Mir Literary Journal T h e
G u i l d
-May/June_2019-
The People. who have made this journal are as follows:
13.
14. Kyeyoung Lee
Jaeyoung Jung Heonsang You Inseo Yeo Jaehyeon Park Sooyeon Jeong
Emily Kim Daeun Kim Seungho Jun Shin Ji Won Yeong Seo Kim
And.
15.
Photos contributed by:
Jungbin Cha Seunghyeon Kim Yeonseo Hur Yunseo Hwang YoonHyuk Lee
Hyunji Lee Yurim Lee Eunjae Kim
Dear Reader. Who are you? Who are we? Who are we to laugh? To cry? To smile? All those differences, yet we claim to know what you are in what we are. And, I—I am just another great pretender, lost, endless. -Kyeyoung Lee.
POETRY
squid Kyeyoung, Lee No more squid, my mother says, no more squid. None left in the East sea, they stopped swimming They have emmigrated, to warmer places, And I am cold. They tell me you can import them, But can you import family? I am cold in my heart I’ll miss two long legs and tentacles, every bubble a memory that sticks to twisted tongues Call me, through the waves. One cry added to the Accumulating wail, just passing through, passing and it changes. Cycles change. Water flows through my veins, children of water, I learnt to swim so I could feel my heartbeat with the waves. leave, I leave. stay, I stay. Only photographs Black and white from the newspaper. Too far away from the frontlines, I am the watcher but I long for more, more before they recede back into the prenominal waves / carcasses left decimated on the shore / hot / skies darkening / motion only printed / on fragile minds:
Fairytale Emily, Kim Once upon a time I wondered whether fairies had tails. If they didn’t have tails, Why would you call a story A fairytale? I was right; fairies did have tails Tails that hand me apples, Take me to enchanted castles, Offer me a glass shoe; That put me to sleep forever. But they always leave me with a kiss, A clock striking midnight, And a happily ever after.
창가에서 / By the Window Kyeyoung Lee 아이야 어서 가거라 어서 어서 가거라 낼 아침 약 뿌리러 온다 하니 여덟 다리 얼른 추려 어서 어서 가거라 가로등 아래 너울너울하다 햋빛 아래 비틀비틀하지 말고 어서 어서 가거라 아이아 어서 가거라
go, child, go go quick; go far; they say they’ll come, come with pesticides tomorrow, gather up your eight slender legs do not dance under the streetlamp only to stumble under the sunlight go quick; go far; go, child, go
Bewitched Emily, Kim I sometimes wonder Whether you are an evil wizard. A cruel sorcerer, perhaps? Who am I, an insignificant mortal, To have fallen under your intricate spell?
PROSE
How Things Work Jungbin Cha The hands on his wristwatch read two o’clock. It was a cloudless, rainy night and Edward was the only visible person in Passing Alley. In one hand he held a black umbrella and the other was hoisted up in front of his wet spectacles, carefully watching the seconds tick by. His watch was old and stubborn, the chains sometimes broke down, but he used it nonetheless. If you looked closely enough, there was a chip behind the hands where you could see the gears inside turning. Had those gears ever turned counterclockwise, what would happen? Edward wondered. But it was a silly thought, just one of those that pop up unexpectedly and disappear just as fast. Edward was busy; he had a whole task to get done with. It was exactly nine hours before the trial started; the trial to decide if Anne Radberry, the handmaid, had truly murdered her mistress. The answer was clear, really; the handmaid herself had described in great detail how she had snuck up to her mistress’s bed and suffocated her with a satin pillow. The satin pillow, which she kindly handed over to the police, had been soaked with blood. Probably from the struggle put up by the mistress as a last attempt of survival, the police had said. Where the blood came from when the mistress’s autopsy read asphyxia, Edward didn’t know. But everything was clear and simple with this case. It was told to be so, and it was actually so. Anne Radberry was the murderer, blinded by a sudden surge of emotion and greed for money. Everything had been going as it was expected to. The only thing left for Edward to do as the defense attorney was to accept the faults of the defendant and appeal how Radberry was deeply reflecting about her actions. Well, it was so until a few hours ago when the window of Edward’s dingy residence was shattered by a pebble. It was strange, that such a small piece of stone could reduce the glass into powder. But Edward had been too focused on what stood behind the windowsill to take notice of powdered glass. There stood Anne Radberry, terribly out of breath and gruesomely sick-looking. Her eyes, somewhat bulging were tinged with red and her carrot hair had been ripped out of its braid. Her clothes were tattered and grimy. But the strangest thing had been a bulge on her back, tearing through her clothes. It was as if she