Crown of Thorns

I chased after the boy again. The boy’s face was also stark. I hope he hasn’t heard the merchants talk, but there’s no way to confirm it.

Soon we arrived at the boy’s house. It was located a long way from the village and looked too shabby to be labeled a home. A few wooden boards blocked the rain and wind, and around them, the rotting water that the villagers used and threw away flowed.

I could see why the boy didn’t care much about the stench coming from me or the smell from inside the tower. This place was no different. There were swarms of insects, including animal carcasses, all kinds of garbage, and even leftover food, and even though I could not smell it, it seemed to be a bad.

The boy was about to enter the house after a long journey. From somewhere, a stone hit the boy’s head and bounced off into the rotten water. But the boy showed no emotion. He could not have failed to notice the children around him because he felt the presence of a monster miles away. He would have pretended not to know or ignored them.

The young children, who were holding stones, trash, and animal bones, began to laugh and throw them as if they had found a funny new game.

“Hey, you monster! Who do you think you are to keep coming back here again?”

“Get buried in that pile of rubbish and die!”

“I heard that even monsters avoid you because you’re cursed. Dirty. Bad luck.”

“That hair color and red eyes are always disgusting. Get the hell out of here! Don’t spread the curse on to the village. Go to the woods and die! My mom is scared because of you!”

All the odds and ends thrown by the children gave the boy large and small scratches. The bread he was holding either rolled into the dirty water or fell on the dirt. And yet, the boy showed no response.

He at least used to show his feelings to the witch, but after he came to this place, his expressions died. His childlike innocence and deftness have disappeared. From the moment he arrived at the wall to the words of the soldiers and the words of the women and the words of the present children, the boy’s heart was constantly scarred and bleeding, but no one knew because it was not visible.

I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to hide his hurt feelings from others or gave up early on realizing that it was useless.

Soon the children who threw everything they were holding began to look around for something else to throw. One of them tried to throw a thick tree trunk. I didn’t think he’d get much hurt by it, but he was tilting back because of the heavy weight, so I approached the child and grabbed his foot in case he fell into the water. The child, who had lost his balance and fallen, was puzzled, looking down at his feet.

But he didn’t think much of it and quickly got up and threw a stone instead. He seemed to think that he was out of balance because of the heavy piece of wood.

“That monster killed his mother and his brother, but he didn’t kill himself. Terrible.”

“Everyone’s dying because of you. So get out of here!”

“I heard the village has been cursed since you appeared. You’ve been bothering people. It’s all because of you. All will be restored to its original state once you leave! You have to die!”

The puppet-like child’s body was shaken up. The children paused to examine the boy’s reaction. Then they shouted with more excitement when they saw his lack of reaction.

“You’re a monster! Because you’re killing everyone!’

“You monster! Who are you going to kill next?”

“No! Soon it’s time for the monster to die! There’s no one to hide the monster now!”

“Yes, they’re all dead, aren’t they?”

“You should die too!”

“Die! Die!”

The children’s laughter was bright. But their words were cruel and piercing. When the boy looked up at the children, they all began to run away. They seemed to believe that the boy’s red eyes are cursed.

The boy standing still was covered all over with dirt and bruises. The children seemed to only regard it as a game. They never thought about how it would affect the boy.

The boy picked up the bread that fell on the ground and tapped it lightly. Then he went inside and lied down on the floor. The boy was very tired. But he didn’t cry. His dry face looked heavier than his crying face. I came close to him because I thought he was going to die. However, the boy’s eyelashes trembled and soon revealed his irises which looked dark gray to me. He was just staring into space without focus.

Is it always like this? It looks as if he’s dead.

No, maybe he died a long time ago. His heart has been killed many times. What kind of thoughts engulf him while living with those who want him head? Won’t he think he’s already dead? Everything about the boy had faded since entering the city walls.

The young warrior who came to the witch’s tower was as bright and warm as the sun. The young warrior walking through the witch’s forest was dashing and outstanding, and under the blessing of the sun, he was more brilliant and beautiful than anyone else. But the young soldier here was too dark. It was as if I was looking at a witch trapped in a tower.

I only looked at the boy again after he closed his eyes. The boy’s body, which was already small, has become infinitely smaller crouched on the floor. The space surrounding the boy felt too big by comparison. He looked so lonely and melancholy. I thought it might be better if the darkness came down quickly and covered the boy’s miserable appearance.

