The Great Storyteller

Edited by: SootyOwl

Another sheet of paper came down.

The sunlight shone between the pages. Once Juho opened his eyes after briefly closing them, all of the pages lay on the ground.

He picked the scattered pages up one by one. Every page had been filled with writing. There had been a character, a development, a background and a theme.

When he collected all of the pages, he saw there were enough to make up a medium- to full-length novel. Seeing how they had been neatly printed, it must have been a draft that had already been revised.

‘Who’d toss something like this?’ he thought as he brushed the dirt off.

He looked up in order to find out who the pages belonged to. There was a bridge and a pair of hands sticking out of it. The empty pair of hands was hanging loosely in the air.

“You could get fined for littering here,” Juho said with emphasis.

The hands in the air flinched, then a sigh followed.

“This damn world... Everything’s about money,” the person sounded depressed.

“I was just kidding,” Juho said to encourage him.

“... Who are you kid?”

“I’m a just a student who came out for a walk by the water. I’ve picked up all of your pages, so you won’t have to worry about being fined.”

“Why bother? It’s all trash,” the man said faintly. He was murmuring, but Juho couldn’t hear from where he was.

“I’ll bring it up to you. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Don’t bother. I’m leaving.”

Juho ignored him and went up to the bridge. Though the man could have left by the time Juho had made it up to the bridge, Juho still went after him. As he walked up the stairs, he saw the man on the bridge, looking just as depressed as he had sounded.

“Here ya go,” Juho said as he pulled out the stack of papers.

“They’re not mine,” the man answered as he looked briefly at the pages in Juho’s hand.

“Then, whose are they?”

“That’s what I want to ask. I’d like to know who’s responsible for writing a piece of crap like that,” he said with a self-deprecating snicker.

‘That’s one way to say yes,’ Juho thought.

“Are you a writer?” he asked.

“No,” the man answered.

“Then, are you aspiring to be one?”

“... a rather promising one at that,” the man said almost like an excuse.

“So, why the long face?”Juho asked as he nodded.

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m part of a Literature Club. My teacher always tells me and the other members that we have to pay attention to our surroundings if we want to be better writers.”

The man nodded as he looked down from the bridge.

“That’s right. You should stay alert at all times. My teacher said something similar, many times.”

“Sounds like we have similar teachers.”

“I don’t know. My teacher’s probably a lot more impressive,” he said like a child showing off his parents.

“Is that so? There’s a saying that a great pupil comes from a great teacher.”

“... That’s right. That’s why I said ‘promising.’”

‘Dang it,’ Juho thought. The man was back to his depressed state.

“I guess I might as well speak my mind while somebody’s actually listening. I’m going to regret this later, but whatever,” he said with a sigh as he quietly looked at Juho and, with that, he started sharing his story. “So, I competed in an essay contest, right?”

“Uh, huh.”

“It was a huge contest hosted by a big publishing company. Oh, wait, you’re in the Literature Club, so you should know. It was an opportunity to set my foot into the literary world.”

“Right.”

“That’s what I had been part of. I had seriously worked my butt off,” he emphasized. “I really worked hard. I wrote all day, everyday. Not only is my teacher a great person, but he’s also an amazing writer. I wanted to be just like him. I thought I had what it took.”

“And then?”

“Then, I didn’t make it. Like the pages I threw off the bridge,” he said as he looked down. His voice shook as if he were getting emotional.

‘He’s not crying, is he? He looks like he’s at least thirty,’ Juho chuckled.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

Juho put his arms up on the rail the man had been leaning on and felt its cold metal surface in his hand, piercing through his palm.

“You could always try again.”

He sighed deeply and said, “You’re right. It’s such an obvious answer, even to a kid like you. So, that’s what I did. When I didn’t make it to the finals, I started writing again.” His eyes turned to his pages. They had been proof of the challenge, and Juho followed his eyes to the stack of paper.

“Was it that bad?”

“... well, not THAT bad.”

Juho smiled at his timid objection. In the way he had tossed his composition away, that he complained to a high school whom he had never met before, and was now getting teary eyed, Juho saw his old self in that man.

He had been exactly the same way. He had been in a rut without knowing where to go. He had trembled without knowing what he should go toward.

“I need a drink,” the man said.

“That doesn’t sound wise.”

The man snickered at Juho’s answer.

“I’m an adult you know.”

“If you drink now, your legs will feel even weaker.”

“Legs?” He asked as he looked at his legs and then the bridge he was on. “Is this bridge shaking?” Then, he sighed deeply and said, “Don’t be like me when you grow up.”

“Why not? You have a promising talent.”

“That’s not everything.”

“Then?”

“It’s time.”

“Time? What time?”

“Do you know how many years I’ve spent as an aspiring writer with ‘promising talent?’”

“No.”

‘How would I know that? We’ve just met,’ Juho thought.

“Ten years.”

Ten years, it had been a long time.

“I’ve wanted to be an author ever since I was twenty. I came up to Seoul after getting into a university, and then I went to my teacher to become his pupil. I’m thirty now,” he said as he rubbed the handrail.

