Prologue

Sometimes I wish that it was the cliche and heartwarming sunlight that seeped through the wrecked curtain to be the first sight I witnessed in the morning. Nevertheless, I’m currently trapped in this shabby apartment that darkness forever resides in. I walk across the ground scattered with stains that appear to never vanish no matter the detergent or wiping I diligently put in.

“Of course, Ms. Elizabeth, I understand the seriousness of the matter. I promise that the rent will be paid in full if only just a fraction more of your precious time could be spared. I promise.”

The kettle is burning and raising a deafening cacophony, which is worsening as it is about to burst under extreme pressure. The blaring siren intensifies while my grip on the mobile is simultaneously building up. “Click.” I switch off the knob on the stove just at the moment when some bubbles are leaking out of the kettle.

“University enrollment? That would be perfect. There is not a matter that you should…” My voice suddenly comes to an end as I realize that half the water in the kettle is mistakenly poured onto the whole bottle of coffee beans. “Worry.” It frailly lingers in the hollow apartment.

There is no meaningful sound nor noise, aside from the irritated slamming of the door.

Someone’s elbow crashes onto my nose as he frantically exits the underground. Drips of blood are thus coming out of the nostril. “How would you describe the relationship among you, your siblings, and your parents?” Flashbacks of criticism appear instinctively and vividly, with the rhythmic sound of punching echoing in the corner of my mind, which I thought had already vanished years ago. “I’m not sure.” I rest on the excessively comfy couch before inhaling every ounce of air in this place. “Quite harmonious, if I must say.” That drip of crimson came down onto the ground, mirroring the past where I stood by myself in the midnight, mindlessly staring at the sealed door.

“Mister, is this yours?” A soft voice occurs beside me as the familiar muddled files occupy my vision once more. “Yes…” I return to the reality where death certificates, lists of bills and liabilities, and police reports are wrapped in the worn-out university admission offer. “Blackwood University?” She asks. “Yes…” I hesitate for a moment before properly replying since the hair dyed in various colors is more or less a little horrifying. “Sophomore, Roxy, Bachelor of Arts.” She extends her hand and offers a handshake. “Freshman, Victor, Bachelor of Arts…too.” “What a coincidence! Hopefully there’ll be more opportunities for our collaboration in some courses.” “That’ll be wonderful.” I reply hypocritically, even understanding that this is the kind of person who I find messy to talk to. “Oh… also my condolences.”

My previous gullibility on the topic went in vain when she suddenly ripped off the veil I kindly raised. She is the kind who I always find difficult to talk to.

The sizzling sound of the pans isn’t enough to drown out the overwhelming irritation in people’s shouting. I bathe in the smoke engulfing the entire place and the turmoil happening currently in the kitchen. Pupils locked onto the color of juices while my fingertips pressed in search of the correct doneness.

“Quite a day, isn’t it?” In the back alley, where even lights struggle to squeeze through in the night, my manager appears behind me while lighting a cigarette. While my mind strove for a corresponding response, I had already lost the moment. The elderly man covered in a white beard and vicissitudes sits tiredly beside me, speaking, “Take this, son,” when handing me a solid envelope. “Sorry, I thought that the paycheck was done through transferral?” Even though I do get a grip on the quite weighty envelope, I’m still stunned by the unusualness. He sighs a little, inhaling another breath of the addictive cigarette before continuing, “No, the paycheck is done through transferral; that’s correct. This is… a severance pay.” The understanding of the hidden meaning behind this envelope strikes my apprehension in the most critical place, where I stutter to carry on uttering, “Severance? I…I don’t understand…” “Son… our restaurant requires someone to be more…attentive, someone who will work at a certain frequency. Nevertheless, you’re…you’re a student. Your scheduling is… " He fails to complete the sentence.

“I understand.”

The creaking of the wooden door sounds emphatically annoying, especially at midnight when silence should take place. I carelessly toss my backpack onto the forever-stained ground before entirely collapsing onto the couch powerlessly. I gulp down bottles of coke, one after another, until that sickening sweetness gets me disgustingly nauseous in the end. I didn’t sleep or express my sentiments onto something, or whatever. I remain conscious until the sun arises, where its brilliance slowly pierces. Sometimes I wish that it was the cliche and heartwarming sunlight that seeped through this wrecked curtain that was the first sight I witnessed in the morning. Not this mess-up realization that a day is yet wasted once more.

“Last question before this session ends, Mr. Victor Blane. Are you okay?”