Demon Stories

Cheol: Dead Inside, 1992, Japan

Cheol

Dead Inside

1992, Japan

I was once like you. Dead inside. I'm going to light a cigarette. Do you care if I smoke? Well, what do you care? You're dead. 

I hated you the first time I saw you. Smug, the big man. Lifting girls' skirts and laughing when they screamed. Who did you think you were? Don't you know how to treat a lady? Who raised you? Are they ashamed? 

Like this, I watched you for weeks. We worked together. You couldn't tell from my clothes and my manner how I was one of those creatures whom you treated with such disrespect. You didn't know from my low voice how I secretly loathed you. 

You asked me, one night, if I would like to join you in a drink after work. I declined, but you slapped me on the back and egged me on. Your big disgusting hand which pulled the ladies' hair. How could I decline again? I said yes and you grinned triumphantly at me.

But we didn't go to a bar. 

"Wait," I said, "my apartment is near here. Let me get some money." 

And you bought that. "Hurry up!" you demanded, like a little spoiled Prince, following me down the dark alley. 

You should have known better not to go down dark alleys. Didn't you know what can happen in a dark alley? 

It was here I turned on you. Your eyes went wide in the dark, as my eyes started to glow their silvery grey like the moon. I was focused, I was prepared, that's why they glowed this way. I was ready. 

Reaching into my pants pocket and taking the long blade from the hole I had made, the cold metal rubbing against my leg on my cold skin, your mouth dropped open and you stood there like a child, so frightened you couldn't move. It was like a scary child's storybook, wasn't it? You couldn't believe it. 

I rushed at you and took you down as easily as a bent branch. You didn't even struggle. It was as if you had already given up, and that I could not understand. 

And then.

Your hands flew up to your face, and your mouth went into a pleading way. "Just let me die. Kill me, then. What have I to live? A fool like me. Could you tell I have not been alive for years? I don't care." 

Maybe you did not say it so elegantly, but all the words were there. The meanings. 

What a shame, at this point in time, for me to have pity in my heart for this being whom I loathed so much. My heart was confused. So what to do now? I hated you so much, but to kill you would be a mercy. 

Then I began to see it. All these weeks. The trying to get me to go to the bar. The harrassing of the women and then looking my way, the smile. You were trying to befriend me. You wanted someone to comfort you, in this life which you hated so much, too.