who distributed so-called propaganda and got thrown in jail, huh?” I surmise.
Junko laughs again. “Yeah. I’ll admit, Sumi, you remind me a lot of my younger self and how I could’ve ended up without my sister’s guidance.”
“Bet it isn’t fun being a guard, watching over criminals and dragging people to their deaths,” I muse. “It’s the ‘right’ thing to do, but sometimes what’s classified as ‘right’ feels the furthest thing from it, doesn’t it?”
Junko just shrugs.
On a whim, I stretch out my hand through the bars and wait on her reaction for a moment. She blinks, surprised, gets to her feet, walks over, sits down.
And takes it.