Who Am I Written by- Jiin Jeong Who am I? Hidden from the world in a dark tower far away Every day, I lean out, hoping to escape, Waiting to go out into the world, waiting for that day. Who am I? Running from the ball as the clock chimes twelve, A missing glass slipper, but no time to go back, For I have floors to sweep, and dishes to wash and shelve. Who am I? Cursed to remain a furry, hideous beast, Watching from the window my kind, beautiful girl, Surprised that the evil, the anger in me has ceased. Who am I? Two human legs in exchange for my voice, Unable to speak, unable to tell him it's me, Just wishing desperately he'll make the right choice. Who am I? A prince on a quest to a forest dark and deep Trying to do what many before me couldn't achieve- Wake a princess from her century of sleep. Who am I? Stories you were told when you were a child, Left you with dreams of adventures, love, and happily ever after's. The reason you, in your sleep, cried and laughed, frowned and smiled.
Õ²·ª» Written by- Kihyun Kim Illustrated by- Kim Dasom
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Written by- Ohyoon Kwon The rain spattering against the windows sounded like laughter in her ears. The sky had been taunting Samantha for the past week, smearing the face of her dirty apartment with splotchy watermarks. Taking her shoes off, Samantha rubbed at the dark circles under her eyes as she adjusted the glasses that had slid down the bridge of her nose. The clock on the counter emitted 8 short chirps, and Samantha realized it was already past dinnertime. With a sigh, she rushed to the kitchen. Without taking her coat off, Samantha pulled two bowls out of a drawer and set them down on the table with a clatter. A carton of milk and a box of cereal in each hand, she prepared a sparse dinner while shou for new groceries, so the corn flakes were stale and ugly, but there was still a hint of sweetness left in the dry shells so Samantha decided it would do. voice broke the silence of the dinner table. Samantha stopped sorting through the paperwork in front of her, her eyes innocent eyes for what seemed like eternity. His younger brother paid no attention and continued to spoon cereal into his tiny mouth.
obviously unsatisfied, but knew better than to argue with his mother. He missed the warmth of his father next to him, and low rumble of his voice spinning tales of wolves d most of the time. Samantha looked back down and continued to sort through various forms and bills, and her son noticed an abundance of red numbers slashed across the papers, like blood on a field of snow. He put his spoon down, and left his cereal still drowning. His chair scraped across the floor as he got up to brush his teeth. The younger brother stared after him, concerned, but Samantha kept on with her task, felt pen scratching against the stark paper. He had never seen his brother leave any of his dinner, and his childish brows furrowed. However, he felt better in bed, his brother and mom next to him under the blankets. and smelled like perfume. He smiled as he glanced at the thin yellow hardcover of the book his mother was holding in her arms.
Her faltering voice broke the silence of the bedroom, filling the dim atmosphere with a tale of love, envy, and eventually happiness. The simple, childish story was easy on the halfway through the story, and they were already asleep. The soft, even breathing slowly blended into the story. Samantha kept reading, even though nobody was listening. Her eyes scanned the words, critically judging each sentence in disdain. The book had been the adapted Grimm version, where Ariel and the prince lived happily ever after, their love everlasting. Samantha scowled and rose abruptly, setting the book roughly on the table next to the bed. The boys stirred, but they remained asleep. They were blissfully unaware of everything that had transpired the past few weeks. That night, she dreamed of the prince and Ariel. She remembered the true story, not the made up fairy tale that children read. Despite their passion for each other, the prince had eventually fallen in love with another woman. He had left Ariel behind, betraying her love and leaving her in disgrace. She had cut her heel off in grief, and the story had ended in tragedy. The next day, Samantha sat there in the stuffy room, shifting in her seat. It was their kward atmosphere the psychotherapy had. Pouring your heart out to a stranger was much easier in the movies than in this damn room. She was early; she was always early and her therapist always late. The door creaked open, and a tall, gaunt, cold eyed man walked in. He was always dressed the same, an impeccable black suit and red tie. He had a small, tough mouth, hard eyes that picked apart everything they looked at, and a neat crop of black hair. In contrast to his appearance, he was a warm personality, taking in everything Samantha said deeply and carefully, a short nod and slight smile never far off. He sat down in front of her, just like always. The routine was a part of it, she thought, to make me feel comfortable. He began with a different question each session, the one variable in this path of constants. Samantha sat there in silence. She had honestly never thought about that until now. It stunned her. Her children, her precious children, the one anchor to her storm of fluctuating emotions, and she had never even cared about how they had felt. Her therapist sat there, his eyes unerring, taking in every twitch of her face, reading every message behind her every move. He pressed on, pushing into her vulnerable gap.
