Toobo

A kind girl falls in love with a vicious killer. Unhinged Yuri story set in Seoul.

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“Like a prey waiting with a trap, I missed my predator. 

I missed her touch in the places I’ve never been touched. 

I wanted to hear her sing the songs that I’ve never heard.”

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As the blood dripped off the knife she held firmly in her pale hand, I saw my reflection in the cold blade that had just taken the life of a man. 

I dreamed of magical moments like this every day. 

Something - someone to come and free me from the suffocating monotony of normalcy. 

She stormed into my life brandishing death, and in the moment of madness, my heart fluttered.

Then she came to my place, uninvited. I treated her wounds and fed her. She slept on my couch like a cat. We started our lives together. Death bound us like the knot of tie I fixed for her as she left for work - to kill, kill, and to kill again. 

I spent countless nights sitting in darkness, on my couch hugging my knees, gripped with worry and excitement. I prayed for her safe return home, but I did not pray for the souls she’d be sending to hell. 

But she always returned, like a stray cat coming for food in the back alley behind a restaurant. I was the cook who put out the food for her, stroked her, and gave her shelter.

A stray cat. A great feline predator. She was mine and mine alone. 

Together we laughed, alone I cried. 

Together we laughed, alone I cried. 

But I think we also loved. 

I think. 

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This is a dark and twisted psychological slice-of-life romantic comedy with a sprinkle of inspiration from the noir genre. If that doesn’t make sense, it’s because it doesn’t.

Miho the Killer

The armed police were occupied with keeping the mobs on the floor in order, although it was pretty hard to tell at this point which bodies were alive and which bodies were dead. A few more Special Ops men came up the stairs and they started sweeping the rooms, but did not pay particular attention to me standing by the door - a youngish lady wearing a black dress and covered in blood. I probably looked like a victim in the scene who didn't want to be there. Well, at least one part of that was true.

Then Detective Choi emerged, pushing through his team, approaching me through the corridor.

I, a drug dealer and an accomplice to multiple homicides, was as guilty here as anyone else on this floor of the damned.

How ironic the first thing spoke running into this catastrophic scene was if I was OK.

Stop asking me that. I think I might start to really feel hurt by your words if you continue.

Lights Out