had become a humpback through the night. The swollen - if it was a swell, that is - part of her back skin was blackened and green. The veins threatened to pop And she had half croaked,half retched out the word, “Yenom Manor” before galloping off into the forest behind Edward’s house. She had run like a crazed animal; a speed that could not have been human. Edward had been mesmerized by something. It felt like he had been on autopilot, watching himself put on his coat and trousers, grab his hat and umbrella and travel all the way to the crime scene at this late night. And here he was now, standing in front of the oak doors of Yenom Manor, the former residence of Vivan Yenom and her handmaid, Anne Radberry. His shoes were dampened as he stepped into a puddle at the doormat. The door was plastered with “DO NOT ENTER - CRIME SCENE - LONDON POLICE SERVICE” signs. But they had been peeled off the door due to the heavy rain and was now tearing through the sharp gusts of wind. Edward turned the slippery bronze handle and pushed the oak door. The first thing he noticed was the unbearable smell. It was beyond anything he had smelled before in his life. It was the smell of feces and rotten paper and damp basements and toxic cheese all combined together. It wasn’t like Edward had never before seen dead bodies or smelled the fumes of a corpse. This was different. Edward instantly stuffed his mouth and nose with the hem of his coat as his gag reflex made him cough and retch. The second thing he noticed was the pitch-black darkness. It didn’t feel like the usual darkness born from lack of light; it felt as if the building was full of black opaque fog. When he stretched out his left arm beyond the doorway, even his golden watch was swallowed by the darkness. When Edward passed the doorway, he was faced with complete, opaque darkness. It was so black that Edward lost track of all senses except for his hand touching the wall on the left. He had dropped his umbrella as he had stuffed his nose. Edward ventured on, step after step. Edward felt hollow inside, just as bored and relaxed he had been when he had been simulating the upcoming trial in his bed a few hours ago. The darkness calmed him. It was more comforting than he expected, not having to look and feel and think about everything. He was lost in time as he relied only on his touch of the damp, scratchy wallpaper beneath his fingers.
Edward jerked back when he felt something bump into his toe with a thud. It had been stiff yet not completely so, just so that he could intuitively guess that this was a body of a human. A lifeless one. A short shock of terror bloomed then disappeared in his chest, making Edward turn back and look behind his shoulder. But only the same pitch dark darkness greeted him. But when he faced back forward, things were a little different. There sat Anne Bradbury, spread on the carpeted floor like a rag doll. Her arms and legs were bent at unnatural angles which made Edward’s spine tingle. The floor around her was flooded with dark red blood. It soaked Edward’s shoes and spread far past him. There was so much blood that it made Edward wonder if it was possible that this much blood could exist inside a human body. Pieces of china lay scattered close around Anne Radberry’s head, and around those pieces were colorful pieces of jewelry. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies….Name a precious gem and it was there. It was also in Anne’s Radberry’s face. When Edward turned his eyes to Radberry’s back, there was something large protruding from her skin; a metal knob from one of those wind-up toys was sticking out of her back as if she had sprouted another arm. Absolute terror seized Edward at the sight of the knob. His heart raced as his breath quickened, his voice releasing whimpers and gurgles of pure horror. He madly scratched his back; he didn’t have one of those, did he? He had to get out of here. Edward spun on his heels, ready to sprint as fast as he could away from the monster and away from this manor. But as he turned, there stood Radberry. No, not Radberry. Yes, it was her, the humpbacked Anne Radberry that had visited him mere hours ago. But Edward could see through the hide that it was wearing. The appearance of Anne Radberry was only a disguise; the skin of the handmaid patched together to hide what lay beneath. In it, there was Miss Vivian Yenom, as elegant as before, her hooded eyes fixed on Edward and her red lips pulled into a light, porcelain doll smile. Edward scratched his back even more, terrorized, his body petrified except for his hand going wild. It tore through his coat and his shirt and his hands grabbed onto something cold and hard. There was Miss Vivian Yenom, giggling under her elegant disguise.