He stared at the top of her head; she had lowered her gaze to the floor. He set his journal down, the pencil slipping out and clattering on the wooden table. He put a
. She shook, wet blobs running down her cheeks.
despair for what seemed like an eternity. Something tapped her shoulder and jolted her back into reality. He was holding out tissues, a gesture of kindness. His smile was so his hard black eyes softening under her gaze. She sensed something more than just courtesy behind his stare. The blood in her ears pounded, but whether it was because His hands. She focused on his hands. They were gripping her by the shoulder, calming her down, and she found herself swayed by his hard face and his gentle words, melting her down, cutting away at her misery until she was completely dominated by him. In the blink of an eye, she knew that she was his, and that he was hers. That sleep, and that irked Samantha the most. They used to be full of life, loud and active, but now they were downcast robots, doing whatever they were told but never showing any emotion about it. Samantha tried something different for dinner, a salad of canned vegetables and some precooked chicken, and was relieved with the results. Her children, in what seemed like forever, actually smiled. She dreamed the same dream that night. She saw it all over again, the prince and Ariel. They fell in love, their undying passion for each other mutually reciprocated through and through. And then it was gone. Samantha shivered as she anticipated the next part, the flood of pain that wrenched Ariel this time it was different. Another man appeared. He had a hard face, hollow cheekbones and a tight mouth that complemented his tall stature. He took Ariel in his arms, embraced her, and took her away. He saved her, and Ariel submitted. He was meant for her, not the prince, but having this storm of emotions. Samantha awoke smiling. The week passed by quickly. Her work left little spare time; she was now responsible for bringing money in for the family, and she earned little enough at her job. Her children regained a bit of their spring, and Samantha took it upon herself to do keep the household lively. New dishes, bedtime stories enough work to break her, but Samantha kept strong, waiting for her next session with him. This time, Samantha spent 20 minutes in the bathroom applying makeup. Her eyes
were streaked with bold lines of black, her lips tinged with a sensual red, and her cheeks softened with rouge. She pushed her glasses up to bring out the full of her eyes, and took care to choose the best dress in her wardrobe. Her children gave her strange looks, but t alive for the first time in years. But in the parking lot, her high heels clacking on the asphalt, a rough hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, sliding her glasses down her nose and nearly knocking her off balance.
suddenly fury rose in her. He had left her over a month ago, saying he had stopped loving her, and now was back at her heels, begging for a second chance. was stupid, I know I was, and I know I
for gas. She listened to his pleading, his begging, and mercilessly let him cling on to hope for a few moments.
the cold shell that remained had been taken by someone else. She left him there in the parking lot, pockets empty and eyes wet.
phone call as she was driving towards the therapy session. He had apparently thrown himself into a bus, ending his hopelessness in one rash act of desperation. She feigned shock and sadness on the phone, but as she hung up she was alarmed to find out she Blocking it out, she drove on to the psychotherapy center. She had a new hope now, and nothing was going to stop her. Samantha was late this time, and as she shoved the door open and sauntered into the stuffy room, her therapist looked up at her, his hard eyes surprised and attentive. His eyes ate her up, going through every corner of her polished image. Samantha slid mouth curved up and he greeted her with his warm voice, the same voice she had heard in her dream.
confused eyes, his forehead wrinkling. tracing his bones.
over his face.
voice teased his ears. She slid forward, her mouth moving in for the kill. His face hardened, set as stone, and he recoiled instantly.
headlights.
towards the door with his free arm. Samantha sat there, dumbstruck, her mouth slightly left the room, leaving her alone in awkward silence.
to do even that. She had been so sure! What was wrong with him? It had been obvious; the tension between them! She bit her lip and slammed her head against the wheel, the horn honking loudly for the flash of an instant before it disappeared. Her apartment was eerily silent, except for the rain that had started again. It spattered against the window, mocking her with laughter as Samantha prepared two bowls of cold cereal.
