Chapter 25: The Weight of Survival

Because of her, the man died. The man, who would have gotten through the self-introduction without a problem if it weren’t for her, lost his life so painfully.

“Hwaaa…! Aaaah!”

Yeosu covered her ears with her hands and screamed, hunched over. Even that was just a small struggle in the shelter, already filled with cries.

‘If only I hadn’t used barbaric language! If only I had introduced myself properly! If only I had done it right, without trembling my voice foolishly, without stammering!’

The explosive regret pierced deep into her heart, giving birth to resentment she had never thought of before.

‘If only I hadn’t learned that wretched barbaric language!’

Would things have been different then? The man wouldn’t have died, and she wouldn’t have made a mistake.

Yeosu glared resentfully at her mother. Cheche’s eyes were also clouded with desolate sorrow. She didn’t know how to comfort the child and merely stroked Yeosu’s back awkwardly.

Soon, Yeosu’s gaze turned to the bag Cheche was holding. She knew what was inside without asking.

[Until now, I remembered. And now, Yeosu, it’s your turn.]

What Cheche had searched for so long. What she had obtained at a high price. And what she had cherished and protected even through this ordeal. Perhaps what she had taught Yeosu, knowing such a situation might come.

Her mother’s written reply and the middle-aged man’s final face overlapped. Yeosu’s eyes, filled with rage, finally closed.

‘Could I hate Mom? Could I hate her for that one language, for her who had desperately run away for my sake until now?’ In the end, the bad one was herself, who made the mistake.

Yeosu gripped her mother’s wrist with trembling hands.

“I, I, I’m the only one who survived. Ugh, only me, only me…!”

The common language she always pronounced clearly was horribly distorted. The sound simply wouldn’t come out clearly.

The anger, resentment, and guilt buried deep in her chest came together and choked Yeosu’s throat. She was breathing, but she wasn’t breathing life. She barely opened her eyes and looked at her mother’s face, which was already a mess of tears.

“I, I made a mistake, a mistake…! It’s all my, ugh, because I was s-so… mean…!”

From that day on, Yeosu began to stammer. It was the sin of causing an innocent person’s death by not even being able to introduce herself properly.

Only by thinking that way could she barely accept the guilt in her mind. Her resentment towards her mother, who taught her the barbaric language and urged her to remember, was also deeply suppressed beneath her throat, where the stammering illness had begun.

‘Then it’s done. This is it.’

Yeosu clung to her mother’s shoulder, who was embracing her, and forcibly swallowed her sobs. Then, over her mother’s shoulder, she saw the boy who couldn’t bring himself to wipe the blood of his dead father from his hands and simply buried his face in them.

She knew then. She wasn’t the only one afflicted.

Yeosu was in the darkness of the falling rain. The days of her short, eleven-year life flashed quickly before her eyes.

From birth, every few days or, at most, once a year, they would abandon their home and wander through the endless wilderness, searching for another place to live.

As an infant, she was held in her mother’s arms; once she could walk, she walked and walked on the parched ground without a drop of water.

Even after finally finding a home to take refuge in, she couldn’t let down her guard. It was an incinerator zone where plunder, human trafficking, and rape occurred more frequently than a newborn’s cries.

In this lawless land, ignored by anyone, even Juseong’s military, a single mother and a young girl were always vulnerable. Cheche was strong enough to fend them off, but the young Yeosu was not.

She spent most of her time inside the shelter, except for when she was digging for stones. The reason she didn’t get along well with her peers was that she hadn’t learned how to socialize with them.

Yeosu’s daily life, to put it mildly, was simple; to put it harshly, it was boring. She dug for stones, wiped the dirt off them, tidied the shelter, and occasionally went to the exchange with her mother to get food and water.

Yeosu was always a child hungry for affection. Even though her mother, past the age of eight, rarely extended her hand, she desperately craved love from that stern mother. She didn’t want to be hated by her mother. She wanted to do everything her mother asked.

Her mother was the only light in her constantly solitary shelter. She showed her the way. She effortlessly touched places her small hands couldn’t reach, and she chased away the children who bothered her, taking her place.

That’s why she liked reading books in Cheche’s embrace, even if they were written in a barbaric language.

And yet, there were many moments when she wanted to give up. She hated a life of constant flight as soon as she got even a little used to a place, she hated herself for instinctively flinching when she saw guards or human soldiers, she hated a life of eating dry cookies and fishy water for meals, she hated the daily grind of digging for stones until her hands were raw.

But each time, her mother’s words, to live long and remember, choked her like a noose around Yeosu’s neck.

‘Li-ve…’

Her mother told her to live again. Like the man who had died in her place someday. She already owed one life. Cruelly, Cheche added another life debt to her.

‘If only I hadn’t been born. If only I hadn’t existed. If only I hadn’t made that mistake…’

If only she had discovered the detonator in the transport vehicle a little earlier, her mother wouldn’t have died. She wouldn’t have been badly injured, and she would have easily eliminated a few human soldiers and rushed to her.

But her mother died. Again, because of her mistake. Again, because she was alive.

‘Mom. Mom. Mom!’

In the endlessly stretching darkness, Yeosu searched for Cheche. Her mother couldn’t speak. She had a large burn scar on her neck. So it was difficult to find her in such a dark place.

All she could do was desperately call out for her mother with a loud voice. And yet, she did not appear. Not until Yeosu’s throat was hoarse.

After wandering for a long time, Yeosu finally slumped to the ground. Thick raindrops poured over her shoulders. Her body trembled with cold. Her teeth chattered, and her vision blurred. All she could see was thick fog.

‘Li-ve…’

‘What if I’m tired now? What if I don’t want to live anymore? Mom, then what?’

[Yeosu. So you have to live long, very long. Until then.]

“No! I won’t! I’m tired now! It’s really hard! And, and…!” Yeosu, who had tightly pressed her lips for a moment, screamed as if exploding.

‘You died too, Mom!’

At that moment, something caught in her throat, scratching her esophagus and violently churning her insides. Her stomach was hot. It felt like she had accepted something she shouldn’t have.

Yeosu screamed at her mother’s voice echoing in her ears. The words her mother had tried to convey to her, even at the very moment of her death.

The command to live.

At that moment, Yeosu’s eyes snapped open.

“…!”

The first sense to return was hearing. Whoosh, the sound of heavy rain pouring down made Yeosu realize she was outside.

And then her sense of touch returned. She had been unconscious with her face pressed against something hard and cold. Her left ear was throbbing, and her left arm was numb.

Finally, with her sight and smell returning, Yeosu at last remembered why she was here.

Her mother’s stiff body, the strong smell of blood on her hands, and the bloodstains on her clothes, like large stains.

“I intended to hit the back of her head.”

The moment her memory revived was horrifying. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, seeing her mother’s eyes covered in sand. Had the sandstorm pitied her, wanting to close her eyes for her?

Yeosu blew gently on Cheche’s eyes to close her eyelids. She neatly swept back the hair clinging to her forehead, wet and matted, and carefully clasped her frozen hands over her belly. And yet, her mother’s face did not look peaceful.

Cheche still looked like she was in pain. The last moments, shot in the back and with her neck slit by a knife, were clearly etched on her face.

She seemed to be crying. Was it because of the fiercely pouring rain even now? Even with her eyes closed, she seemed to be sobbing as if infuriated by the injustice of leaving Yeosu alone.