Tim Learn's Blog, page 5
February 28, 2017
End of February
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February 2017
Kept up certain trends this month as well. Maybe next month I’ll get back in the swing of things.
Books Read
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To start out with is a book I actually read last month but forgot to toss on the list: Mrs. Dalloway. It was a reread, as I had tackled this book back in university. At that time, I considered it the best book I’d ever read, and it still ranks up high, but I’d have to say the overall impact of the book as lessened. Still Woolf writes like no other. I can’t get her prose out of my head.
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The next book took me forever for my standards to finish. When I picked ‘Rich Man, Poor Man’ up from Bookbub, I thought it was going to be a quick read. Turns out this thing is roughly 600 to 700 pages long. Damn e-files! You never know what you’re going to get. However, I enjoyed it a lot, despite feeling like little progress was ever happening with my reading of it. Plainly, it’s just a good old-fashioned story with an epic look.
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Next on my list: Sex Object. I picked this up after finding a list for top 25 books all people should read about feminism. It’s essentially a little book filled with essays, broken into three sections. Clearly, she’s a powerful writer and shows a great viewpoint of what women have to go through on a daily basis, especially in NYC. I found some of the thoughts repulsing and shook my head in disbelief at what some people do. My only complaint about the book was the last third. I didn’t see what her having a kid really played into it all.
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Then…on to another reread: The Giver. I had to do this with one of my lower, slower classes. I originally read this eight years ago on request of my future wife. I forgot how short of a book it really is. Seriously, this book has a lot going on, but it is svelte. Still, the language and presentation was wonderful, even if my memories of it were better than the book itself fared as a whole. Scarily, I could see correlations between it and the Trump era we live in now. All books seem to do that to me nowadays.
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Followed by that, I read Amulet. My wife bought it for the kids, and I quickly read it—15 minutes before a class started. Overall, it’s good for a certain young age group, but it lacks that draw that other graphic novels hold. If anything, I’d advise to skip it. Read Bone. Read Smile. Read anything else. Even the drawings are lackluster compared to the other amount of fare that has flood the market recently.
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Then…another reread: Night. Elie Wiesel is awesome! I read this in high school, and had my kids read it now. They, too, loved it, especially when compared to Anne Frank. Where her diary rambles on for pages with little more than notations of daily events, this terse little book kept things moving and did it with force. Again, so much of it resounded with me seeing the current Trump milieu. After all, Wiesel is famous for saying that all bad men need is good men to sit by and do nothing.
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Lastly…another reread: The Bell Jar. I read this with my sole high school student. It’s a girl, so the strong feminist notions were perfect to talk to her about, especially as Korea is not particularly pro-gender equality. The disparity here feels to be reflected in this enjoyably written novel. I remember the first time I read this—in university—I felt it was quite a heavy, depressing book. This time around, I saw a lot more and didn’t find it so cloudy—though, the foreboding ending still gave me the shivers.
Progress on 2017 goals
Finish Crasher: I’m at 71,000 words now. That’s a bit behind schedule as I was hoping to be done. But with any luck, I’ll get the rest of it ironed out soon.
Read: Life: A Manual: 0 pages
The Fountainhead: 172 pages
Here I Am: 0 pages
Send ‘All the Things in the Unknown World’ to agents: Got it sent out to 110 this month alone, so a good and busy month. That’s a total of 151 so far. Awesome.
Next Month’s Agenda
I plan to tackle more of Ayn Rand’s big book, along with some of the light fare on my TBR. I recently picked up Bone Gap, which many have toted to be an amazing read. I hope it doesn’t disappoint. Also, I’m going to strive to finish Crasher so I can put it behind me and clean my head out.
February 19, 2017
January 2017
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January 2017
I’m a little behind on things here…but that might be a running theme this year when it comes to posting.
Books Read
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First read this month was Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library. Clearly, middle grade fodder, but it is pure fun and I loved how many classic books are scattered throughout. The only problem I had with it was that it tries very hard to be some kind of modern Willy Wonka, when really it’s just a lazy version for the new generation.