The Letter of Briar Rose Written by- Eunice Yoona Lee Illustrated by- Jiyoon Park My dear prince,
found me three years ago motionless, breathless, pale, solid, like a piece of hundredyear bring me back. But as your wife, as your family, I feel the need to explain why I am leaving; why so abruptly, and where I am headed to. You know what my life has been like. You know pretty and enchanting side of my life, the story that people remember, the story about At a very young age, involuntarily, I opened my eyes to a mysterious force called death. My very first birthday present was not a doll, not a baby bib, not a picture book, but a curse, a curse that I would die on my sixteenth birthday. You know how it goes: Your daughter will prick her finger on a spindle and die. the shoulders of all the people I loved. They bought me more dresses and put more flowers in my vase. But I could hear them talk amongst themselves: She is going to die on her sixteenth
birthday. The poor girl is going to die. Ssshh, she might hear us, she But she is going to die on her sixteenth birthday. My pathetic little ears picked up every single word they murmured, while I was eating supper, while playing with my friends, while receiving piano lessons. At first I did not know what it meant. But as the years passed by, I eventually came to realize that although I loved my friends and family out of naivetĂŠ, I was never loved back at all, but pitied. I was always pitied, for they knew I would die out, and when. A life with a preordained ending was suffocating. A life without love was even more excruciating. So on the very moment I pricked my finger and collapsed to the floor, I was laughing, because it was all so hilarious, to have suffered no more and no less than sixteen years and to be deleted from the world precisely on that birthday, as if there were an hourglass above my head that would break once the lower half was full. It was all so hilarious. No one warned me against playing with that spindle, not one person in the kingdom, not even my parents, not even those people that would always gossip about the morbid curse. As I succumbed to the dreadful stupor and closed my eyes, the very last thought that crossed my mind was that I would ever wake up. I did not want to; I would not be welcomed by anyone.
And you woke me up. I could never forget the terror
for a second I thought I was finally
a throbbing pain ravaging my eyes. Cobwebs were on my palms, dead spiders were on my fingers, and right under my nose hung the fetid atmosphere, saturated with the odor at a corner of the room I saw your bloodstained armor. A stranger was bending over me, pressing his lips onto mine and gazing into my eyes as if I were his wife. I could not speak. The people call this the kiss of true love. Later that night I was explained about everything. I was explained that the good fairies had replaced the curse of death with a spell that would enable me and the entire kingdom to sleep for hundreds of years, so that once a prince came and kissed me on the lips, everything would return to normal. I wished to myself that those fairies were dead.
an agony. The world was no longer pitch black as it had been for a century long, but a storm of sounds and colors. Even the clatter of forks and knives would make me grimace, and the creak of a door or a chair would make me block my ears; the glitzy colors of my new dresses and gowns would make me squint, and the constriction of my corset would make me want to vomit. I had to get used to the idea that everything was real. It was tiresome to catch up with the real world, to be summoned to banquets, to be seated under the blinding light of chandeliers, to meet strangers, to listen to them prattle, to put up fake smiles. Many things happened throughout the past three years. Too many things happened, even in a day. Big words were thrown at my face true love, marriage, vows, eternal happiness and I had to force them down my throat. To me, that was reality; something worse than the worst of my nightmares.
I loved you. I loved your handsome voice, but it could not calm the storm within me; I loved your strong arms, but they could not bring the warmth back to my skin. I loved you. And I am sorry. Back when I was a very little child, I asked one of the fairies what the word death meant. She hesitated for a moment, and answered that death was just a long, long sleep, and that dead people were actually dreaming. So it is nothing serious at all; I slept for a century straight, so why not do it for a few more? While I am awake, I may be a burden to others, and I may be complaining over petty things, but once asleep I am not an annoyance to anyone, nor am I such a crybaby, right? You do not have to worry; I am only sleeping. And the dream is so sweet, that I would never bother, ever again, to wake up.
Written by- Ga-in Oh Illustrated by- Cheongho Cho One, two, three - I hold my breath to hold onto you, darling, You will come to me like an eternal happy ending,
Four, five, six- I still think of all the clouds with a silver lining, And of the hundred storms you must be braving,
Seven, eight, nine- Is my persistent imperfection the reason you're hesitating, How many nights shall I suffer without waking,
Ten, eleven, twelve- My only companion chimes a lonely midnight in its striking, I think of all the storms you should have been braving.
