Perfect World

      He only saw him once, although that was by accident.         An absolutely ordinary trip to the capital in search of new things in the wardrobe. When Son had to come to this island, he had two T-shirts with him, only sweatpants that his mother handed him before going out, an anime sweatshirt and autumn Chelsea boots with sneakers. Things that Khan had only worn once before. All the loved ones stayed at home, gathering dust somewhere in the closet.         The holiday was all around him, and even for a second seeped into his aching heart. But the poison poisoned him instantly. So disgusting that you want to puke every second, seeing this happy European life around. Too vehement prejudices all over the planet go about the modernity and stability of the countries of the first world. It turns out they are the same. And their life is similar to the one he saw in his own country. Sometimes it's worse, sometimes it's better. But the fact that they live in a peaceful dome, he could not argue. Sheer truth. It's sickening and boring. They haven't seen a real cruel life. They didn't live in such conditions that Jisung found at his young age. Lucky ones.           Yes, and sometimes by himself already forgets about those nightmares that made him wake up with tears in his eyes in the middle of the night every two hours. Bitterness sits right in the mouth. Even spit, even sneeze by your nose, trying to swallow, it will not pass. Try a million sweets from all over the world, from which even the strongest will turn back, and still everything will remain.       And the fear for life will also remain. Han often asked this question: “How many people fall asleep with the understanding that tomorrow they may not wake up?”         He turned off his ever-working brain and just stood on the street, right at the entrance to a small store. He was waited for his mother and her friend to review and measure everything there.         Near the sea at dusk blurred. It isn't visible, but huge ships were moored at the moorings directly opposite the city. How the lighthouses reminded us that the embankment was in a couple of steps. You cannot jump and break on the rocks. He didn't even dream about it. Just wondered what it would be like to dive there, into the blue, into the dark waves.         In summer. Of course in the summer, not in the winter.           The sky is so purple, and the mountains are a little yellow. Are seeing off the sun, that means. Bus numbers are already brightly lit, they are striving for a long journey, but still capturing attention. Some bikes are standing on the aisle, and the greenery is swaying from the evening wind. Here even the leaves don't fall off in winter, they don't even turn yellow.         "Perfect world" - everyone dreams of it.         Han needs to be glad that he is in such a good place now. He was received warmly, there is housing and access to all amenities. But it's all so unreal. He feels like Barbie in a dollhouse with no way out.         There are too many people, they go and take pictures of the alley decorated with white garlands. Everyone is so different: a man next to his daughter smiles and walks by the hand, a married couple walks separately at the shop windows, three teenagers in grunge and hippie styles walked by with skateboards.       His hands are cold and pockets aren't warm at all. Feels like passers-by are staring at him. Why? Haven't you seen teenagers in a black coat with a displeased pensive face, standing still? Most likely, it only seems to him. Only a few glance, but in general, no one cares. They are now going through their own lives, different from Jisung's. Absolutely. And we will never know what the person who passed to meet had to endure.         Just like we will never understand each other, I guess.         Han turned at the sound of the rustling of packages and saw his mother coming out of the door that was hung with rain and bells on top. And immediately she gives something in hand.           — So, this is for you, — she handed the paper bag with uncomfortable hard handles to Son, zipping up her black purse.         — Where do we go? — hooked it with his little finger and began to shake it in his hand.         — Do you want to go somewhere else? — the second woman joined them, stuffing her money into her pocket.         — No, no, — he turned to the arch, where the main pandemonium was going on, but some had already fled somewhere. He headed in that direction, calling to women, who were passing something among themselves.           The desire to quickly return home, take a shower and go to bed, forgetting about all the worries and sudden oppressive thoughts. Holidays used to be better.       Slowly walking towards the station, Son carefully examined the signs of shops above his head and began to feel gravity again. Landing, understanding that what is happening to you is happening right now.       The faces nearby are faded, not memorable. Like NPS. Everyone just lives in the moment. Now they are in the crowd. Garlands shine directly into the eyes, a cold wind walks right behind the columns, where you can see the dark sea.           