“Of course, I’ve tried a bunch of different jobs. I had to make a living, you know? I’ve even got myself a corporate job at one point with my friend’s recommendation. There wasn’t a whole lot of time to write, but it wasn’t half bad. The stable income really helped, but in the end, I came back to being an aspiring writer because I wanted to write. My teacher accepted me without any criticism.”

“But I guess I don’t have what it takes. It took me thirty years to realize that. I should’ve stayed at that company,” he added as he looked down.

“Do you regret your past?”

“There are plenty of people like me – people who don’t get past their aspiring stage. There are plenty of people who don’t realize that that’s not their path. Everyone who studied with my teacher around the same time as me gave up. They’re all busy trying to get all these licenses,” he gave Juho what sounded more like an excuse than an answer.

“It’s too late for me. There’s no hope for somebody like me,” he murmured and then added in a self-deprecating manner, “Well, how do you feel now? You really don’t want to be like me when you grow up, right?”

“I inherently can’t become someone I’m not.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t see why you’d want to be like me.”

It was as if he hadn’t even been listening to Juho. He was too exhausted to listen, to keep his ears open.

“Then who would YOU like to be?” Juho asked.

“Yun Woo,” he answered like a sigh.

‘Yun Woo?’

“Who?”

“Yun Woo? The author?”

‘How friendly of him,’ Juho thought as he remained quiet.

“Bookworms or not, I’m sure kids nowadays know who that is. He’s your age.”

“... I know who that is. Yun Woo, he’s famous.”

“Yep.”

‘Famous, huh?’

“Are you telling me to be famous?” Juho asked after a quick thought.

“It’s better than being a no-name, aspiring writer.”

“Is that right?”

He looked away at Juho’s bland answer. His expression had grown darker.

“You don’t seem all that excited. Oh, wait! Maybe it has something to do with your age. In that case, I understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jealousy, the sense of inferiority, and the sense that he’s different from you. The closer you are in age and field, the more you tend to be affected by emotions like those. Do you know when he debuted?” the man asked as he looked at Juho.

“He won a contest when he was sixteen.”

“That’s right, an essay contest. I was in that same contest.”

‘Huh. What are the odds?’ Juho thought.

Yun Woo had surpassed him. As a result, he had become a bestselling author while the man had remained an aspiring writer.

Juho scratched his head. Though he had initially come out for a break, he somehow ended up conversing with someone who had been made victim by his book. Of course, that man would never know.

After some brief contemplation, Juho looked at the man. ‘What’s his opinion of Yun Woo?’

Now was a good time, so Juho slowly opened his mouth, and said, “It must’ve been tough. He’s much younger.”

“That’s right. It burned quite a bit. I’ve probably written twice as much as that punk. I was confident too. I thought things would be different that time.”

“And then it didn’t work out.”

“This kid came out of nowhere and became a star. It must be nice being young. He’s got skills on top of that. He’s got it all.”

“Do you feel bitter about that?”

There was silence.

He smiled dejectedly as he looked down.

“If I did, I would be throwing pages of his book instead of my own.”

Juho looked at the stack of paper in his hand that had fallen on him.

“You should have. Why didn’t you? Why did you throw away your own work?”

“I may have been ‘aspiring’ for a while, but I’m still looking to be an author. I respect my books.”

“That’s admirable.”

“If I were in your shoes, I would have ripped up ‘The Trace of a Bird’ as I shouted from the top of my lungs, cursing out the judges. I probably would’ve ranted about them making poor choices too,” Juho said honestly. ”

He chuckled.

“I felt confident. I even got a good feedback from my teacher. I thought I was finally going to make it, but the reality was different. There was some kid who had just graduated from middle school in front of me. I couldn’t accept it.”

“But then?”

“But then it all made sense when I read his novel. He had something I didn’t. Themes and perspectives that I’d never even thought of. He wrote so calmly. I gave up as soon as I read it,” he said as he threw his hands into the air.

Juho kept his eyes fixed on those hands. That hadn’t been true. Yun Woo hadn’t been as great of a character as the man had described. Juho couldn’t bring himself to read through the book that he had written. It had been crude and foul. It had been no more than a mass of emotional remnants.

The difference in their perspective weighed on Juho’s shoulders.

“After that, I wasn’t happy with anything I wrote. This is it for me, throwing away my own composition off the bridge. You know what’s even more lame? Some student brought it back to me.”

“I’m sorry about that. That does sound kind of lame.”

“I’m regretting it now as we speak. I should have turned back when you still thought I was ‘admirable.’ I would have been able to live knowing that at least one person thought I was a somewhat decent human being,” he said with sad eyes.

Contrary to his sadness, Juho was smiling.

The man was funny. He seemed like a person who would throw himself at regrets.

If he hadn’t gone on, he would’ve been remembered as someone admirable. If he had been content with his corporate job, he would have remained happy. If he had stopped at his first attempt, he wouldn’t be in front of Juho, throwing away his work like trash.

Juho walked toward him. He had nothing to say as Yun Woo. Besides the man, there had been many others who had submitted their work. Among them, only one had received the award and debuted as an author. Everyone had pursued after such opportunity.

For that reason, as Juho, he had nothing to say.

However...

“Mister, if you really want to be admirable, you should respect your own writing too.”

As a student who had picked up his work from the ground, he did have something to say.