The rain fell in droplets larger than the tears I shed, but with similar violence. Such a cold, ugly weather. The temperature dropped into the sub-zero range and I wondered if it was how cold this life had decided to mold me. But it didn't matter. No, not so much. My car kept me warm, shielded from the lashes the sky punished the ground with. Protected from the distraction that a mere chill could cause in me, so that I could focus entirely on my end-game.

My purpose.

People ran across the street in a scattered fashion, each seeking shelter to protect what was important to them. For some, that might have been a designer bag. For others, it was their leather shoes and high stilettos. But there was a third category. The one I couldn't decide whether to despise or pity. The ones who were so weak that the most valuable thing they possessed was their body. They were easy to recognize. They ran faster and with such anguish that they looked like tiny ants afraid of the feet of a passer-by. I wanted to teach them a lesson. A word of wisdom about facing fear with courage, about how one shouldn't scarry away just to preserve a body that would decay and rot underground at any moment, about how fucking rain would never hurt as much as what they did to each other under the pretense of survival. That kind of hypocrisy should be feared, not the rain, not the cold, because that was the real danger.

It had been about an hour and twenty-seven minutes since I was stationed in my usual spot. It had become a kind of muscle memory. I would drive through the relentless traffic of the pick hours at the end of stressful work days until I reached Yanghwa-Dong. I would typically park a solid five hundred meters away from The Crawlers, a miserable café that I was still unclear why it hadn't gone out of business yet, considering how few customers crawled in during the twelve hours it was open. It needed more than one thing if the owner wanted to make a bigger profit out of it. A renovation, for starters. And relocation as the best option. The area wasn't very attractive to customers who wanted to spend time there. Not to mention that coffee shops had to be in an area with a lot of businesses to attract the coffee addicts. People in this zip code did not have a job to run to at seven in the morning, and the few who actually did would drink their coffee at home or bum it at work.

I wouldn't do much. I just killed the engine, lit a cigarette and watched. Intensely. I analyzed every movement, every detail, every sigh and every quirk with the eyes of a hawk. I wouldn't blink. Wouldn't move unless necessary. I would dutifully fulfill my task and keep the promise I had made to myself.

To her.

It had been a year since I had started this routine, and in that time I had learned so much about my joker card - the card that would grant me access to a territory I'd been dying to visit. I had seen how life can change course, surprising a person to the point of forcing them to dry swallow the loss. I had seen how many indignities my little joker card had to put up with per day. How many times she cleaned the tables until they were spotless, and how her boss always found a speck of dust so she had to repeat the process one more time. Or maybe even more. I had learned how she plastered a smile after wiping a tear of despair to greet a customer, and how much at ease she was around the coffee machine. I had seen how she'd start sweating after the third load of dishes and how her bangs would cling to her temples. Dark, almost jet-black curls marred with the fluid of exhaustion. I learned it all, and with each new piece of knowledge I acquired, I'd find myself closer to my goal. A grin would grace my face. All so fake and vicious, and God! I wasn't even ashamed.

But this is the thing about life. It changes so quickly, either by the cruelty of a capricious fate or by the cunning of a heart that does not recognize forgiveness as an acceptable emotion, and inside my ribcage resided a heart that couldn't forgive—couldn't forget. The winning cards you were dealt yesterday would turn into a handful of losing cards when a new game began. And now a new game had started; it was just that the players weren't aware yet, for the croupier seemed to find a liking in the thrill of a silent game.

But I would take over the task that the croupier had neglected. I would announce it myself. This game was mine to win, and the means would not be kind. There will be cheating. There will also be an exhibition of the kind of expertise learned in the most brutal way and that is now etched into my blood stems and into every heartbeat that cries a grief so unbearable. There will be blood, tears and sweat, and God knows I do not shy away from dirt.

Well, at least not anymore.

My joker card clocked out in the middle of a thunderstorm that had no intention of easing her way back to a house she considered salvation. The name of God was not heeded by the angry sky or her fate, now plotted by me, and I watched as her tiny body shivered beneath the light gray hoodie that was several sizes larger than her body. The fabric became soaked as soon as she scampered her feet across the wet bitumen, and I leaned against the headrest of my Mercedes, experiencing the comfort she never knew what it felt like. I let the engine roar as she headed in her direction, making sure I accelerated at just the right distance to splash her with the generous puddle that had formed on this miserable road that needed a new coat of asphalt.

Just a small taste of the misery I suffered and still suffer from. Just another shade of black before the white comes in.

This is me, Kim Taehyung, who will host this game with cards containing the images of the past instead of the aces and queens and all that shit you've been used to play with. This is me, Kim Taehyung, and in this game, I will be the winner.

Votes and comments are appreciated.
xx