"The Bishop is more important than you think. It might seem just like that there rook, but I tell you, it is different."

—————

It is always different. Every single time. Is anything ever the same?

After watching my mother die, how am I suppose to feel? How am I suppose to think? How am I suppose to just go? It is so, so dumb really. This whole thing. Me, dying, is just stupid. Why did I have to die?

What did I do to deserve to this? What did she do to deserve that?

My mother, as far as I knew, had never harmed anyone. My father always talked about her in a glowing light. Like she was a lantern in a dark alley, or a piece of land in the middle of the ocean. She was wonderful. And even though I had never known her, I loved her. She could come back and tell me I was worthless and ugly and disappointing, but I would still love her because she put me on this earth.

Well, she put me on earth. Because now it is all gone.

And it is all because I am here. In this dumb white space, so long, so never ending. It is bland and it is dull. And though it use to be harsh and blinding, it just seemed lifeless. It truly was dead.

I was so angry. My mind and my heart was yet to be put at ease, and though we have been sitting here, in this vast white space, I could not calm down. Everything was just so agonizing. Every single ounce of hope and light I got just seemed to be a hoax, or an illusion. It was all an illusion.

Even Yeosang was probably an illusion. He was not even human. How could he understand? How could he feel? He just sat there, silently, staring into at dullness of this world. It made me mad.

I just wanted him to cry with me. Or do something other than talk about my death. And I knew he held my hand, and I knew he looked sad and sorrowful, but he was the one that just had to show me.

It was all his fault.

"It is all your fault." I say, slightly shocked at my own voice.

He too looked startled by the sudden noise, but quickly settled himself. "Maybe."

"Why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Just why, Yeosang. I'm not in the mood to play your dumb games."

"They're not games Seonghwa, and you know that. And to answer your question, it is life. You keep moving forward."

This answer had not shocked me. Of course he would say something like that. "What is there to move on to? Everything is over, and you know it."

Yeosang shrugged, "I don't know," he says quietly, "but you keep going on. Even here, we move forward. Time is everywhere."

"Time is everywhere," I repeated coldly.

Silence.

"Why did she die?" I asked lowly, so it would not be too loud.

Yeosang looked at his feet. He looked to be in thought, but then again, his face barely relays in emotions once so ever. "Everybody dies. It was her time, that's all."

"You took her."

This seemed to hurt the other boy. His brow had twitched, as he paused for a longer time than before.

"I can not control that. I told you this," he replies.

"But you were probably the one who had her in this place. Am I wrong?"

"So many people have died. I've had too many, and to be honest, I do not remember."

"Remember."

Yeosang looked to me, and raised an eyebrow. Yes, I know my statement was blunt, but he needs to remember. It would just be better.

"Remember what?" He questions.

"Remember her, please." I say.

"Seonghwa, she's not my memory. I cannot remember something that never happened to me. In time, we all forget things. This is time."

"But I need to know," I plead.

"Know what?"

"I just want to know if she talked about me, or something. I don't really know, there's just a feeling and I just want to know," and there was a feeling. The feeling felt overbearing almost. I did not know exactly what it was, it could have have been anything really. And I did not enjoy this feeling. It was quite hefty in size, as if I was being crushed by a thousand pounds of sand, and there was no way out.

"I understand."

"Do you really?"

Yeosang shook his head and looked away, "I'm trying to," is all he said.

I stayed silent, twisting the end of my shirt in my fingers. The slightly rough texture of the green material felt nice on my fingers. It distracted my hectic mind from the happenings of this place. It just made me feel nothing.

Death should be nothing.

Yet, here I was. This might be nothing, but it felt like something.

But as I sat there, yet again, the white space began to fizzle. The fragments of the pale world slowly chipped apart, creating different shapes and different pictures. Slowly, the world gained color, and formation. Concrete ground, with little booths and different shops on it. They surrounded a larger fountain that spewed cold, clear water. And the sun, oh the bright sun, it made it shine brightly, reflecting the colors of the small flower beds and the market banners, creating an abstract piece of art. Happy families, friends, and couples walked around, buying fruits and vegetables, bracelets and rings, tapestries and blankets. It was a market place, one I knew so well.

"Why are we here?" I ask, bewildered.

Yeosang, who was looking at the sun, slightly smiled. His face scrunched cutely, as he said, "To relive your life."

"I don't want to."

"Yes you do."

"No."

"Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "If all it's going to be is bad memories, I think I'll pass. Just let me wither away."

"Don't say such things," Yeosang said.

I raised a brow. "What are you going to do about it?"

Yeosang formed a thin, sharp line with his lips, and just shrugged. "You know Seonghwa, you act like a true child sometimes."

This statement shocked me. A child? Me? Ha! He wishes he could see me as a child. He wishes he could see me being playful. Now this might be childish, but all I want to do now is act like a child.