Written by- Ga-in Oh Illustrated by- Cheongho Cho Never failing to fulfill my last bitter expectations, The last drop of your negligence given on my last gifts, My toes. People who never consider the chance of 'what if', What if *hers* should have been cut instead of, My toes. It could have been my head if your majesty wanted, But instead a sacrifice was made where you desired, My toes. And a bitter misnomer in history is the least of my concerns, And the pain in my heart is much greater than the one in, My toes.
Written by- Kihyun Kim Maddi dumped her bookbag on the ground with a heavy sigh of relief. She had made it through all day at school, blasting through droves of work due to her uncanny intelligence. The sheer excitement gnawed at her like starvation at the hungry. It was her eighth birthday and she was ready to receive the gift she had been incessantly begging and nagging her mother to get her for months. Nearly jumping in anticipation, she joined her mother at the table. Her innocent face glowed in the light of the candles. Her sparkling blue eyes were only accentuated by perfectly straight blonde hair that ran down past her shoulders. She wore her mother presented her with a beautifully adorned there. Her husband lost a long fight with cancer a few years back. He was a successful businessman, but the corporation he worked for claimed all the money he had in his will due to a clause. The only thing left her in the settlement was the expansive house. In spite of all that, he mother was taken care of. She was a renowned psychologist who provided more shone like two miniature oceans as she reached inside of the bag and pulled out its heavy treasure. The present was exactly what she had been asking for. A book of fairy tales. Most children Madd this phase, but there was a reason her mother made an exception in getting her this gift. Her father used to read her a book of fairy tales every night before she went to sleep. She continued to read the tales to herself all the way up until the family yard sale. Where the book was sold and forever lost. Maddi never really got night Maddi clambered into bed. Clutching the book, inspecting it, she saw the book was a lovely shade of lavender with a white satin bookmark. The cover had no title. She also noticed it had no other markings than the text and illustrations in the book itself. Disregarding this, she opened the book and began to read. Little Miss Needle There once was a lady named Little Miss Needle. She lived out in the middle of the forest. Alone. Sad, you see. Miss Needle had a funny way of making people hate her. She would make them think she was the sweetest in all of the land. But just when you thought she was your friend, she would turn around on you and hurt you. Miss Needle had wronged all the people in the village she used to live in, so she was went w as he usually was. Instead, he was Needle. She walked right into the middle of the forest and greeted that black sun. As the whole town was slowly dying, he told her these words: That was when Maddi blacked out. She lie unconscious in her bed for two days. Strangely, her mother had noticed her absence. Maddi walked down to a horrific sight and discovered the cause of her neglect. mother to reach the phone and call 9-1-1. The police got the call from a run-down mobile home. None of the officers on duty were prepared to see what was inside of that house. Dirty, broken heroin needles littered the stained carpet. Piles of feces had collected from wandering animals and the young girl who made the girl. A body of a woman, presumably
this was not the cause of death. Her innards were spilled on the floor by a knife of some sort. The culprit of this gruesome murder stood nearby. In a floral dress caked with blood and dirt stood a girl of about nine years of age. Her hair was greasy, and her clothes were hopelessly soiled. In one hand, she gripped the knife that she had killed her own mother with. In the other, she held a tattered diary with the words Fairy Tale crudely scribbled in nail polish. Inside the diary were nothing but blank pages. She said this. Then never spoke again.
