The 1001 Flat World Tales

Lynn Listen to Podcast

Seoul, Rep. of Korea

Hailey stumbles to the window. Her eyes meet the unwelcoming murky sky, the gray streets, and the lifeless playground–all monochromatic. Her crest-fallen face gleams in the dark, and reflects against the cold glass. It blankly stares back, with eyes screaming lost hope and deep pain. Lips shut, hair disheveled, and hands streaked with tears, looking down is what causes Hailey pain the most–down at the hard ground, down at herself.

*
Doctor: “Hmm.”
Translation: I feel sorry for you.

Hailey: “So?”
Translation: Spit it out, doc.

Doctor: “There’s no complete cure for it. The most you can do is to take care of it, meaning that you can only relieve the symptoms.”
Translation: Too bad.

Hailey: “Oh.”
Translation: What?

Doctor: “You’re actually one of the mild cases. Some people cry in their sleep because their skin is too itchy.”
Translation: Be thankful, kiddo.

Hailey: “Oh.”
Translation: Is that all you are going to say?

‘Conclusion: take care, but give up,’ Hailey thought. ‘That’s all you want to say, doc.’ From the moment she held the prescription for ointments, she knew she wasn’t going to get much out of her doctor.

*
The teary-eyed reflection of Hailey idly stares back. Gazing down at the smooth benches, the shiny slides, and the polished swings, back and forth, Hailey shifts her view from her rough, blotchy skin to those impeccable objects. ‘Ironic,’ she thinks.

*
To Hailey’s parents, ointments, apparently, weren’t a trust-worthy source.

“She says it’s good for it.”
“How much is it?”
“20 man-won* for a month’s worth.”
“Eat it, Hailey. It’s vegetable powder. Tastes like vanilla ice-cream.”
It tasted like anything but vanilla ice-cream.

“Acupuncture is effective, you know.”
The next day, she’d find a therapist mumbling as she stuck pins into Hailey’s skin. Looking at the pins sticking out from the tip of her fingers to the side of her eyebrows, nausea was all Hailey could feel.

*
“It’s not so hard. Slide it open, and jump.”
Startled from the voice, Hailey looks around. No one is there.
‘I’m home alone,’ she thinks, ‘no one could have said that.’
She turns her head back to the murky window. She finds her reflection smiling.

*
Despite the endless efforts, Hailey’s skin remained the same. It got better, then worse, and then in between. “It’s not that bad,” her friends would tell her. “It actually got better over the years.” Hailey only rolled her eyes.

And then came the year in America, a special year to Hailey. She thought that, maybe, her skin would miraculously be cured and become that of Snow White’s (’did Snow White have perfect skin?’ she wondered) because she was going to be in Ohio, where it was less polluted than Seoul. Surprise, surprise: it even got worse.

*
Hailey feels her face with her fingers. Eyes swollen, lips turned down. It definitely isn’t a happy face.
“Idiot, of course you aren’t smiling.”
Hailey’s eyes grow wide.
“Why are you so surprised? I’m just part of you, after all.”
‘You’re not supposed to speak,’ Hailey thinks furiously, ‘You’re a mere reflection. Like a shadow on a window.’
“AM I? Really? I don’t think I’m much of a “mere” reflection.”
‘Then what are you?’
“You, of course. I’m part of you, like I said before.”

*
Hailey’s new American friends intentionally avoided talking about her skin. Nevertheless, there were times that Hailey casually brought the subject up.

“I think my skin got even worse.”
“Um, did it?”
“See, it wasn’t like this last week, but it’s just getting redder by the day.”
“Oh, really? Hey, what was today’s homework again?”
“Do you seriously not care about me?”
“No, it’s just that it’s personal. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Oh.”
Translation: Oh!

Despite how desert-dry Hailey’s skin had become, the year in America was a true bliss: she–and others–pretended not to see her skin at all. People kept their distance from her “problem,” especially her fellow students. Whether people were being sensitive or careless did not matter; the fact that they never mentioned her skin was enough to make Hailey grateful.

*
Dribbles of rain fall from the gloomy sky, breaking as they tap the window. The window quivers, and Hailey shudders.
‘You’re not me.’ Hailey thinks.
“Yes, I am. Look, there’s no point of arguing about this here. Now remember why you’re standing here, facing me.”
‘I don’t know. Why am I?’
“You moron, you’ve been tortured for the whole summer.”
‘Was I? I thought they were just being nice.’
“You call that nice?”
‘Yeah, maybe in their own way.’
“But it still hurt you, didn’t it? Didn’t that push you to this edge?”
‘Maybe. Or not. I don’t know. All I know is I’m about to crack. I’m not sure what to do now.’
“Maybe you just need help thinking?”