The blood flowing from his new-found wounds wet the floor. The tender boy’s flesh opened immediately upon contact with the objects thrown by the young children. Too many wounds overrode him. But, whether he was too used to it or too uncaring, he left them as they were even though they must hurt. Maybe the wounds in his heart were more painful.

The boy was always full of wounds in my memory. His whole body was carved with them, not to mention his face. One day it was a scratch that healed after some time leaving only a small scar behind, but at some point he started getting covered with terribly deep wounds.

I was expecting it, but when I saw it with my own eyes, I felt that the young warrior was smaller. From the moment I entered the city walls with the boy, I was looking at him with compassionate eyes. I was asking if it hurt. As the boy did to me, I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t, so I just touched his wounds with my gaze.

At that moment the boy’s mouth opened.

“Did I…”

I was taken aback by the sudden announcement, but he was just talking to himself. I couldn’t be seen, felt, touched, or spoken to. I was just the shadow of darkness that follows him.

Lying still with his eyes closed, the boy’s mouth moved again.

“Did I kill them?”

The boy’s words hovered in the air. No answer was heard, of course. But I was answering.

No, boy. Everyone dies. It was just their fate to die.

“Was it because of me? Because of me…”

No. It’s not your fault. You’re just powerless. So even though it’s not your fault, you’re dealing with the consequences. And the repetition of those consequences only made you doubt yourself.

You just didn’t have the power to protect your loved ones. You are just a victim of anger and resentment from those who criticize and others for being different.

“Will it all be over when I die?”

Nothing will change if you die. Nothing changes. It’s not like you’re the main culprit for bringing these monsters up, nor do you seek to kill people. Just because you die doesn’t mean the monsters disappear, nor do people regain peace and become happy.

If this is really a curse, you’re just a victim of it.

“The young me saves the world? Lies… Lies.”

I hoped the boy would have cried, but he was only hurting himself with a dry voice. I wanted to hug the poor shoulder. So I reached out my hand. And a black mist-like fog slowly covered his body. He wouldn’t feel anything because I purposefully didn’t put strength into it, but I also held him in my arms as carefully as I could, although I also didn’t feel anything. The white boy’s body was covered with shadows.

For a moment the boy opened his eyes. Even though I knew I couldn’t be seen, I dispersed and ran away. The red irises seemed to see through me sitting on the tower.

I opened my eyes and saw the inside of the tower. It was a familiar space filled with deep darkness, not a world of gray. I hurriedly covered my face. My cheeks were soaking. I didn’t know that I was crying because I could only navigate through my sight and hearing. No, it would have been possible if I wanted to feel my body here, but I didn’t have time.

I fell flat and grabbed my chest. Emotions that have not been felt before have also begun to rush in at once. I was so stuffed up that I couldn’t make any sound. Tears streamed down nonstop, my heart felt torn and my chest burned. I couldn’t breathe properly. I shed a river of tears.

It was so painful. What the boy went through, what he was going to go through, was sad, distressing and pitiful. It was me who always watched coolly, but as soon as my emotions returned, it hurt unbearably.

Now I know why the boy said he understood me.

The young warrior was much like the witch.

I saw an image of the witch chasing after the young warrior and telling him exactly what he had told her.

The young warrior always suspected, consoled, and comforted the witch, but in fact it was all directed at himself.

Saying that everyone dies, not necessarily because of me, and if it was really a curse, then I am just a victim of the curse, and asking if I did not feel that it was fair, and that if I kept saying that I was killing people then I’d eventually believe it…

All the words that seemed to be directed at the witch were actually words to himself.

The boy was also thinking about himself when he saw a witch trapped in a tower. He thought the witch looked like him and might have been shunned out just like him.

Maybe that’s why he felt sorry for the witch who whispered for him to kill her. Although they are two completely different people, light and darkness, warrior and witch, they look so alike that they felt like they were looking at their mirror image. Their hearts which both held dark futures were similar.

I also followed the boy around and kept thinking about my old self. I saw him as the witch, not as the young warrior. I saw a black-haired girl who was hurt by what people were saying and suffered from guilt and dripped blood from invisible blood.

It’s all because of me. I’m the culprit.

I saw a girl who said she only needed to die.

“No, it’s not because of you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

They were words said to the warrior, but the one who listened was the witch.

For the first time, the witch felt as if she had thrown off her shackles.

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