David looked down. The Korean witch was small and stocky. She wasn't fat, but her red-brown face was broad, and thick-boned arms bulged beneath her hanbok. An iron-gray braid squirmed at her waist, and stubby fingers crumbled beneath sun-colored rings. A mushroom nose sniffed at the air. Black-lensed glasses obscured her eyes, deepening a icy, lifeless brow. David froze. He was left to the mercy of her thorny, inflexible mouth.
"I can't stay long," she said. Her voice was a high-pitched monotone.
"Please sit down, Ahjumma."
She sank into the chair, snapping her fingers. A puppy bounced in. It was small and golden-brown-- sniffing the air like it was made of bacon.
"Behold, the powers of transformation-- the most difficult to master!"
Kisook waved her hand. David gasped. The cute puppy transformed into the most disfigured woman he'd ever seen. Claw-like bones pushed through her copper skin. One coin-slot eye drooped into a bloated bubble-eye. She had no nose, aside from a sideways blob bearing long, craggy nostrils. Her narrow jaw rolled at inhuman angles, and she kept adjusting a round boater hat with a shiny scarlet ribbon. Flaky lips peeled back, revealing teeth like rotten corn. David nodded. She must have survived something most Americans ignore.
"This is my housekeeper, Pich," Kisook introduced.
"H-Hello, Pich. Please, have some tea."
"She's Cambodian," Kisook explained, "Doesn't speak much Korean."
"Oh. That's okay."
Pich nodded, setting down two cups of cranberry tea.
"I speak enough," she corrected, "Be careful, Mama. Reporters trap ladies like...us."
She tugged her black curls over her chest, struggling to avert David's eyes. He chuckled. Kisook shook her head.
"It's all right, Pich. I'll call you if I need anything."
Pich smiled at Kisook and limped into the kitchen.
"Yas queen!"
"I'm seventy-eight years old, and I've heard everything," Kisook spat, "Except that...That sounds ominous."
"Be glad you're blind, Ahjumma."
"Hmph. At least an ugly face won't clog your arteries."
"They say you're a healer...can't you help her?"
Kisook shook her head.
"Like me, she is to receive a transplant. She desires the Face of Death. A legend, of course, as they say Death's human form is the most beautiful out there."
Interesting, David thought, scribbling on his notepad.
"What is she doing, cleaning your house?"
Kisook lifted a hand over the table. A gray-black wad of dust floated into the air.
"I've no idea."
YOU ARE READING
The Righteous Perish
FantasyThis isn't my first full-length work (longer than short-story), yet the only one I find decent. I began writing it in 2019. As always, the characters' biases do not reflect my own. That being said, I'm still young. (Try to) enjoy!
