Great Novelist

White paper came down from the sky.

Light leaks out through the dozens of papers. You close your eyes for a moment, and the gleaming paper sits on the floor.

He picked up the scattered stories one by one. In the manuscript, the story was inscribed gracefully. There's a character, there's a case. It had a background and a topic.

Of all the pieces, the length of the novel was a reasonable quantity. Seeing that it was printed neatly, it was a manuscript that was finished until retirement.

As he emptied the dirt from the paper, he thought. Who threw this away?

He looks for the owner and raises his head a little further back. There are two lines protruding from the bridge. It was someone's hand. An empty hand hangs in the air.

He empowered the ship.

“If you take out the trash here, you'll be fined. ”

Your hands flinch, and a sigh follows.

“This fucking world. It's all money."

It was a gloomy voice. He opened his mouth for comfort.

“That's a lie.”

“· · · Who are you? ”

“I was a student watching the water. I found them all, so you don't need to be fined. ”

“Why did you pick that up? It's rubbish.”

The voice creeps in. I think he's mumbling something, but I can't hear him down there.

“I'll take it with me, so wait. ”

“Don't come. I'm going.”

Ignoring his words, he climbed onto the bridge. In the meantime, even though the man could have left, he took a step back to return the manuscript. As I turned around a little and climbed up the road, the man showed up easily.

It was a face that looked as depressing as its voice.

“Here.”

You reach up to him and hand out the collected paper. The man glanced at the paper for a moment and said,

“It's not mine. ”

“Then whose is it? ”

“I want to ask. Who is this crappy article? ”

The man laughed out his own mouth. He was the one who made it very difficult to say his manuscript.

Are you a novelist?

He asked.

“No.”

He replied.

“And the aspiring? ”

“· · · Moderately aspiring student. ”

It was a ‘promising’ excuse. He nods.

“Why are you so sad? ”

“What are you so curious about? ”

“I'm the doorman. And he said to my teacher, if you want to write well, you have to listen around. ”

He nods, looking down at the bridge.

“Yes, you should keep it open all the time. My teacher says that a lot. ”

“I think I have a similar teacher. ”

“I don't know. My teacher would be so much better. ”

He said as if he was a child boasting of his parents.

“I see. I hear there's a great apprentice under the great master. ”

“· · Yes. So I told you, I'm a promising student. ”

Oops. I came back with a depressed voice. He glances at him quietly and sighs.

“Let's say a few words to an open ear. I'm sure you'll regret it later. ”

Such a promising aspiring student began to be amazed.

“Me. You're out of the competition?”

“Yes.”

“That's the most famous thing the publishers have ever done. Oh, you know you're a doorman, right? It was a contest for me to climb the paragraphs. ”

“Yes.”

“I went out there. I worked very hard. ”

I worked hard. A promising aspiring student empowers that.

“I tried. I've been writing all day. My master is a great man. I wanted to be like him. I thought I could be. ”

“But?”

The man looked down.

“Fell down. Like the paper I threw away. ”

My voice shakes to see if I'm crying. He can't be crying. He laughed in vain because the man who looked thirty was crying.

“Are you crying? ”

“I'm not crying. ”

He raises his waiting handrail arm. A cold touch of iron entered through the palm of my hand.

“You can try again. ”

“Ha.”

Ha. He sighs deeply.

“You're right. Young people like you know the answer to that question. So I challenged him. I failed the contest and wrote again. ”

His gaze was on the manuscript. It was a testament to the challenge. He also followed his gaze to the manuscript.

“Your writing was terrible? ”

“· · Not so much. ”

He laughed at the shy objection. It was because this poor man who had thrown a paper and had never seen a student before was sad, and now he reminded me of the past.

At that time, so did he. Just stop and tell me where to go. He was trembling on his legs, not knowing what to aim for.

After a while, the man was a horse.

“I want to drink. ”

“No, no, no. ”

In the words of Lord, the man laughed bloody.

“I'm an adult, so I can drink. ”

“Drinking now makes my legs tremble more. ”

“Legs?"

The man looks at his legs once, and at the ground where they stand.

“Is this bridge shaking? ”

After saying that, he sighed deeply.

“Don't be like me. ”

“Why? You're promising. ”

“It's not good to be promising. ”

“Really?"

“Time.”

He said... time.

“What time? ”

“Do you know how many years I've been a promising student? ”

“No.”

I've never met him. How do you know that? The man said to himself,

“Ten years.”

Ten years. It was a long, big time.

“I've wanted to be a writer since I was 20. I graduated from college, came up to Seoul, went to my teacher's house and became a pupil. But I'm 30 now. ”

He touches the railing on the bridge.