It’s already bright enough YoonHyuk Lee It’s already bright enough. It’s a dark room. I am the only in the room. A flickering TV reflects my friends and I don’t want to look into it. maybe this time. It doesn’t turn off although I’m pressing a power button hard. well, it’s always like this. I stand before the mirror. This stuff is darkened enough that I’m able to see through what is inside of this. At other times, it was so bright that I couldn’t dare to look it, usually. With a feeling of pity, I watch myself. ruffled hair, dirty teeth. ugh... disgusting. I try to hug him as he is also me. Understandably, he who is in the mirror also does the same. hands are clapping. No progress. but I can feel the heat from his body. it’s enough for me. I wiped the surface of it, but it doesn’t come out dust all the time laid. so I’m surprised about it. I shake my hands. and he imitates me. hello. yeah, hello. how are you. i’m fine. thank you, and you? I feel a little bit of sympathy and shame. and I don’t want to talk anymore. hence I lower my hand.
But, his imitating is stopped. instantaneously, I stretch my arms as fast as I can. I... I’m going through the mirror. he does the same! we changed positions and I’m in the mirror. the new world. It’s something odd, kind of sense of difference. the inverted feeling of the top down, and the bottom up makes me vomit to upside(maybe downside).
So I go out the door. Passing through the mirror and flickering TV. I start walking in crowded roads. As I walked on, the nausea was gone. in The mirror world has no difference from the outside. I don't know where is the outside or the inside. The neon signs at night are still brighter than the moon. Show Windows are displaying products brightly, but soon the lights will go out and what are in the show windows be shown up. I have encounters with people after a long time. But They remain unchanged. Everyone is included in groups. I'm the only stranger.
I talk aloud, but no one answers.
well, I hate to feel the silence. according to experience of my earlier days, it doesn’t improve awkward situations better. I need to(or it may ‘would like to’) talk to people but any words doesn’t speak out of my mouth. I just repeat the process of starting talk, and stopping talk. people might have seen me as a shadow. I often makes the void vibrate. I changed my strategy. so I speak much as I can. however, people looked temperamental. my speaking perhaps offended other people. so I stopped talking again. And then, I was there. I am the only one.
So I start walking. As I walk on, the taste of vomit disappears. The mirror is no different from the outside. I don't know where it's real or where it's not real. Going where my feet lead me, I meet an old back alley. I see my friends there after a long time. I try to have some conversations, but no one talks. It's just between them that they exchange glances. No, they had been talking with the eyes since I met them. I had used my mouth to make sounds without knowing how to read glances, so everyone looked at me. Since then, I learned to use my eyes, but now I've forgotten the use of eyes. I'm the only one who's changed.
So I start walking. As I walked on, the feeling of nausea faded away. I meet my parents after a long time. They look at me strangely. Nothing has changed. It feels like my body is penetrated its inside. I'm the only stranger. I talked, but no one answered. It's what I am. I’m Walking again. every human is same.
I hope I don't get tired no matter how much i walk. I flop down. I intended to walk until I was hungry, however I can't get any signs of hunger in this world no matter how much I walk. The only thing that gets tired is the spirit. I go into the door. It's a dark room again. It's a flickering TV. I keep looking at TV for a while. Finally, I press the power button as hard as I can and it is turned off. I made it.
It's the mirror again. I close my eyes in front of the mirror. Open my mouth with saying. hello. yeah, hello. how are you. I’m fine. thank you, and you? how are you feeling today? what a beautiful day! well, it’s nice to hang out with my...y... umm......
The sound starts with words. and grows louder and louder until it eventually becomes a scream. It doesn't stop until it's out of breath.
My back is bent and my closed eyes open. There is a mirror in front of my eyes. He looks at me in the mirror. My eyes are shining in his eyes in the mirror. I see his eyes in the mirror. Again, I try to reach into the mirror, but our hands met. His hands were too hot. Tears run down. they flow in drops. we’re looking at each other in the mirror, with distorted faces. But only the similarity, is striving to smile in the best way.