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The next book was the award-winning One Came Home, whose premise seemed exciting, but really didn’t live up to its hype. Don’t get me wrong, it had its moments, but overall, it tried to hard with its sometimes flowery, repetitive language and rehashing of plot points. I did like the historical context and the basic story, but it was weak considering its flaws.
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That was followed by Mosquitoland. I’d have to say here’s another example of why YA sucks. I don’t understand why this book got all the hype that it did. The teen in it feels so fake and played-out. If this is the type of character teens nowadays relate to, I’m happy to no longer be one. Besides that, the story was so slipshod in its structure. Though there were some great scenes, the underlying momentum that tied the scenes together were hard to believe.
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So to level things off, I dove into a classic 1984. This was re-read with my students, but with Trump in office, it felt just as pertinent as ever. A thousand lines from it remind me of the lies and the misleading rhetoric we hear nowadays. I can see why it has suddenly rocketed into the top ten on Amazon. The strange thing is, I didn’t read this because of Trump, but it is all too eerily similar.
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Then came And Then There Were One. I’ve been meaning to read Agatha Christie for years and finally got around to it. For this reason, it was fast and enjoyable, but seeing she’s been a part of our culture for a while, I can see why it didn’t feel very new. I mean, she made murder mysteries what they are, so when it was written I can see it blowing people’s hair back. Nonetheless, I enjoyed it.
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Lastly, I took on a modern day murder mystery with Salvation of a Saint. It’s written by Keiko Higashino. Thought it’s no Murakami, it is light, tricky, and fun. I love the main detective and the inside-look at how things work in Japan when it comes to crime. Sadly, having read one from him before, I’ve somewhat figured out his style; however, in no way does that detract from the mystery which is superbly done.
Progress on 2017 goals
Finish Crasher: I’m at 50,000 words, so the home stretch. I hope to finish it next month.
Read ‘Life: A Manual,’ ‘The Fountainhead,’ and ‘Here I Am.’: Nothing here yet.
Send ‘All the Things in the Unknown World’ to agents: 41 so far. Awesome.
Next Month’s Agenda
I hope to start one of the large books on my TBR, and get more queries sent to agents. I’ve update my query letter so I hope that leads to something, and if luck holds out, I should complete Crasher.
January 30, 2017
A Look Back at My Reading List (2016 Part 6: Graphic Novels)
A Look Back at My Reading List (2016 Part 6: Graphic Novels)
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This category jumped up much this year. Not only was I buying them for students to read, but I really enjoy the break a graphic novel can give after reading heavy adult books or whiny teen books. My biggest wish is that many of the aspects of other books were put into this genre, though I did enjoy a lot of them.
Ultimately, I read 12. That’s roughly one a month. And on top of that, it takes little time to sift through one of them, usually a day—two tops. This is also the allure of the graphic novel, if not the awesome pictures and mood if done well.
Here they are:
January 26, 2017
Revisiting Bad Writing: Comparisons
Comparisons
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As Buddhists say, “Comparisons are the root of all evil.” And despite bad judgment, the rule to follow for parents of multiple children. So, too, for an aspiring ‘anything,’ this is a golden rule too quickly forgotten. We draw comparisons between ourselves and every expert we come across. It is best not to put ourselves up against others because it is truly hard to compare anything as a whole. So the rule is: don’t compare. But should it be?
Recently, I started reading a wonderful book by a self-published author. Every line is terse and bitter in the best way. And worse of all, the next line is the same. I could get down about this, but instead, I noticed something else, which was, for this author, not always true. Among the self-published books I’ve read, certain authors interest me and I find myself reading more of their work and I notice the one comparison many fledglings overlook: themselves.
The author above’s first works were immature and highly stereotypical, but with his newest one, he had grown—a lot! The same is true with another writer I converse with. Her first book was riddled with basic errors—shifting voice, flat dialogue, and big info dumps—but on her second time around, it was easy to see a tighter, more controlled narrative. She had figured some things out!