"Oh I'll show you a child," I mutter as I turn to stand in front of the smaller.

He only laughs emptily, before grabbing my shoulder and pushing me to the side, walking into the aisles of tiny market stands. I mutter a quick 'damnit' and follow after the fluffy hair boy, watching him bounce happily in the warm light. It hit his skin in all the right places, literally making him glow a golden color. He spun around, making sure I was following him, and of course the sunlight catches his eyes. They sparkles like the stars within a night sky, glittering beautifully. I felt so entranced by the shock of beauty.

Why does he have to be so pretty.

For some reason it just calms me. Even though I felt so angry earlier, now, I feel like an ice cube in the palm of a hand, slowly melting, become a liquid once more. Stupid Yeosang.

Stupid Yeosang for making me feel this way.

I walk a little faster to walk directly beside Yeosang. Him being shorter than me, made me really want to put my head on his. He was just so tiny and cute, and ugh, I have to stop.

"What are you looking at he?" He asked, looking up at me.

Unconsciously staring at him, I looked away, feeling a slight warmth on my face. Clearing my throat, i reply, "Uh... hm- nothing. Nothing at all. Not a thing." Technically he wasn't a thing.

Yeosang smirked at slightly laughed. "Okay mister."

"And why are you smirking?" I inquire.

He looks to me, playfulness in his eyes, "Who, me?"

"Who else."

Yeosang rolls his eyes, looking ahead. "You're bipolar."

"Bipolar?"

"Yes."

"Bipolar my ass."

This made Yeosang let out a snort, though a smile washed over his face. "I have no idea what that means but okay."

I say nothing back.

I'm suppose to be angry. Maybe I really am bipolar.

Earlier I blamed him for everything. Earlier I yelled at him for things he did not do. Earlier, I told him he was stupid and dumb and was mean. Earlier I was an asshole. My behavior was absolutely infuriating. How could he put up with it? Thinking of it made me feel regret I did not want to have. It was useless to feel this guilty, I mean come on, I was dead! And yet I just wanted to apologize, and yet again, I couldn't.

He was he, and I was I.

I was dead, and he was never alive.

So who cares.

Yeosang made his stop in front of a tiny booth with a worn down white sign and faded writing. Large barrels of wax roses sat in each, as well as a big table made for the making of them. An old man sat at that table, dipping the roses into some purple wax. He brought it out, twirling it in his frail fingers, watching the excess liquid closely as it felt back into the tub before him.

"Why are we here?" I ask.

And though I felt as if I should not talk to smaller, curiosity will be the death of me.

Gotta stop thinking that. Already dead. Oops.

"Haven't I told you before? We're reliving your life Seonghwa."

"Yes, but like, why are we at this shop?"

"Sigh, just pay attention quietly."

Pay attention quietly. Sure.

No longer in the mood for talking, I stopped. Though conversation kept me from thinking I felt the need to ponder. Watching the old man twirl the roses in his hand was truly magnificent. The way the wax would glitter in the sunlight was so entrancing. You could see the reflection of the man in them, almost like a mirror. People surrounded the shop, watching calmly. They bought their roses and moved along, happily. Looking to my left, I saw that Yeosang had disappeared again. This time it was not as shocking as the first, but still a little odd. It was more empty feeling this time.

But then I saw a little boy, maybe around five. He had brown, short hair, and wore a navy blue raincoat with some green knee shorts. He looked absolutely beatific, looking at the roses with such fascination. He was me.

It was a small tiny Seonghwa, and he made my heart hurt. He was smiling so purely, so happily, and made my heart hurt really, really bad. It would pang in agony, over and over, and I don't even know why though. I mean, I lived a great life, but for some reason, here, he looked of pure bliss. What made it worst though, was the hand he held, my dads.

My dad was not a very strikingly different looking person. He was average, almost too average, and people were able to forget him often. That did not matter though, he was my dad, and even though he did not speak as much as he probably should have, I know he loved me with a full heart. And I, myself, loved him too. He looked so longingly at the roses though, for some reason. His eyes looked so watery, and I didn't know why. It made my heart yearn to tell him it would be okay, but I knew he could not hear me.

Little Seonghwa, began reaching out though. He touched each rose in this large barrel, and smiled gracefully. Picking out a dark brown and lighter brown one, looking proud. It was a warm chocolate looking rose, and he held it to the sunlight as if to melt it. Little Seonghwa let go of my dad hand, and turned to look at him, grinning so wide. It made me smile actually, seeing how he was. Damn, I was cute.

Then the little boy said words, and memories flooded into my mind. "Look! It's like mommas eyes right? Just like you said, right? You said they were brown, so I picked a—"
but my dad was already crying. He was sobbing, almost hysterically, and people around looked in annoyance and in pity. Little Seonghwa looked shocked, stepping forward a little, and touch my dads sleeve. The older man though just snatched his arm away though, and shook his head.

