Great Novelist

He came to the sea dressed as a uniform again today. I was riding the same subway, carrying the same bag, looking at the same ocean. I definitely went the same way, but I didn't feel like it was a second time. I'm used to it.

He walked slowly through the sand. The waves were breaking. Seagulls fly. The clouds move slowly.

There are rocks. There are three men who sit on them and fish. We didn't talk to each other, whether they were together or alone. They just sit on a stone, missing a fishing line, and stare at the sea.

He fell out of the sea for a while and went into the shade. I opened the book I borrowed from school with my butt on the dry floor.

It was a book about the history of sand.

The section I was reading was about the color of the sand in detail. The color of the sand varies depending on the conditions of the production, with a small photograph of Funalu Black Sand Beach in Hawaii. Black sand. I'm surprised the sand is black. There was also a sea turtle. The sand was like coal or mud.

The sand here is yellow. It was the color of the sand I had often seen. Not particularly black, not particularly white. The sand on her trousers would be the same.

This book dealt with sand very scientifically, but not bored. It's probably because he's sitting on the sand.

You hear waves coming from afar. This place was real. There was no Agrippa. No sudden retreat, no sudden influx. He focused on reading, smelling the calm smell of the sea.

“Hello."

Someone called out to him. He took his eyes off the book and raised his head. The first thing I saw was a wrinkled back of my hand. His hand was holding a plastic bag.

“Hello."

He also greeted her. She smells of weak food.

“Get me some conch. ”

She says, a lot of crooked waist. He passed by her and saw the fishermen. They already raise their hands full with conch and make a side sound.

“Yes, please. ”

“I'll give you a lot. Student.”

“Thank you."

She opens several layers of plastic and dips the conch in a ladle in a paper cup. During that process, I heard clams clamming several times.

Accepting it, Lord asked her.

“Have you ever picked up a stone here? ”

“Stones?”

The grandmother asked with a loud voice. He nods, smiling.

“Yes, everyone's picking it up. What are memories? ”

She raises her mouth as if she heard a funny sound. In the meantime, Eunney sparkles.

“I did it when I was young, but it's all rubbish. I'll get some rocks and use them for nothing. ”

“Is that so?"

“Of course. It's annoying when you get old. I'm busy boiling conch. ”

“I see.”

He was a little disappointed. I hope it doesn't change, but people get old. I know that he is old. Stupid behavior and more mistakes. It is different from the self of youth.

Even after the conversation was over, the grandmother did not leave. He picked up a conch and took it to his mouth.

Page.

The egg has escaped. It's been a long time since it tasted salty.

“I thought about it for a second. ”

She says, "He stops looking for the next conch and looks at her."

“I don't pick up stones. ”

That's what I said before. However, he listened to her as if he had never heard her before.

“Yes.”

“I don't need it. ”

The next sentence came out as well. She said it was useless. He called it garbage, but he didn't look like before.

“I don't need the stones anymore, young man. ”

He did not answer, "Yes."

“Why? Because it's changed? ”

Instead, I asked her:

“Change? What? A stone?"

“Anything.”

“I don't know. The stones don't rot. ”

She thought for a moment and said with Eunnie out.

“Rotten or boiled stone is stone. You don't have to be serious. ”

She shakes her wrinkled hand.

“Is it me you're asking about, not the stone? ”

“Anything.”

He once again said. My grandmother replied, "I know."

“I don't think I've changed. Haha, isn't it funny to be an old lady like this? ”

“No, it's not. ”

She gets up slowly on her knees. She looks a little tired, so he lifts her up. I got it.

“I feel that way just looking at the sea. You know, I always look the same. In fact, nothing has changed. I feel like I'm gonna be out here watching the ocean forever. I'm gonna rot someday. Do you understand?”

“It's a little difficult. But I got a hunch. ”

He replied honestly. She nods as if she understood.

“It's okay. You can do it. ”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, I don't pick up stones anymore. I hope this answers your question. Did he ask you if you changed? ”

“Yes.”

He listened to some rambling stories.

“I haven't changed. That's it.”

That shouldn't be too hard, right? At her words, he laughed.

“Yes, that's clear. ”

The stone is a memory. She loses it. He said he doesn't pick up stones anymore. But it doesn't matter, she said. He hasn't changed. A rotten life is a stone. That's all I need.

She places her hands on her bent waist and walks in the sand a little faster.

The stone is carved into sand.

Man grows old.

But the essence remains unchanged. Pick up the stone or not, she was still her.