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This should not be surprising. Even looking back on my own work, I’ve noticed more concise sentences and sharper grammar than before. It’s an uphill battle, though, and too often we keep eyeing the peak while ignoring the progress we’ve made. It gets even harder the higher we go. Like learning a new language, the first change is so immediate it is easy to spot, but as we go up in levels our rate of improvement is sometimes harder to determine. It’s there, but we don’t see the fine shade it has grown into.
In this way, I feel comparisons aren’t so bad. We’re not trying to beat those long vetted professionals. We haven’t played the game enough. But beating ourselves every step of the way isn’t as gargantuan as the other options seem. Seeing how much you sucked before can only be a booster for you to keep working hard.
January 25, 2017
Chapter Thursdays: Chewy Noh and the Legends of Spring / Chapter 8
8
-Chewy-
“First of all, I have to thank you,” she said, her eyes glowing with praise and moonlight. “The way you got rid of Gangnim for us was wonderful. He was a bother to no end, and we can’t thank you enough.”
Chewy furrowed his brow. “We?”
“Why, of course! We pin-holders,” she said, raising the pin back up to his face. “There are quite a few of us, and you made our lives much easier. They speak of you as a legend.”
He stared at her toothy grin. A legend? Chewy couldn’t believe it. He wondered how many more of these pin-holders there were but realized he had a much more pressing question to ask. “Then who are you really?”
She shrugged, her baggy clothes lifting and falling with the movement. “I’ve been many things and had many names before, and will probably do so many times after. At this moment, I’m Yu-mi. That’s all you need to know.”
Chewy squeezed one eye shot, saying, “So you’re like…how old?”
She slammed her hand down and Chewy jumped, gripping his chair in shock.
“It doesn’t matter how old a woman is—you should never ask her that question!” she yelped.
Chewy whispered a “sorry” and bowed in respect. She waved it away, her face returning to its mix of curiosity and distrust.
“But manners aside,” she said with a flick of her wrist, “let’s just say without me, King Se-jeong the Great would’ve never come up with the idea for the Korean letter system.”
To this, she triumphantly crossed her arms, and Chewy raised an eyebrow. It was true, this woman was old, but even living forever didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little batty.
Then, suddenly she bobbed her head around looking at him, stopping finally to glare right into his eyes. “Where’s your pin?” she demanded.
Flustered, Chewy scrambled to his pocket and got it out to show her, thinking it was some sign of membership. It wasn’t, but seeing it, she made clicking sounds with her mouth and shook her head as if Chewy had just failed the most important test in school.
“This is what goes for a legend nowadays?” she screeched. “Never have it in your pocket, boy! The next thing you know, you take your clothes off for a shower and you’re surrounded by sajas. Always keep it around your neck. Much harder to lose that way.”
She held her pin out for him to see again, and then continued.
“And fair warning—don’t use twine. I did once for over three hundred years, only to have the damn thing unravel from around my neck. Thank God there was a monsoon going on. The sajas were so busy they didn’t even notice me till I got it back again.” She leaned forward, showing the string her pin was wound on. “Micro-fiber—strongest thing on earth. Should get yourself some as well.”
Chewy looked back at his pin and then to her, whispering a “thanks.”
She waved another exaggerated hand at him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s what we do, you know. From time to time, we bump into another pin-holder, sit down, trade secrets and then go our ways. And I mean exactly that,” she said, tilting her head to show the seriousness of the situation. “Once we’re done here, don’t expect to find me around anymore. You should probably do the same.”
“Why is that?” Chewy asked, sticking out his lips. This was beginning to sound kind of interesting—being a part of a secret club of death-dodgers.
With an evil glare, she held a bony finger up in the air. “You never know when one of us pin-holders has been turned. Yeomra’s full of tricks.”
Chewy’s mouth dropped open. “You know Yeomra?”