The Sneaker’s Life Seunghyeon Kim [Chapter 1] One day, white sneakers left their home at early morning. They had shivered at that time before they stepped on the grass. One of white sneakers without a big star called Canvas said, “hey, sis, this shoestring on my head is very uncomfortable. I mean, I just wanna remove it out right now.” And another one with a big star which was the Canvas’s sister said, “so what? You know, we have to love all of us.” after she said, canvas didn’t understand what did her mean and sighed very deeply. The wind was blowing peacefully. It touched their each cheeks also made them felt nervous because when they were young—before they left their home, they had read a fairy-tales which was about a real world. In a book, it indicated a real world must be bad and its things would threat right away as sneakers would confront them. Canvas didn’t express her feeling and hid her afraid face and said, “interesting……. Are you scary now?” Then her sister sighed again. “(laugh) snap, you don’t even ignore me” Canvas snapped. “I have a carsickness now, little sis.” her sister said. “Why? I don’t actually, sis.” Canvas said. “Because I really don’t wanna be moving now, however, my body and your body are moving now.” her sister said. Canvas thought that she tried to chase her sister caused her annoyed—a revenge about back in a time. “Whatever! I don’t agree with you. I-I think you just kind of the weaker.” Canvas said. At that time, her sister vomit. Salty water was out on the grass, and her sole was little bit melting. Canvas was surprised at that obviously as her sister had vomit. But, she said, “hey, what’s the matter?” And “Ah…… see? It’s a fact that you are weaker……” Then, her sister didn’t response and ignored her. The silence kept for a long time and they weren’t moving. Suddenly, strange and bad smell attacked them as their faces twisted. “What the hell is that smell?” Canvas said. The sticky gum adhered on her face and made that smell which followed them to vomit again, together.
“Blarghhhhhhh”, they vomit at the same time. In spite of vomiting, the gum was moved on her sister face by the wave of their burly breath. Seeing that abominable gum, her sister said, “Oh, my gosh. I couldn’t predict that you were possible to move easily, especially on my face...” She coughed and said, “It’s okay, dude. It’s gonna be removed as time goes on.” The day was gone into the sunset.
[Chapter 2]
They wept all night with the disgusting sticky gum. The gum ingrained on her sister face very deeply. Canvas was staring her sister face for a long time and said, “Are you okay?” The silent made them awkward as it swallowed them into its throat. The gum was getting worse with a bad smell. In a sharp voice, her sister started to speak out to her. “It’s a catastrophe all about you, because of you.” “Do you know how to remove this horrible thing?” Silence. Sister gave up to separate with her and the smelling gum and kept walking on the bituminous road. In fact, she had been worried a little about her face, however, relieved because she couldnot feel anything when the gum was getting smooth. She just FORGOT definitely!
The noisy day was passed away. Expecting her sister’s face became better than before, Canvas woke up and opened her eyes very slowly. Catching up her sister’s face, she made a big sound. Obviously, it caused sister woke up.
“Oh… what happened with your voice?”, sister said. “I think you have to look at your face right away… hurry!”, Canvas said. Sister wondered that why Canvas pissed up a storm so went to the puddle to check her facial condition. After she saw her own face again and again, she could not repress her astonishment. “I can’t believe it... It’s never possible...”
Sister face was decaying as a part of her face located near by the gum changed a color into greenish blue. At that moment, she was covered with mold, and had a disgusting smell. She asked a pinky sock about what she could do for her ill-face with a quavering voice. “Excuse me the best of a cutie in the world? I just have a question. Very seriously.” “What is it?”, the pinky pretended to be indifferent. “As you know... I’ve mentioned about the gum, right?” “yes, you have. So what?” “Oh, my gosh. Are you kidding me? Just look at my green ,and how can I do for cure?” “I think the gum destroyed your face like this. You should calm down.” “Calm down? You mean it was all of my fault anyways.”, sister came to words. “Don’t say that if you have never experienced before.”, sister said. Then, the pinky one hided in a smelled hole because of a sister’s voice. She gave a sigh of resignation and asked again Canvas while she closed her eyes. Canvas didn’t know about anything, however, she tried to best for the reply. “I’m not sure of a solution actually but, it could be helpful to be better maybe.” She passed a handy moisture absorber on her sister and gave a hand to put the patch on the sister’s face. As that much, she really wished her sister would be healthy because sister was her family, friend, and soul-mate. She didn’t want to make a distance between her and sister. “Hey, is it more good?” “......”
“Please, please react against me. See, I’ll steal your shiny star badge.” “......”
Canvas began to cry. As she already knew that sister was gone a long time ago.
It was not a moisture absorber which could dry the spoiled-wet gum. Canvas put on the smile with a cough.
Finally, Canvas could engross her master’s love for quite a time until her new sister was coming. One day, THE SNEAKER‘S LIFE WAS BEGINNING.
