Mir Literary Journal T h e
G u i l d
-August_2020-
The People. who have made this journal are as follows:
14. 15. Kyeyoung Lee Yeonseo Hur
16. Dohyeon Kim Siyoon Cha Eugene Lee
Dear Reader. This was meant to be a new start. The start of a new year, a new decade, and for us, the start of a new group of writers. All three of these did happen in 2020, since nothing was entirely cancelled, but they take on a deeper meaning than that. We took this as a sort of fresh slate, a chance to right some wrongs or try different things. Unfortunately, there was another addition to the tricolon: a new virus. Current situations do seem to be relatively better considering the panic during the early stages; we just didn’t expect this to last this long, or, at least we hoped it would’ve have to go this far. Long periods of isolation have lead to physical as well as mental issues, and maintaining social connections and taking appropriate self-care measures have become crucial to our lives. In this newfound era of digitization, I hope you still understand the importance of offline contact and affection. And I hope these pieces of writing, somehow put together over two chaotic, busy months, bring you some solace. Slow down and give yourself a break. We are stuck in a global pandemic, for god’s sake. It’s okay to feel confused and uncertain, just take some time to rest and wake up again tomorrow. -Yeonseo Hur.
POETRY
Am I Being Grateful Eugene Lee Opening my eyes, I found out that I was not in a familiar place. When I looked forward, there were people I did not know. And they did not have expressions in their faces. The surrounding glazed with black and grayish color, and I could not find where to go. At that moment, like a graph converging to a number, I followed a single leaf. I stepped beyond one dimension, and walked through another spacetime. Opening my eyes, I found out that I was not in a familiar place. When I looked forward, there were my precious people. And their expression was clear. The surrounding was a harmony of every color in the world, and I could see my path. And I kept that leaf Which lead me to this world Am I being grateful?
Desert, Moon, and, Siyoon Cha His smooth, white fingers fiddled with the dial. Buzzing sounds flowed out from small holes. The pink fingertips slowly stopped when the buzzing sound included soft music. Two boys were sitting in a burgundy pick-up truck, parked in the middle of the desert. Complete silence touched the roof of the vehicle. The red shade of the roof didn't really match the atmosphere of this night. The one who was touching the radio now closed his eyes, slouched on the passenger seat. The other was leaning on the steering wheel, staring at his fellow passenger. An icy blue moon showed itself over the sand dune, slowly brightening up the yellow wind. Rays of blue light touched the end of the passenger seat. It climbed up to the fingertips, the slim arms, the protruding collarbone, the sharp jawline, the pale lips, the long eyelashes, and the ginger red hair. The white and blue light shone on the boy, whitening him, making him a star swimming in a milky way. Bright, tingling music filled up the car, making the long eyelashes twitch a bit. The other boy with the black hair started to play with the feeble, pale fingers. Two fingers met at the tip, slowly embracing each other. Later, ten fingers curled up, squeezing the others as if it were the seatbelt of a car without a brake. The moonlight brightened up the whole desert like the day. A day full of music, light, and warmth. The reality was different. But that never mattered to these two. There was no destination, nor an objective to achieve. Just wandering throughout the vast world, knowing that they have each other. Moonlight bless these dancers. BGM : 大橋トリオ (OhashiTrio) - Dancing In The Moonlight
Who Am I? Dohyeon Kim It's like the wind Sometimes it warms us like heart-wrapping wind Sometimes it makes us to feel in the very top of mountain all alone Sometimes it’s nothing We can barely touch it And soon disappears We can smell it but we can’t It's black in our two doors of heart We are believing it as black, Truth is no one knows its mysterious color, Yet we long for it always
Primary Colors Yeonseo Hur Red smoke billows from her hair Without any trace of breath. Small antennas poke forth From wide, limp, petals colored bright. White bone protrudes from white skin Blue tears from soft eyes and open mouth. A hole punched through the torso Yet she still lives. She is not a foreigner.
PROSE
Calypso Kyeyoung Lee "The important thing is, you aren't special, you get that?" "Yeah." nodded the boy. "You aren't special." "You said that." "So you don't need to get out there—you understand me?" "Yeah." The boy was playing with a guitar half his body. He struck a chord, and the sound drifted around the room. "You owe them nothing, and they won't bother you unless you go out. Hell, they don't even know you yet. And that's something to be relieved about. You keep quiet, and no-one bothers you. It's like a ghost story. At least that's something you can always count on." The boy grew restless. He put down the guitar and pushed out a Britannica from the shelf. It fell to the ground with a thud, and the boy had to open it like he was wrenching open a can lid. It was heavy for him. "Do you hear me, boy?" "I hear you." "I've always wanted Britannica, you know. Wanted to make a bed with them. I always believed that myth about putting books under your pillows. Sleep in a bed full of Britannica, wake up with all that information in my head. But I didn't do that after all. You know them all?" "I've read them all. I ought to know what's inside them." "You know what's inside them! You don’t. You know what the words say, but don't know what they mean. Meaning's hard to understand. They fly over your heads in flocks, they miss you, boy!" The boy didn't look up from the book. "What's the meaning, then?" "Danger, that's all! Danger and fear. The books know that there's people out there looking for you. Got all those sniffing dogs and rifles and flying saucers with cameras and who knows what else hunting you out. When they catch you, they will rip out your throat from your body, they will." The boy shuddered. He looked up from the book, reached towards another on the floor. From that book he tore some pages out and straightened them neatly. "You should be scared. Should be. There's no telling what they'll do to you. But you keep still here, and you'll be warm, see? It's safer inside." The dust stirred and rose up to the window, where some hazy light was filtering through the room. The boy didn't answer, but rubbed his temple like he was looking for some imprint on his forehead that was mysteriously gone overnight. He was in the middle of folding something. "You think fast, boy. I give you that. But for me, my words are too fast. My words are always tumbling down waterfalls. Do you want a letter?" "What?" The boy was preoccupied with some other thought. His hands moved, opening the folded paper like a flower bud blossoming. "I asked you if you wanted a letter. So that you can write down all the things I say if you want to remember." "I don't need a letter." "Good. People shouldn't write things down if they want to really have something to pass on to others." "I'm going." "Going where? There's nowhere to go here. Put that down." The boy was standing up, and he held a battered satchel. It was full of paper boats. He held it like it was both a sign warning off the devil and a child's teddy bear that was carried around everywhere. "I'm going outside." "What? Don't leave, boy. I warned you about all that danger outside, didn't I? Hasn't it done you any good? Gather your wits. You'll be ruined, boy. Slowly burnt from the inside out." "Maybe, but I don't care." The boy's voice masked something else. "Wait! Wait! Is this because you're bored? If that's it, I've got better playthings for you. There's more to play with, yeah?"
"I don't need them anymore." "Stop!" The boy was reaching for the door handle. "Stop, you can't do that!" The boy looked back. "You can't leave me here, all alone! Don't you care about me?" "I do care about you, but now I've got to go out there." "Why?" "So that I can come back home."
fin.