“Of course! All pin-holders do! When something otherworldly is out to get you, you make it your business to know what’s going on. It’s a requirement.”
Chewy brooded over her words for a second. Maybe this old lady couldn’t explain the damaged door, but she seemed to be in possession of something else Chewy needed to know.
He leaned forward. “You know anything about other gods?”
She shrugged. “Like what?”
Chewy wrinkled his brow, thinking of the best way to approach it. “When I was in the underground—”
She slammed her hands down again, startling him. “You went to the underground…and came back—alive!?”
Chewy nodded slowly, hoping this kept her calm.
“Legend, indeed!” she muttered to herself, eyeing him like a distrustful tiger. “Haven’t heard of such a thing since…what was his name then—Tong Pangsak?”
Chewy tilted his head, squinting. It looked like keeping her on topic wasn’t going to be easy.
“Anyways,” he restarted, “I was down there, and Yeomra told me the door god was behind all the bad things happening to me. The only thing is, up until that moment, I thought he was kind of on my side.”
She snorted and said, “Don’t believe him!” She scrunched up one cheek, half closing the eye above it. “Everything out of Yeomra’s mouth is a lie.”
Chewy shook his head and said, “Not this time. My grandmother fed him some tea with a truth flower in it. He can’t lie anymore.”
The old woman’s face went blank. “Your grandmother…you mean little Sae Rim from down the road?”
Chewy nodded slowly again, and the old woman fluttered her eyes in disbelief, saying, “A family of legends—amazing!”
Chewy watched her for a little longer before interjecting. He was beginning to think living for too long messed with your head somehow.
“So…do you know anything?”
To this, she snapped back to attention and pursed her lips as she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Not a lot,” she started, and held a finger up to hold him off, “but I can tell you this: it’s best to avoid gods whenever you can. You don’t want to get in their way.”
“How so?” Chewy leaned in as he felt they were finally getting somewhere.
“The first thing you’ve got to understand is all gods have a function. They’re bound to them which means if you’re having a problem with one, you most likely have gotten yourself in its business.”
Despite her going quiet for a second, her squinted eyes and long distant stare seemed to tell Chewy there was more. He was right and she suddenly shook herself as if waking from a dream.
“They’re not like us, you know. We can change our minds—some of us, at least. We can do things differently. But they—they’re held in by laws. They do what they’re supposed to do.” She curled up her lips in disgust. “Like looking at the world in only one way.”
At this, she stuck out her tongue as if a bad taste had infected her mouth. To Chewy, she looked like a strange fish. Finally, she stopped her abnormal gagging motions and turned her eyes back on him.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Her manner was getting progressively more and more unusual as if she were slowly falling apart right in front of him.
“Of course!” she snapped, and then lowered herself close to the tabletop and with a whisper, said, “Are you saying you don’t see it?”
Chewy peered around the room. “See what?”
She laced her fingers together and slid them under her chin on the table. Her elbows stretched to the corners. “Keep forgetting how new you are to all of this. I don’t often meet ones like you.”
He looked at her with question marks in his eyes, waiting for her to continue. Finally, she did with a great sigh.
“You see, short-lifers—non-pin-holders—their senses are attuned to the immediate. All they care about is their life and that’s it. When it’s done, it’s done.”
To this, she sat up and clapped her hands, wiping them as if doing a job well done. Then she crouched over again, keeping her head low. “But one’s like us—with a long enough lifespan—we begin to develop a longer range of vision.”
“You mean like seeing the future?” Chewy said, a grin growing on his face. She quickly stopped its growth with a sharp finger to his nose.
“No! We’re no mu-dangs. Nor would we want to be.” She extracted her finger and continued. “We pick up trends—patterns, really—in the way things work. For this reason, we can tell when good things are about to happen and when…”
She trailed off, allowing Chewy to finish the thought by himself before picking up once more.
“And when it comes to you, Mr. Noh, I don’t see good things coming. In fact, I see something else that it appears you’re not aware of.”