“I've done a lot of other things, of course. I need to make money. A college professor once introduced me to the company. I didn't have time to grab a pen, but it wasn't bad. I had a steady income, so I calmed down. But eventually I came back as a student. I want to write. The teacher accepted even such an ugly disciple without saying anything. ”

He looked down again.

“But I guess I can't. I've lived with that for 30 years. I'd just go to that company. ”

“Do you regret it?”

I made excuses instead of answering Lord's question.

“There are a lot of people like me. People who end up in aspirations. People who are not my path. Everyone who was the student council member quit and went to get a license. ”

You're too late for that. He mutters, and asks voluntarily.

“Well, you don't want to be like me, do you? ”

“You can't be someone else. ”

“Yes, I will. You don't want to be like me. ”

Maybe you can't hear yourself. I was too tired to open my ears.

“Then who do you like to be like? ”

He sighed and put someone's name on his mouth.

“Coincidence.”

Coincidence?

“What coincidence? ”

“Writer's coincidence. ”

Asked for a sudden call, he kindly confirmed it. He paused for a moment.

“No matter how many students don't read these days, you know it's a coincidence. He's your age.”

“· · · I know. Coincidence. It's famous. ”

“Yes."

Famous, he thought for a moment and asked.

“Become famous? ”

“That's good. More than a ten-year-old wannabe with no name. ”

“I see.”

In that bland answer, he turns his head. There was shade under the eyes.

“That's not cool. Oh, that's it. Yeah, well, he's your age, so I get it. ”

“What's that? ”

“Jealousy. Inferiority. Something different from me. The older I get, the more people standing in the same zone, the more I tie my ankles to that feeling. ”

The man says that and takes a peek at his face.

“Do you know when she debuted? ”

“You won a contest. You were 16. ”

“Yes, the contest. That's where I went. ”

Is that so?

Accidentally won the prize after defeating him. Coincidentally, he became a popular writer as a debut, but he remained a aspiring student.

He scratched the back of his head. I came out to rest, but I was unexpectedly confronted with the person who had seen the damage in my writing. Of course, I don't know that the other person is facing coincidence.

He thought for a moment and looked at him. What does he think of coincidence?

I could hear it now. He opened his mouth slowly.

“You must be feeling a bit down. You're so young.”

“Yes. Very bitter. I must have used more boats than him. And I was confident. I thought it was okay this time. ”

“And I'm sorry. ”

“Where did he come from, he suddenly became a star. It's good to be young and young. Not to mention the inevitability. You have it all.”

“Are you unfair?”

There was silence.

He looks down at the bridge and smiles a little.

“Then you'd be throwing away a book of coincidence. ”

He saw his manuscript in my hand. The paper he had blown into the sky fell on him.

“Yes, you didn't tear the bird apart. Why your manuscript. ”

“No matter how promising I am, I want to be a writer. Books don't run wild. ”

“Fantastic.”

He said he saw an honest look. If it was you, you wouldn't have to think long enough to tear up the book by accident and yell at the whales. The judges must have insulted him.

You'll be sorry you didn't recognize me.

When he said that, the prospective aspiring laughed.

“I was confident. I got good grades from my teacher. You're finally making your debut. But the reality was different. I've never heard of a kid who graduated from middle school before. Couldn't take it easy. ”

“But?”

“But then I read about it. He had something I didn't have. I wrote something I hadn't thought of, glamorously and boldly, at a point I'd never seen before. When I read this, I raised my hands. ”

The empty hands stir the air.

He looked at his fingertips. No, coincidence was not such a great figure. He couldn't even finish reading the birdstream he wrote. It was sloppy and hideous. It was a scrap and a lump of emotion.

The difference between you and someone looking at coincidence weighs heavily on your shoulders.

“After thinking that, I didn't like any of the writing. This is how I ended up. Leaving a manuscript or something. Besides, a passing student picked it up. ”

I'm sorry it didn't work out with Bourne.

“Definitely not cool. ”

“I still regret saying that I shouldn't have. He'll shut up and leave when he hears it's cool. Then I could have stayed that way. ”

I have depressed eyes. On the contrary, he laughed.

He was funny. It seemed as if he was throwing himself into regret.

If he didn't say it, he could be remembered as a cool person. If he had stopped at work, he could have stayed that way. If we had stopped the contest, we would never have thrown away the manuscript like this.

He took a step closer to him. I didn't have anything to say to him as a coincidence. In the contest, there were many other people who were looking at the work. Only one of them makes his debut in the paragraph with an award. Everyone knows it and sends their own posts.

So he had nothing to say.

But...

“If you really want to be cool, you also value your writing. Mister.”

As a student who picked up his manuscript beautifully, I had something to say.