Great Novelist

“Hey, did you read this? ”

He was about to fall asleep on his desk, and raised his head. Like before, I was tired of writing all night. Whether he knew his condition or not, he was very excited.

In his hand was a book written by the author.

“The blow. Five years of no news. ”

I received a book from Seogwang. Title is Single Room.

“I read it.”

As soon as I came out, unlike what I was told to buy and read, I gave him a book.

There comes a companion who loses his emotions as he gets older. The flow of time, the loss of emotion. He does not resist. He becomes an old man who is not moved by anything. If he loses his family and his elderly mother dies, he won't cry.

Time flies can't be so scary. That's what I said as if I was passing by.

When I read this, I could feel the horror he had felt for five years. I scratched my forearm several times.

“How was it?”

Seogwang asked. He thought for a moment:

“Fantastic.”

I didn't want to lose.

“Yawn.”

He woke up late to make up for his lack of sleep. I turned my back and went out to the kitchen, and the table was set. There was a note next to her that said she would go out for a while.

I don't know if I'd be nervous when my older son wakes up. He smiled and put the note in the drawer. It returned here and contained the first few failures.

He glances at it and closes the drawer.

I simply finished eating and finished the dishes.

I went to the room and there was a pile of paper on the desk. I have to clean up before my mother gets here.

Thinking about it, I picked up the top piece of paper.

It contained the arrival point of the text. Where will this story lead?

“Regret.”

I read the letters written there out loud. It wasn't a good idea. Unfiltered emotions bring dust. The dead water smelled. It smelled terrible.

I liked it. because they fit together.

He slowly sat on the chair and placed his hands on the keyboard. I thought of a memory to remind me of my feelings at that time. Writing is not something that can be written in a moment. People have a lot of emotions, and sometimes they float on the surface differently. The writer was a human being, and I couldn't always maintain the same emotion at the moment I was writing. So you have to remember. how I felt when I first wrote this.

The baby is crashing. The mother rushes in.

The stroller sharply curved to the right. There was a wall at the end. The stroller hits the wall and the baby is shocked. The baby doesn't cry.

Static.

A voice echoes through the quiet alley. I'm sick of it. There's a baby crying. The two voices filled the alley.

Static and crying.

The two temperaments in front of my eyes fluttered dizzily. A mother who missed a baby. Mother Bored of a Baby. Two crying babies. Stop.

If you let go on purpose. If he left the baby on purpose.

Static and crying.

The boundary disappears and becomes one.

Two women's voices were ringing in my ears. There was a noise. You hear a scream. Immediately after you miss the baby, she screams. The cry resembles the annoying voice that spread across the silent space.

What is she doing? Mother. Parents. Motherhood. Flesh. Urge. Maybe regret it.

They wished themselves to regret it.

The mother who let the baby go. People who ignored her screams. A baby that didn't survive.

They've already decided what they're going through. When the sun went down and dawn came, I wrote it down.

Now we needed to go a little deeper.

In that case.

Meow.

I heard a cry.

It is the voice of a young child with a slight annoyance. He turns his head to the sound.

It was a black cat that made eye contact. I met him at a house in the West. I was looking this way. I had sad eyes.

As he slides on the floor, he just looks at the kitten that can't even cross that little threshold. Lie on your side with your stomach.

He spoke up.

“Why won't you help me? ”

He said.

“He's strong. ”

His tail twitches slightly.

“I don't think so. My legs are shaking. The floor is slippery. ”

“Human.”

He calmly calls to himself. The long torn eyes glow sharply to the side.

“Stay out of this. It's our job."

“Then do something about the crying. ”

Yellow eyes. The pupils inside were slightly dilated.

“It was you who called us. ”

Meow.

The kitten cried again.

He's right. I called them to write.

“Boy or girl? ”

“It's a boy.”

It was a son.

“What about the baby in your belly? ”

When he said that, the black cat's stomach swelled. There was milk between the hairs. It was a light apricot, she said.

“It's a female.”

“You know, I wasn't even born yet. ”

“I know. It's my baby. ”

She licks between her legs with her tongue. There was oil in the fur. A dirty mollusk.

“I'll feed you. ”

“I don't need it. ”

“The baby needs nutrition. ”

She snorts.

“My baby is strong. ”

“How about a bath? ”

“Are you going to raise me? ”

She asks. It's an aggressive tone. It was tempting at the same time.

“I can't afford to raise them both. ”

I reached out my hand as I said that. I stroked her.