Chewy shook his head, lowering his eyes. “No, I know it—my family curse. I’ve been trying to get it rid of it, but it just keeps getting more and more complicated.”
She stared at him wide-eyed, and he leaned back, thinking she was casting a spell on him or something. He lifted his shoulders and said, “What?”
“No…a curse, it is not.” She pulled herself every so slightly closer, keeping hers eyes wide and upon him. “No, I see something much worse. Two things seem to be following you, Mr. Noh, and one of them you already know of.”
That was all Chewy needed to hear. He knew who she was referring to—Seagull. And he had a pretty good guess what had happened.
After he had used the resurrection flower to escape Yeomra’s realm, the flower stayed down there for anyone to see. All Seagull’s ghost had to do was look down and he’d be whisked back to earth just the same.
The question was: who was this other stalker of his—this man in his bedroom window?
Noticing she had stopped talking, Chewy looked up. She was watching him.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she said with a wink. “I can also see that if you aren’t careful, you’re going to end up dead—again.”
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January 24, 2017
Why We Write?
Why We Write?
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While wrestling with my students on why they should write—at all—I came upon a quote from Plato’s Phaedrus that helped me understand what exactly I wanted to express to them. In it, Teuth explains how he invented writing and Thamus is giving his critique of this new invention.
‘Those who acquire it [writing] will cease to exercise their memory and become forgetful…they will receive a quantity of information without proper instruction, and in consequence be thought very knowledgeable when they are for the most part quite ignorant.’
A lot of what he says about writing is true. By writing it down, or finding it in books, our skill at recalling information has probably atrophied a bit. Not to mention, the dangerous notion that most any teenager can relate to having read a book that seemingly changes one’s life forever—or at least until the next week’s required reading does so again. But where Thamus goes astray is that he is really critiquing reading.
Writing, on the other hand, is distinctly different. Though reading may boast itself as a solo task, done by individuals and not quite as good when done together, it truly isn’t. The experience of reading is quite often shared afterwards in talking of what one had read. Writing cannot be spread around in this way. It is truly an individual experience because as the writer sets the words down, in their strict thoughtful manner, no one else can join in, feeling the flow of words and the focused direction of thought.
When one concentrates on writing—whether it be fiction of non-fiction, a letter or an essay—you begin to see something form, an amorphous message or idea that forces itself upon you to be not only reviewed, but further chewed as you nitpick the structure of sentences with their word choices and order. It is not reflective, like reading, it is honed thinking, almost in the ilk of meditation, focused and precise like a beam of light.
This may be why so many writers claim astonishment at their final product, claiming it could not have come from them. The end result is refined and bare, but clean of all the normal, everyday flotsam. Normal thinking is so topical and lacking in depth that when anyone writes, they must dig deeper, striving for something of more substance; otherwise, it is not real writing.
For the reader, Thamus was right, it offers little, but for those who write…
January 23, 2017
A Look Back at My Reading List (2016 Part 5: Indies)
A Look Back at My Reading List (2016 Part 5: Indies)
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I already know I’ll be disappointed here and not for the reasons you’d think. Although indie authors come with a whole boat load of problems—from bad editing to horrible dialog (though that can be said for YA as well) to shoddy plotting—the real reason I’m saddened here is that I actually read much more of them last year. I think I enjoy them because they’re not professionally published. When indies really suck, then you know why. When published books suck—like many do—there’s little reasoning as to why they were printed in the first place.
My number for this category came to 9. That’s compared to last years 30. Clearly, a stark drop. Why such a large change? I think a little bit I got bogged down in my own writing and a dip in confidence seeing little reaction to these kinds of books. Also, finding newer ones that weren’t masqueraded as something else was a bit harder. I hope to up this number next year if possible.
Here they are:
January 19, 2017
Revisiting Grammar: Repetition
Repetition
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This is maybe one thing in writing that too often goes unnoticed, but many writers nowadays seem to overlook the strengths and usually weaknesses of repetition. Is it all bad—no! Is it good—resoundingly no! So let me explain.
