Eighteen’s Bed

After the rain had cleared, only the dampness remained on the ground at dawn. As I descended the front steps, I found a dead centipede. Its movements—whether from rigor mortis or the final breath—made it look as though its many legs were pressing piano keys. I realized that this was the prelude to the tragic requiem that would soon hit this mansion.

Before heading to school, I glanced back at the mansion, shrouded in fog.

The centipedes started appearing three months ago. No matter how much we fumigated, they didn’t decrease. They were everywhere—sewers, every hidden corner inside this mansion. I moved my tongue over my sharp fangs, grinning wryly.

Soon, I’ll be eaten by bugs.

****

In my third year of middle school, Go Yohan heard a ridiculous story just before graduation.

It was when I was passionately ranting about Thomas Edison, the man who died a hero after committing every kind of evil. My rant was born out of the unspoken desires I had yet to express.

Is anyone watching? I cracked my knuckles and looked around. The classroom, where winter frost had crept in, was eerily quiet—so much so that it felt like something was about to happen. I heard the sound of my knuckles cracking and flinched.

"...Edison, that bastard, was already halfway gone in the head. I heard he fed hydrogen to a guy who wanted to fly."

I kept speaking while scanning the room, waiting for anyone to react. That was when I locked eyes with ‘Cheese,’ who had been watching me intently. He was the guy who ran a dairy business.

The class had already scattered, leaving just seven of us. It was the aftermath of nearing graduation. One person stubbornly stayed behind—Cheese. He had no double eyelids, and his swollen eyes burned with arrogance. He was like a torch lit in an instant.

I licked my lips, eyeing the mouse that had approached the trap, greedy for its fate.

"Kang Yohan, listen."

"Nothing."

"Stop messing around, you bastard. I'm being serious. Don't misunderstand, I’m really serious here."

"Serious?"

"...Do you like men?"

The mouse’s thin tail tapped the trap. The trap missed it. Damn. I bit my tongue in frustration.

"Me?"

But the food the mouse left behind looked too delicious.

Me? Had I really done that?

The hand that had been rubbing my lips dropped to my chin, sliding down and lightly poking my neck. It slid to the middle of my chest, clicking against my clavicle. That was fun. I squeezed the rotting cheese the mouse had left behind and twisted it. I flicked my chest with my bent finger and asked:

"Did I?"