Novelist Running Through Time

I wanted to be a ist.

It must have been too big a dream.

On Christmas Eve of the year I turned 22,

Santa Claus gifted me with lymphatic cancer.

EP – 1: Cause of Death

Prisoner, Moon In-seop.

Sentence, Death Penalty.

Method of Execution, Lymphatic cancer.

This is how I read my hospital diagnosis.

The lymphoma that struck me at 22 was more of a ‘sentence’ than a ‘diagnosis’.

It felt like some grand, transcendental being was pointing right at me, declaring, ‘Your fate is sealed.’

This wasn’t the first time I’d felt such a sensation.

Like when I realized that the kind woman who lovingly cared for me during my childhood was not my mother, but a teacher at the orphanage.

Or when I found out that my parents, whom I thought were dead, had actually divorced and neither had claimed custody of me.

Or when the parents of the woman I loved told me, “You are not of the same class as our family.”

And so on.

Thus, this world often hurls unbearable trials at feeble beings like me.

“Life is…”

With these thoughts, I returned to my LH Long-Term Rental Apartment, holding the hospital diagnosis.

If there’s one good thing about growing up in an orphanage, it’s having an advantage in applying for youth rental housing.

The downside is coming home at 22 with a diagnosis of lymphatic cancer and having no one to embrace me.

“I’m home…”

The house was, as always, quiet and dark.

Click, I pressed the switch.

The house lit up but remained silent.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that my perfectly lit home somehow felt dark. Was it because it’s night, or winter, or because of the cancer? I wasn’t sure.

I tried talking to myself to dispel the silence.

“…Ah, life. Life.”

As usual, to save on heating costs, I draped a blanket over my shoulders instead of turning on the boiler.

And as always, to ease my painful heart, I sat down in front of a manuscript paper to write.

It’s a long-standing habit of mine. Whenever the world torments me, I calmly write down my feelings.

Then the sorrow leaves my heart and settles into the manuscript paper as refined words.

That’s how I’ve always overcome my sadness.

But today, unusually, I can’t seem to write anything.

Why is that?

The answer came quickly.

It seems the sorrow in my heart has now accumulated to a point where it can’t be expressed in words.

The moment I realized this, tears suddenly fell.

Drip. Drip.

Watching my tears drop one by one onto the manuscript, I thought.

What sin did I commit to deserve this……?

* * *

“What kind of introduction is this for a ?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t fit with the current trends at all.”

Baek Seol, a new employee in the Publishing Management Task Force Team at Baekhak Entertainment, put down the manuscript with harsh criticism.

Perhaps because she’s the granddaughter of the second son of the group’s chairman, her words were a bit rough for a new employee.

“Who would read a that starts off so depressingly? Sniffle sniffle…… My situation is too pitiful. This is just a cheap knockoff of most of Osamu Dazai¹’s works.”

In contrast, team leader Lim Yang-wook casually picked up the discarded manuscript.

He then wiped his smooth scalp with a handkerchief, chuckling sardonically.

“Well…… I actually liked this .”

“I can tell without looking. Despite having cancer, reflecting on one’s existence and past, bravely facing death…… Something like that, right? It’s not bad, but it’s too common a theme.”

“No. He decides to commit suicide.”

“What?”

“But right before committing suicide, he thinks like this: ‘I’m not killing myself because of the cancer, but because of the bastards who discriminated against me for being an orphan.'”

“Uh… um…”

“He chooses death over the courage to fight cancer, thinking it’s not his fault that he lost the will to live, but the fault of those who tormented him.”

“……”

“Then, as he’s about to go out with a kitchen knife to seek revenge on a few enemies he can think of, it happens to be Christmas Eve and local evangelists are singing carols in the streets.”

“……And then?”

“Listening to those carols, and not exactly sure why, he feels something’s not right, so he quietly commits suicide. That’s the end of this .”

“……”

Baek Seolwas silent for a long time.

Why did he die? Why didn’t he kill? More importantly, is it okay to commit suicide if you’re a poor orphan who gets cancer at a young age? No, no, first of all, is there ever a justifiable reason for someone to commit suicide? Does death need a reason?

Suddenly, Baek Seol, as if entranced, checked the title of the on the front page of the manuscript.

Cause of Death.

The Reason for Death.

“Ah, crap…”

Normally, people would have picked up the again, but she was a genuine editor.

So Baek Seol quickly got up, put on her coat, grabbed her briefcase, and prepared to leave.

Team Manager Lim Yang-wook chuckled.

“Where are you going, Baek Seol~ssi?”

“To meet the author and sign a contract!”

“Don’t. I’ve already signed the contract and returned.”

“Why are you telling me this only now?!”

“He’s a primary school student.”

“What is?”

“The author.”

*****

Notes:

1) Osamu Dazai: Shūji Tsushima, known by his pen name Osamu Dazai, was a Japanese ist and author.