Most people tackle editing with the sole desire to route out those pesky grammar problems and other subtle inaccuracies in their stories. The sad thing is they often overlook the most glaring offense of all. Repetition is probably the most jarring aspect of bad writing for me. I ruthless scour my manuscripts for unintentional verbal echoes, and I berate my students for not doing the same. At least for them, there’s an excuse. The Korean language doesn’t mind so much repeated words and phrases. The language has many redundancies in sound and stucture, so it is expected. But when native English speakers blantantly sidestep it, I find it irreprehensible.
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Now, I know what you’re saying, the English language, too, has many words that repeat. In fact, the most commonly used word in English is the word, ‘the.’ My last sentence had it twice (if you don’t count the word itself.) But I’m not talking about that.
Even when it comes to basic story functions, the word ‘said’ is preferred above others to keep it plain and straightforward. Again, fine! It’s okay. What I’m talking about it the consistant use of certain specific words in an arbitrary manner.
Arbitrary? Well, sometimes to create atmosphere or enforce theme, an author will use certain words in repetition to highlight elements that are important. Perfectly fine. But arbitrary usage is wrong, and easy to spot.
While reading, if I notice the use of a word, let’s say ‘bulgy’, over and over again, I begin to question the author’s reasoning for using it. This is what any trained reader does. They question the text. For example:
His backpack was bulgy. (p.11)
His friend waved happily, a big smile on his bulgy cheeks. (p.12)
Walking away, Frank could see the bulge of something in the man’s pocket. (p.12)
Here ‘bulgy’ or a variant is used in too close a proximity. For this reason, I would question it. Is the theme of the story ‘bulgy?’ Does the author think ‘bulgy’ is something I should pay attention to? In the end, no! It’s just the first word that popped into his head as he wrote. Nothing else.
Then should we avoid repetition altogether? No, like I said, it does show emphasis, like the famous line:
A rose is a rose is rose.
It tells us something is important here. You just don’t want to shove importance upon us, the readers, unless it is important.
And I know—it can be hard. But that’ s what editing is there for. In the end, don’t just look at the grammar.
January 18, 2017
Chapter Thursdays: Chewy Noh and the March of Death / Chapter 7
7
Unexpected Side Effects
-Clint-
Walking into the room, Clint and Chewy found Kent staring around as if in a foreign land.
“Why the hell do you have levers next to all your doors?” he asked, rubbing the shoulder his sling hung on.
Clint slipped over next to the closet to keep Kent at a maximum distance, and then he watched Chewy go over and drape himself on the bed. Clint couldn’t believe he was being so relaxed about this.
“It’s an old house,” Chewy said, nonchalantly. “The doors jam sometimes.”
Clint marveled at Chewy’s bravado. He came up with the lie so naturally. Inside, Clint wished they could say otherwise. He had built them after all to open the doors from the other side so that they didn’t get trapped in the room by the door bridges. But he could do little bragging about it without having to explain way too much more.
“Only you?” Chewy lazily drawled out from the bed.
“What do you mean?” Kent said, dropping his large eyebrows.
“Tom’s fine—no injuries?”
“Of course not! Why do you think I’m here?” Kent said, holding his one good arm out. “That lummox has no idea.”
With that, Clint forgot his anger, realizing something was going on here.
“You said this started about a week ago?” Clint glanced at Chewy who had lifted an eyebrow of interest.
“The major injuries…yes,” Kent replied.
Clint squinted. It was all beginning to make sense. “Yes? So you had problems even earlier?”
Kent shoved out his lips. He didn’t seem to trust either of them.
“Maybe,” he opened with before deciding it’d be okay. “Like three weeks ago.”
The test—that was it! It all started when Chewy had lost his power—well, not really lost it. Clint had to wish it away to save his best friend from expulsion for cheating, but he had a feeling it was somehow connected.
