Cold and Lifeless

Shell-shocked, I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling light. 

Somehow I didn't want to turn the light off. 

Was I frightened?

Was it because Minji was my friend?

I was confused.

I knew Miho was a killer. I've watched her kill before. I even served her a meal after she came back from her job. We talked over the dinner table as if she'd just had a rough day at the office.

And I was charmed. Undeniably charmed on the day she killed my ex-boss. Despite the visceral violence, it touched my heart. But today… was different. 

I couldn't get the image of Minji burning out of my mind, and what's worse, how she looked as a black corpse. Her once beautiful body was destroyed, defiled, disfigured, discarded. Her jaws locked into an open position as if she wanted to scream more. 

What did she do to deserve such a death?

The Bible verse Miho spoke; it seemed clear it must have been a contract commissioned by one of her many exes, or current, lovers who found out what she had been doing behind their back. But to ask someone to do this to a woman and recite the Bible? What kind of sick mind is that? And what kind of sick mind actually goes and does this just because she gets paid for it?

Perhaps I had a romanticized vision of Miho. That she was somehow a harbinger of justice, that she killed men who deserved to die like my ex-boss or the unknown men whom she killed that I just assumed would have deserved it. 

Did I assume that Miho won't kill a woman?

Maybe that's what I thought. Killers in the movies were cool. They were anti-heroes. They had rules. 'I don't kill women and children' they'd say and coolly push the money envelope back across the table. The client would get mad but the killer stands up and walks away, her warped ethical integrity intact. 

But Miho was different. She was no longer fascinating or charming. She was terrifying. 

I didn't know what to feel anymore. 

She slept on my couch. She ate from my table. Her mouth touched my ramen bowl. She took a shower in the same shower booth that I use. 

I remembered her friendly smiles. I remembered her hearty laughter, the chuckles, the unexpected giggles. 

Cheesecake. Hashtag Date. 

Did I really have a date with such a woman, even if only I thought of it as such?

What did such a woman see in me that she'd shared the flat with me?

She must have been laughing at me secretly. 

Foolish woman, she must have thought. 

A kind soul? More like an absolute idiot. 

I slapped myself once, I slapped myself twice. 

My cheeks stung, and I let out a silent scream to not wake up my neighbors. 

The body. The burnt body. The stench. 

My fantasy was shattered. 

This wasn't the escape from life I dreamed of. 

This wasn't the extraordinary I craved for. 

I ran to the bathroom and threw up what few pieces of prawn I managed to have before the disaster. Undigested, they float on the water in the toilet bowl. Dead. 

I felt pity. I couldn't flush them down, yet, I felt disgusted. They reminded me of embryos. Unborn babies. Discarded. To be flushed down. 

I threw up until there was nothing more to come out, not even stomach acid. 

I went back to bed and laid myself face down, burying my face in the pillow. I wondered if I could suffocate myself to death like this. I really felt like I wanted to. I pressed my face down as hard as I could. I bit into the pillow, sucking it in. The cotton filled in and dried my mouth. I clenched my jaws tight and pressed down harder. Tears swelled in my eyes. I started to choke. But just as I thought I was at my limit and I was using the last remaining strength of my body to push myself over the edge, I panicked and lifted my head, spitting out the chunk of pillow that filled my mouth. I gasped for air, panting.

I ran to the bathroom again and looked at the reflection of myself in the mirror. I looked like a corpse myself. I tried to smile. It was hard but I managed. I forced myself to smile as I looked at the crazy woman who could smile on a night like this. 

I brushed my teeth. I brushed them hard till my gums bled. Then I spat out blood. The sticky red mixed with the bubbly white of the toothpaste. I smelt mint. I smelt blood. 

I fell on my knees, probably bruising them as they hit the white tiled floor. I grabbed the sink pipe below the washbasin. It felt cold to the touch. It was metallic. It was comforting.

I lay down on the bathroom floor. The tiles felt cold. It was comforting. 

Is this how people feel before they die after slipping in the bathroom and banging their head?

I imagined a pool of blood forming below my head. Then I stopped. I couldn't bear to imagine the warmth of blood. 

I wanted something cold. I wanted something dead. 

I opened my freezer and took out the ice tray. I shoved as much ice as I could in my mouth and chomped on them. My teeth hurt and soon my tongue felt numb. 

This is it. This is what I needed. 

With my mouth still filled with ice I ran into the shower booth. I turned on the tap and let the rain shower pour cold water on me. My clothes were getting wet but that was OK. I wanted to lose every trace of heat from my body. I wanted to be a corpse. 

I lay on my side and turned myself into a ball. Embryo position. I was a prawn. I was the dead eye of a fish head in a soup. I was sliced tuna meat on shredded radish. 

I was a dead soul dancing on the blade of Miho's knife.