Jisung looks straight ahead, having time to look at people to the sides and sees something moving towards him. Black, on wheels. People disperse, giving way. Khan did not remember either the one who rolled the wheelchair, or the one who was near or followed him.         He continued to walk forward and lowered his gaze. And he met the gaze of the sculptural figure sitting in it.           Brown zip-up coat and black golf, knee-length shorts with a belt, black knitted leg warmers and platform sneakers.         And also dark curled hair, light ghostly skin and eyes looking back at him. Silent, like Son himself. Not tired, but with bags. Not angry, but resigned.           Perfect. And dead.         Teenager, maybe eighteen years old. And Jisung is seventeen.         The face is pale and the cheekbones are sharp. Lips in peach gloss, and the upper one is larger than the lower one. A necklace with colored bears hangs around his neck, plasters on his knees. The shadows didn't make the eyes teary, how Jisung liked to put on makeup like this sometimes. In the hands of a phone with a black matte case is held with a light grip, a few fingers. Even other people's hands on its wheels do not repel at all.           Those two seconds are like an eternity. Time has stopped running. Like the running processes in Han's head.         He looks down. These two live at different levels, and the difference is a meter. Why, then, does he seem to be able to see a naked soul in front of him? The soul of a passerby, a completely unknown person. A stranger without a gleam in his eye. There was absolutely nothing there, not even lights reflecting off reality.         In a second, he felt as if he had been talking to this guy for a whole day: he knows who he is, what he went through and whether he still has the strength to live. It looked like it was on his face. But this "is" looked as stretched as possible.           He knew the answers to all the questions that he could ask when meeting. Knew everything. What is his name, his favorite color and part of the year. And he knew everything. They didn't need words to understand each other.         It felt like they exchanged memories and conquered time by stopping it. No marks. No downplaying problems. Both of them lived long enough and now the guys are on an equal footing. Even if one is physically healthy, and the other is disabled. And how does this disabled person stand out. Aura is completely different. Passers-by take on a gray appearance, but this boy reach Jisung's heart and show his in response.           Probably, in reality, this moment has long passed and something else is happening around, but Jisung is still in the moment.       Even after the rumble of wheels sounded nearby and the shadow disappeared before his eyes, he was ready to turn around. And did it. Wonder, what would happen if that guy turned around too? Would he follow for Ariande's gossamer threads?           The dark top of the head turns back, peeking out from behind the back of an adult woman and instantly loses part of itself.           The wind freezes thin cheekbones, and the blue eyelids do not close. There is no time to even blink. Breath hitches with every second. They met each other, among passers-by in silence, beyond the horizon of the largest ocean, after three myriads. At an expensive boutique, somewhere behind a cafe. Under the amethyst sunset, in their pipe dreams.           They bowed clumsily to each other, leaned forward and crawled up. In a craving for happiness, near the ocher crowns of trees, on a deserted bridge. Calm itself caught up with their cravings, an inexplicable desire to be closer. And then even closer, and still. Until the end. A whole unfamiliar world conquered together.         And then they smiled and gave themselves up to the blizzards on the wasteland. They ran after each other, even though one of them couldn't walk. They would go where no human has gone before. In the sky, beyond the clouds. Became nature, climbed a snowy hill. And they disappeared into the air, mixed with a white blizzard, returned to where they came from. They began to give advice to the Big Dog, and when they were tired, they closed their eyes. The space took its own - the stardust that flowed in their veins.           So it would be. Or even more, better, more colorful. Maybe there would be silent dialogues, depressing silence, different life experiences and values. Would cut most of their life short.           This is how it would be, Han thinks, if their eyes met a second time. But they will never meet again.         Jisung has no idea if this moment was just as weightless, special for that guy. Would he remember him, would he attach importance to their fleeting glances, would he write a story about him in the third person? A story that will find its readers and fall in love with at least someone. There are eight billion people on Earth, will anyone read his story?           He only saw him once, although that was by accident.         But remembered. And it seems that he will never forget.