Set (셋) {I} (1/1)

Someone cries out from the far end of the beach, and I walk over slowly, much too slow for my liking. It feels like my feet are tied with large, large pieces of lead that refuse to come off, as stubborn as I am. I see two young boys standing amongst a pile of things reflecting light in all directions. On a closer look, they are glass pieces, broken into tiny tiny shards. One of the children had cut himself and was limping, his arm around the other kid as that little frame of a boy tried to carry most of his weight. I would have helped, except I have to rely on a walking stick just to stand. Age makes one frail, it’s something I dislike tremendously, yet cannot undo. That scene, the two children, it seems to stir up a distant memory, unclear pixels which don’t quite fit together, conjuring a blurry image. The flimsy picture disappears almost immediately.I move a few steps nearer, and lying close to the ebbing tides is a crumpled scroll of paper.  It takes a great deal of effort to bend down and retrieve it, the aching pain protesting, breaths coming out in short puffs of mist.The paper is brittle, its texture reminding me of the pages within a cheap notepad they used to sell, long long ago. I untie the string and attempt to smooth out the creases. The writing is faint and messy, slanting across the small piece of paper. Having eyes partially clouded by cataracts doesn’t help either. I bring the paper closer and adjust the heavy spectacles.Hyukjae, where are you?I’m happy now.Hyukjae? The name is familiar indeed, much like the scene. I try to remember, but thinking too much gives me a migraine. I start to make my way back, clutching the paper over the handle of my walking aid.