Some things don't change.

He asked a mouth of conch.

Page.

He was still a cop.

“Wow, it's a computer room. ”

The children said in excited voices. Computers have already become essential for modern children.

When I opened the door, I saw computers strutting about in a large classroom. It was not a strange place because it was used in class, but I was excited when I came to write like this. The children who were in their seats turned on the computer and were spending time until the teacher came. He headed towards the back.

“Why are you so far away? ”

Seogwang asks. He sits in the second row.

“Moon told you to sit down. When each other's work is seen, it is influenced. ”

“Don't you have to go behind my back like that? ”

“I'm comfortable here because I keep using it here. ”

He was allowed to use this place before the other children. When they plotted with the help of Mr. Moon, he came here and wrote.

I plugged in the USB stick, which contains a story I've written so far. The manuscript full of letters filled the screen.

Then Baron passed between the West and the Lord.

“Why are you sitting there? ”

He sits down to the inside of the third row.

“If you sit here, I can see you. Including the door.”

He took the sphere in his own way. While looking at the first two lines and spring, Seongwang admired that it seemed to be a balanced position.

“Here she is.”

Baron says small. I also noticed the appearance of Moon Teacher as soon as I could see the door.

Teacher Moon entered the computer room just as he came into the room.

He got to the point without delay.

“Are you going to write today? ”

“Yes!”

Sunhwa replied with an excited voice. I learned the theory and built the plot. Now I know exactly what story I want to write.

I was confident. I was confident that I would draw the sentence according to the image I had in mind. I wanted to use it quickly. I wanted to bring my imagination into reality.

Her voice brings those emotions to life.

He smiled a little as if he knew how it felt.

“Good. Let's go make a case." ”

The children cheered. Those children calmed down and asked Moon to do it.

“One before that. ”

“What is it?”

“You know the theories we've learned so far? ”

“Yes. People, events, backgrounds. I remember everything! ”

Seogwang said forcefully. Moon nodded. And then...

“Then let's forget it. ”

The children were confused.

“We're going to write. We're going to do art. There's no need to get tangled up somewhere. Theories are just theories, but when you're too conscious, your vision gets narrower. Now is the time to write freely. So forget about it for a second. ”

“Yes.”

He replied, "As if the answer could be a sign, so did the children."

Moon said with a satisfied face.

“Then it's a real start. ”

Teacher Moon's words are over.

You hear a sound. Neither the sound of a man nor the sound of the wind.

It was not difficult to find the source of the sound. The children all looked back. It's quick. It's intense. It was a violent sound that calmed the excitement.

In the back, there was the Lord.

His face was hidden on the monitor.

Seogwang looked at the blank screen. It was blank. It had not yet been engraved.

I have only just started writing the first article. The journey for the remaining half year has just begun.

Thinking about it now, it was a future that would someday come. So he naturally thought that the moment of completion would also come.

But no.

There was no such guarantee.

I know when I hear that fierce sound. The one who writes best in the book is writing fiercely.

All the doorman was watching him. His appearance to be noticed was not so awkward.

He writes well. The sentences he creates are heavy and strong. It flows quietly. He also excelled at making up stories. In between, wit and reversal are hidden. There was a personality. I could only stop writing.

From the look of Seogwang, he had already written a book.

He was sitting in the back row. It was quite a distance from the second seat in front. It is far from the line that sits in front of him, and from spring, and from Baron in the third row.

His invisible hands have been conveyed here in notes. I'm a little scared. Writing. to start the story.

He was neither confident to write down so freely nor was he confident to rush forward so terribly.

I can't even make a threatening sound like that.

I felt so excited. And so were the others. I looked at him with a stiff look.

Seogwang spit out his empty laugh. Even at this moment, he was excited about the writing he wrote.

Seogwang looked forward. Shenzhen and Spring had already turned their backs. Hot riders in the back, cold lights in the front. Seogwang seemed to be alone. He intervenes and writes alone.

It reminded me of a coincidence.

Coincidence of a genius writer who has already written two works at the same age. He must have been able to endure this loneliness. I guess that's what it cost to fight this fear and win.

Do other writers write in this way as well?

I don't think I can write any story like this.

Seogwang accidentally pressed his hand on the keyboard. I empowered my fingers to bring my story to life. The letters come together and form a sentence. It was ugly and ugly, but it was a sentence he had created.

You can't even compare it to his voice, but it was his.

Heaven for sky, sea for sea (3) end

lim Han-baek