Clint began nodding causing Chewy to sit up in bed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Don’t you see? That was when everything started going downhill for you too,” Clint said. “I think I understand what’s going on now.”
He smiled only to find the two other individuals in the room staring at him with questioning glares. He put up his hands to signal that he’d explain and moved into the middle of the room, feeling slightly braver.
“Kent wished to be better than you at everything. By doing that, his abilities became linked to yours. If you were the best, he was just a little better. But if you somehow ended up becoming the worst…” he trailed off, letting them connect the dots.
“Are you saying,” Kent growled, pointing a strict finger at Chewy, “that because he now sucks, I suck too.”
Chewy began giggling on his bed, drawing both of their attentions before he was able to squeak out his words.
“Close,” he said, wiping away some tears. “But not exactly. I suck so you suck just a little bit less than me.”
Chewy broke into a fit of giggles again, causing Kent to snap.
“Then what are you laughing at?”
Chewy swallowed hard to control himself. “Because it all makes sense now. Last week, right around when all your accidents started, I was informed that by this Wednesday I would be dead. And what’s only slightly worse than that?”
Clint’s face went flat with disbelief, but Chewy was right. What was one step better than dying—getting every bone broken? Being a walking calamity of accidents? If that were true, it seemed to say there was little either Clint or Chewy could do to stop the event on Wednesday from happening. And his anger began to rise thinking of Chewy’s overwhelming confidence.
Before he could finish this thought, a thump rang out behind him.
Clint spun around, seeing a large man dressed in a billowing, black robe as if wearing a cape, and a broad black hat. After the ghost had attacked them earlier that winter, Chewy showed Clint many pictures of Korean spirits and ancient gods. This man looked eerily familiar like an old time solider complete to the last detail, including the shiny sword glinting in his right hand.
In a second, Clint’s brain turned off, and he lunged for the door, slamming it shut. He heard his own voice yell out, “Chewy!” And then, he swung the door back open, revealing a long black corridor and dove in.
He hit the ground hard, staring down into a sea of black. For this reason, door bridges always freaked him out. It was like walking across an endless pit without falling. But he pushed all of this away, flipping over just in time to catch Chewy jumping on top of him.
Both screamed from the collision but quickly realized neither was injured. It was more so out of fear than pain. They scrambled to their knees and stared out the open door bridge at Kent who had turned white seeing both of them disappear right in front of a large Korean man.
The man stepped into the room, and Kent began throwing things aside—the desk chair, blankets and pillows—to get as far away as possible. His injuries, however, made it difficult, and he fell to the ground, slamming his already broken arm on the floor. The crack of the cast breaking made both Clint and Chewy cringe as they watched on.
Clint tried saying something but his voice didn’t seem to work. Luckily, Chewy’s did.
“Don’t worry. He should be okay. Remember it’s me they want.”
Clint nodded, but this didn’t seem to stop his heart from thrashing around inside. Then the man in the room shifted his head to the side, almost as if looking backward to where they were hidden. Clint knew the door bridge kept them out of sight, but it seemed like this specter wanted them to see something.
The man’s eyes narrowed, and then he lifted the sword above Kent who was frozen in fear. Clint wished Kent would’ve made some kind of sound—anything—then maybe the man would leave.
At that moment, the soldier twisted his arm and drove the blade of his sword right through Kent’s chest. Kent’s head uplifted for a second as if to meet the thrust, and his eyes bulged either in pain or disbelief before collapsing to the floor. A moan escaped his body as it stopped moving.
Retracting his blade, the solider held the sword up as if to admire it, holding it in clear sight for both of them to see. It had no blood, but Kent’s body still wasn’t moving. And the soldier turned toward them and walked out the door, leaving the room empty.
For the first few seconds, neither spoke, but just stared at Kent’s lifeless body before Clint was able to muster enough of his voice back.
“How?”
Next to him, Chewy swallowed hard, his eyes focused on the body in front of them.
“I don’t know,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
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