[The end]
it always stains Yeonseo, Hur
it always stains
SELF-TALK WORKSHEET THERAPY SESSION No. PATIENT NAME:
NAME your experiences before starting: Is there a more POSITIVE name you could give it? :
self-harm no
7
d d
d d
WRITE DOWN what you did today and your emotions. I scraped the blade on the pad of my thumb. Ironically, my pocketknife had disappeared the day before. At least I'd cleaned it. If anyone happened to see it lying on the ground and checked it I would've been in big trouble. Also, scissors worked better. Not in the literal sense that it functioned better, but a duller edge was preferable. More long-lasting and larger pain. Unfortunately the scissors were those 'special' kid scissors and were duller than a sheet of fresh paper. Bringing it down hard and fast didn't work either. I repeated the same exact motion with the drawing in my hand, edge poised. It drew clean, red line that slashed across diagonally. But it only swelled slightly, like the surface of water in a cup filled to the brim, almost about to burst but not quite and stayed like that, wavering, until I wiped my thumb on the paper, which left a streak of red dashing across it and a pleasant stinging sensation that comes from slowly ripping open a fresh cut. I sat, my left arm wrapped around my knees, my right hand slowly coloring the gravel as it colored mine, as I watched the color slowly fade to a brownish shade. I watched the mess of scribbles and ink slowly dry up, permanent and irreversible, like my dragging, reluctant steps through the muddy swamp which grabs and holds onto me like leeches and pulls and pulls and pulls until I sink and it doesn't push me down totally, it wavers and waits as the mud slowly slowly fills my mouth and nose and eyes and waits until I can still feel the air but can't use it
PSYCHIATRIST COMMENTS: Her parents told me she likes to write short stories, might help to let out her feelings like she's writing a story when she's feeling uncooperative. Mark. Condition slowly spiralling downwards Extremely unresponsive Intensive therapy. Notify parents ECT??
SELF-TALK WORKSHEET THERAPY SESSION No. 1 d PATIENT NAME: Anonymous d
NAME your experiences before starting: Despondent, worse than usual Is there a more POSITIVE name you could give it? : challenging, steps to getting better d WRITE DOWN what you did today and your emotions. I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for five hours. Life is a piece of paper. You start to write your story on that paper and someone steps on it or rips it up or dribbles ink on it or does something that makes the story all wrong. All wrong. That’s when you crumple the paper into a ball, throw it out, and start over. In life you can’t start over. If you throw your life away that’s it. You can’t get a new piece of paper. And writing on a piece of torn-up, ink-splattered paper is extremely hard. Better to throw it away and not write that story at all than suffer. But I'm writing this now for some reason, scratching out mistakes and scrawling marks onto a piece of paper as the inevitable seconds tick by. Maybe I'll finish something for once.
PSYCHIATRIST COMMENTS: No emotional portrayal but cooperative to requests Unstable Intensive therapy?? → maybe.
SELF-TALK WORKSHEET THERAPY SESSION No. PATIENT NAME:
NAME your experiences before starting: Is there a more POSITIVE name you could give it? :
3
d d
d d
WRITE DOWN what you did today and your emotions. Have you ever felt so utterly useless and worthless that you just wanted to disappear? Not literally commit suicide or anything but just stop time for a while and think about nothing, curled up in a ball in the blackness of it all? Sometimes the guilt, the pressure, it’s too much and you want to tell them that you’re suffering but isn’t that just being selfish again? What if I’m unconsciously making myself believe that things are hard for me because I want sympathy? Why do I even feel this way when I have everything a lot of other people don’t have? Why am I even complaining when I should be happy and thankful for my life right now? During those obligatory life-is-important! classes people say everyone is important and worth living but am I? Do I do anything but lie on a daily basis without even noticing that people trust me completely? Do I even slightly appreciate any of the good-intentioned compliments they give? Luring innocent people into a person I created, no, two people, one face quiet and distinguished, one face always happy and talkative, both seemingly diligent and intelligent (that rhymes), but empty and nothing. My two real faces, the horrible, deceitful liar, a counterfeit-side-maker, and the endlessly dark, hopeless, emotionless me, the one I’m coming to embracing. The empty side knows everything. It’s -I’m- writing this. I want to compensate for disappointing someone and myself, because apparently I don’t try but I still have high expectations, but I don’t want to die it’s too scary and I’m a coward and I know cutting is bad so I can’t do that either, I just sit there and whine and make other people depressed.
PSYCHIATRIST COMMENTS: Extreme mood swings/long periods of depression Self-loathing and low self-esteem Bipolar disorder?? Needs intensive therapy/medical care
fin.