"Put that back," he mumbled quietly.

But little Seonghwa did not want to. "I chose this for mommy though! I want to give it to her!"

My dad shook his head stiffly, almost as if he couldn't. It looked hard, and it was hard to watch.

"Please! It is not much money! We can get it, we can get it!" He said excitingly, holding it close to the older mans face, shaking it around.

"Seonghwa, I said, put it up." My dad said trying to grab the rose. Little me just took it and hid it though, hugging it in his tiny arms. Pouting, he looked at dad with large eyes, not understanding.

"No, I want to give it to mommy."

"We can't."

"We have to!"

"Seonghwa-" my dad tried, his voice getting weaker and weaker with each statement, he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, but the way he shook and the voice cracks he had, really gave away his sadness and darkness. I was merely a child though, so I persisted on, and on, and on.

"Let's just buy it, please dad, so when momma gets back we can give it to her."

Those words were the ones that broke my father. He fell to his knees slowly and bit his lip, looking to little me. His hooded eyes, unmasked at the time, showed a world of pain and agony. He knew what he had to do, and he knew he should have done it earlier. Though, he knew the lies he had fed me as a child, of my mom being in other countries, and that she was coming home, he was trying to believe himself. He really wanted her to come home.

My dad took me in his arms, and held me tight. He cried silently, the worst cry, into my hair. I did not know what was going on at the time, yet now, looking back, it hurt.

"She's dead."

I know.

Little me froze. He moved none, and sat unknowing what to do. He was five, and he had been told his mother was dead. Of course he knew what death was, and of course he knew what happened, but he had never experienced it. And someone as crucial as his mother was dead. What was he suppose to do.

He spun the brown rose in his tiny fingers, eyebrows scrunched, looking to my dad. "Dead?" He asked.

My dad put on a pathetic smile, and nodded. "Dead." He confirmed.

I felt a warm liquid trickle down my cheeks. Crying, I wiped it with my sleeve. My head yet again felt jumbled and heavy, and the world felt like it was spinning. It had been so long since I had went to this tiny market, and for this exact reason. This was where I found out I had no mother. All my friends had one, and I had told them all, 'I have one I have one! She has brown eyes that my dad loves and loves just like me!' And people loved that.

Looking back now though, when I talked of my mother before I knew, I realized the pained expressions of my dad face. Every time I asked when she was coming home, every time I talked about her so brightly, he would always zone off and look away. He was trying so, so hard, to keep me happy, that he was decomposing himself. And I hated that I was cause of this. I hated being a burden.

My dad took the rose gently, and walked to the cashier. He paid for it, tears in his eyes, and a weight on his heart, but he bought it. People looked in sympathy, but he payed no mind to it, and walked towards me. Little Seonghwa still stood, frozen, looking at the puddle of tears from my father, unmoving, almost as if he was not breathing.

My dad hand him the rose, curling my tiny fingers around it, as whispered gently to me, "Let's go see her."

That day, for the first time, I saw my mothers grave. It was fairly new, so the engravings and marble still looked pristine, but that was not what mattered. What mattered was that she was down there, and we were up here.

What mattered was that the sun seemed to no longer shine as brightly after that.

What mattered was that I no longer spoke of my mother.

What mattered was that my dad became deathly quiet.

And what mattered was that she was dead.

Again, I was five though, so I do not remember much, but I do remember the way my dad laid the wax rose down. He sat it so gently, so perfectly, as I stood a considerable amount away, still utterly confused. I was still confused till this age, but right now it did not mattered. Nothing mattered.

Slowly, the world faded away though. It felt nothing like watching my mother die, but it felt more empty. It felt like more had been snatched away this time, watching my dad cry and remembering the wax rose. Oh how insignificant that stupid little rose was, but to me it felt inseparable. It was an icon of my life, yet it was not at the same time. Stupid, stupid rose.

I was back in the white before I knew it. The long, white, room, and there stood Yeosang. Just like when I was five though, I looked more closely, and really saw how sad he looked. He was just like my dad, and that made everything worst. He was like me too though, and that made everything even more worst. We were all trapped.

He smiled, the same, pathetic one my dad used, and grabbed my hand. His hands were freezing, like an icecap in the Pacific Ocean, but it was nice. Saying nothing, and yet I said nothing too.

And just like the bishop in a game of chess, the world felt like it moved diagonally, and we yet again had moved into another memory.

_______

a/n: okay okay I'm a shit person and haven't updated in forever, but, who cares (probably a lot of people)

I've updated now! Woo! Celebrate!

I will try and do it more often, now that my life is surprisingly boring (I have a lot of free time coming up)

as always, have a wonderful afternoon, morning, night, day, whatever fucking time it is, and ciao!