Written by- Soohyun Hwangbo When I was five, I spent the entire December decorating the house with mistletoes and pine cones, counting each day for Christmas to come. When I was nine, I went to bed with bubbling anticipation, waiting for the tooth fairy, with my freshlypulled tooth tucked under the bed. Now, twenty-nine years old, I was battered and worn down from hardships of life and burden of having to make a living. My job as an editor for children s books department forced me to read sickly-sweet, gagging-inducing stories and tales babbling about happiness of life. Once in a while, a few of them were good enough to bring back pieces of my own childhood, but most of them were mere trashy flings that added on to the stress gauge. It was another vapid weekend, nothing particular from the regular routine. It was that very exact day, when I was forcibly fixing my eyes to the laptop screen, despite endlessly running nose and throbbing headaches. The day before I had spotted my fiancĂŠ making out with a high-school girl, and broke off the engagement after splashing ice water into his blatant face. That morning I had received a long phone call from my mother nagging to grab a man and get married, and not be an old spinster like old Aunt Georgia. As I was stacking old, stale books into the box, a yellowed page slipped out. It was a torn-out page from a diary I had kept years ago, when I had recklessly wished for the futile dream of becoming a writer. The crooked letters, childlike structures, and clichĂŠ happy endings evidently displayed that it was not a masterpiece. Straightening out the crumped ends, I started reading. Just like that, deluge of emotions gulped me up, and I was swirling in the sea of nostalgia. Brightly lit faces of conjured up prince and princess, walking hand-in-hand; chirping birds and talking animals; evil stepmothers and witches casting nasty curses; knights in shimmering armors dashing for rescue nothing was impossible. At the tips of pens I created the other world a world where all fancy daydreams could become concrete. The sheer euphoria of being the creator was enough to power my passion. Until it was clouded by weary school hours, repetitive reprimands, gloomy job prospective - everything gradually faded away. It was all too soon to find out that I had become an adult, and an especially uninteresting one, devoid of energy and sparkles. I hurriedly closed the book. For that short period, I was drunk in remnants of soppy, goody-good childish yearnings. Getting lost in memories did no good in boosting productivity in the present. Snapping shut the buckle, I buried away the little diary deep inside the dusty box. As I closed the lid, I locked away the bits of imaginations, fairytales, wishes, and childhood dreams. Fairytale-like happy endings were not to happen in reality.
Written by- Chaiwon Lee
Would you still believe some nonsense? At the back of the north wind Lies a dream of tranquility.
What if, dear skeptical reader, I tell you the Old Man Winter Holds out a box for good daughters?
Somewhere quite far from you Ladies make talk to birds One of which, a heartbroken bluebird, Carried Thumbelina to her love Jewels once were teardrops, Why, one is two and two is one Most of all, time is undefined
Impossible, to explain Endless fantasy, this is For you a vague tingling A world long left behind
But Miss Shirley will only say
Written by- Woojo Jang
Oh wistful soul, do not wail, He is looming above the grounds. Hastily hide the frail dewdrops hanging on your eyes Even a little sparkle could be seen, Even a single drop could be heard. Your innocent blood will tempt his flaming nostrils.
As the blazing veil embraces the sky, Black moonlight swiftly brushes against you. Too late, his eyes have found yours Do not anticipate any warm kisses. Lullaby gets washed away, Justice is no more on your side.
Cruel tongue coils around your tangled dreams, He gently pulls them into the filth. Flaming fear burns the honey in your breath, Cold venom thumps through your cruel heart. The last leaf feebly dries up And slowly, your eyes tumble into the black hole.
You annihilate the fairy tales Mocking every soul with your graceful smile. Show mercy to the child, Cease to play around the truth. I beg you to give her lost dream back.
Happily Ever After Written by- Inhye Jeong Illustrated by- Hyunmin Kim Snow White
assign three fairies to Sleeping Beauty! NO, PEDRO!
Mama Hada, the head fairy of Happily Ever After Co., slammed her fists down onto her bright red desk. At once all the HEA employees fell silent, twitching and blinking their beady eyes in nervousness. Pedro let out a small squeak. Tan, dark-haired, and stout, Mama Hada easily dominated everyone. As she walked back and forth, her expression stony, the resonating sound of her high heels compelled everyone to hold still. Mama Hada came to an abrupt stop in front of Pedro, whose hands trembled. Mama Hada raised her left eyebrow, as if daring Pedro to speak.
Her face suddenly breaking into a wide smile, Mama Hada turned from Pedro and looked at the other employees, who were all gazing at the scene anxiously. fairies, how was Cinderella able to go to the ball? Who brought Beauty and the Beast together? Fairies! Or more exactly, HEA! What about Snow White or Rapunzel, you ask? They r company! And Rapunzel, do you think it was her tears
-made
devices to ensure everyone a happily-ever-after! That, my dear fairies, is why fairytales are called fairytales. se we
Adela, who had gained enough courage to speak in front of her daunting boss, raised her hand timidly. Mama Hada turned her fiery eyes upon her and nodded.
desiring wealth and status or fame and reputation. However greedy, all those damsels were all extremely
-win for both of them! And they pay us afterwards. Look at Beauty. She was merely a pretty girl in some old countryside village, Mama Hada smiled dreamily, lost in thought. The rest of the employees watched her, still quiet. Then, suddenly, Pedro spoke out.
-ever-after. We gave it to them,
Mama Hada
The Kaleidoscope Staff