Meow.

I heard the baby's voice. The mother erects her claws.

“Then get lost. ”

I scratched my palm. I feel fresh. The blood slowly rises and settles on the surface. A stream of blood flows through the cracked skin.

Meow.

She no longer spoke to people. He opened his eyes. There was nothing on the threshold.

He remembered their future in his mind.

“I said son. ”

You move the hand you left on the keyboard.

A belly that swells up more than your chest. Two people, three lives. The sound of the keyboard filling up the room suddenly stopped.

It was not enough.

You can't have this. It was too dull.I wish it was more abundant. I wanted to add color to the story.

I wanted to have a very slight, sparkling presence.

He searches a pile of paper in a corner. Not this one, not this one. Not this one either. Paper falls from his hand to the floor.

You open another chest nearby. There was a lot of paper in it.

“No, no. I must have found it somewhere here. ”

You picked up two pieces of paper.

“Clowns and audiences. ”

Clowns imitate others. Passing person, puppy, tree, car. The laughter, the tears, the conversation, the killing, the impulse, the copulation.

He did everything he could.

And one audience next to him. A person who evaluates clowns. Most people say nice things and the clown imitates him in return.

Let's bring these two in.

I've already written about you two. I stayed up all night writing.

Two pieces of paper were placed on the desk. Fits like a puzzle.

Clowns and audiences, mothers and sons.

He imagined his son. Curl and flip. A little more time passed.

Four, seven, twelve. It was not enough. She said she was strong.

Twenty, 32, 45. I remembered a kitten that was trembling. Too much.

“18 years old."

I'm 18.

This is it.

He moved his hand. Through the bright lights of the monitor, he smiles.

*

Baron was looking at a blog. It was a popular blog that once published an article claiming to be a woman of pure youth.

He writes reviews and introductions in many books under the nickname Red Sam. I had bought a book after reading an article posted here quite a while.

Nothing.

But for some reason, there is no writing these days. It was only written that it could not be uploaded for a while and did not explain why it was correct.

I wonder where he went on a trip. Or is it because he said he's an adult? Because he got hit by a career. However, it is quite a pity for me to enjoy reading his articles because it has been written regularly more than once a week.

In the comments, there were words to find him. There are several reasons why the red ginseng article is popular, but the most important thing is that the love of the book is still buried in it. It's all written and read by myself. It was an enormous amount of reading. People think naturally. I can trust his writing.

The red ginseng was silent without explaining why it was right. Baron also left a comment. Is something wrong?

“Son, come out and eat. ”

“Yes.”

Baron turns off his computer and goes out to the living room.

*

“So what do you want to eat? ”

“What do you want to eat? ”

In Baron's question, he asked again.

I was on my way to exercise with him. Barron says he's been exercising for quite some time. His ability to run on the field was a result of persistence.

He goes around the park at night, but he doesn't encounter each other because he mainly works in the morning.

I decided to stop by the market for errands and fill my stomach with eye-catching food. It smelled greasy and appetizing. The two of them sat in front of the old lady who was sending the temple in front of the iron plate.

“Two seawaves. ”

The grandmother looked at Baron once, looking at him alternately, and smiled and said she knew. You hear a tingling sound as you place the dough on the iron plate. The roasting made me drool.

After a workout, the food is delicious.

He opened his mouth to the conversation as he watched the wave unfold. His gaze was towards the iron plate.

“Have you ever been to Red Sam's blog? ”

“Yeah, he hasn't been up there lately. ”

“Do you have any idea why? ”

“I don't know. How do you know if the parties won't talk? ”

“Exactly. ”

Baron also said without turning his head. Baron enjoyed the blog of red ginseng as well. He was also a curious car. Why is red ginseng not writing?

“Maybe I'm just sick of it. ”

Baron bluntly said. Inside, the heavy sadness melted. Due to the nature of red ginseng's blog, you should read the book first. Reading. If you're bored with that act, I can understand that there's no writing on it.

But there was a trivial part.

“Maybe so, but why didn't you just quit your blog? ”

“I see. Maybe you had an unforeseen accident. Or a car accident.”

You may not be able to tell me the details because you are definitely busy with the sudden arrivals.

“Well, there's been no writing for a month now, and the assumption of an accident suggests that he's been injured for at least four weeks. ”

“I don't want to think about it. ”

“That's right.”

Baron thought for a moment. If for any other reason.

“You're an adult, aren't you? Busy business.”