*
“Hey, I’m back!”
“Aww.. How nice to-”
Her aunt stopped in mid-sentence. Her eyes grew red.
“What happened to you?”
Was this her way of greeting?
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
Hailey toyed with the edge of her new shirt with her fingers, twisting the fabric, as if she was searching for an answer. She was not quite sure how to reply.

*
The reflection cackles, but its voice no longer sounds like Hailey. The high-pitched, bitter, and cold tone penetrates Hailey’s already-bursting head. Its diabolic laughter echoes in the room, mixed with the noise of the rain. The rain pounds against the window, thrusting its water drops against the hard window. The window shakes harder. The echo stops.
“Here’s my help.”
The reflection bares its teeth. With a screech, the reflection drowns the booming rain and the whirring wind. The window shudders, as if it were startled by the shriek. The screech continues, and the window is no longer able to withstand its force; the glass rumbles, cracks, and bursts into a million pieces. The rain penetrates the window and hits Hailey’s face, as she sees her reflection–and herself–break apart.

*
“You know, my nephew was like that too. And then we found this amazing remedy. All the other things were crap compared to this one. Try it.”
“You’ll get better. Don’t worry.”
” I’ll pray for you to get better. See, this is the right time to visit God, and grow close to him. Discover the meaning of your existence.”

Countless speeches to Hailey, explaining “how she just might get better,” and numerous accounts of their “nephew’s curing of atopy,” –often told with a glow of pride–were given to Hailey on a daily basis. Hailey could even recite few of the lines from the classic “God is near you” lecture that she was forced to listen every week or so. It was impossible to resist the strangers who had found Hailey easy enough to lecture–Hailey didn’t dare to be impolite. The speeches however, rose a new question in her mind: “Am I really that ugly?”

*
A distorted figure appears on the window. Half of its eye is on the edge of the window, its nose above it, and the ear below it. In the center is an enormous lip, speaking with a dry and raspy voice.
“Open,” the reflection croaks.
Hailey slides open the ugly window. The rail comes up to her chest.
“Climb.”
Hailey obediently grabs the rail, and feels the metal cool the sweat in her palms. The black sky rumbles as the late-summer rain pours onto her, soaking her face, soaking her body, soaking her soul. A crack of thunder causes an earthquake of horror in Hailey’s mind.

*
“What’s wrong with your skin?”
“Um..I have atopy.”
“Oh. You would have looked so much prettier without it.”
“…..”
“Class, be nice to this girl, okay?”
“…..”

What a talk to have in front of the whole class. The teacher had meant no harm; Hailey understood that she had meant to show that she cared for her. Hailey stumbled out of her seat, and ran–to the classroom door, through the empty halls, across the streets, and to the city bus stop. Tears silently dripping from her eyes, she caught her breath, wiped her eyes, and walked into the bus. She sat by the window.

*
The reflection no longer speaks. It merely encourages Hailey to climb the rail with its emotionless eyes. Hailey’s grip tightens, as she claws her way through the needles of rain and hoists herself onto the slippery rail. Suddenly, a bolt of light strikes the broken reflection. Shattered bits of glass fly everywhere, as the fragments drift through the violent wind and pierce Hailey’s skin. Drops of blood cover Hailey’s rough hands, as the particles tear them open, inch by inch.

*
On the bus, a wrinkly old lady with gray hair and another lady with an inch of make-up conversed as Hailey gloomily gawked at the dirty window. The old lady noticed Hailey, and shook her head.
“How hard it must be for that girl.”
The lady with caked-up make-up agreed.
“I know. How old are you?”
“Who, me? 15.”
“This company I work at has nice remedies for atopy. Here’s my number.”
Her smile, her pitying eyes, her hollow words–did she really care for Hailey?
“Come see me sometime with your mom. I’ll give you free samples.”
Hailey pushed her away as she burst into a full-blown break-down. Enough was enough–how did these people not realize that such simple comments could hurt her? How did they not realize that caring could break her heart?

*
Hailey holds onto the window rail. She stands above many roofs, many people, and many tears. In the chaos of the raging rind, the heavy rain, the flying particles of glass, she stares down at her bleeding hand to only find broken pieces of herself. She lets go of the rail, lifts her foot, and loses her balance. Her broken reflection is no longer there.

Fin.