Warmth
Emily Kim
I sit softly at the edge of my worn out
couch that is adorned with tattered,
almost archaic leather. The leather feels
cool and comforting under the weight
of my body, providing me with a sense
of familiarity. It was a family possession
of many generations, the only source
of attachment I had with my long gone
father, grandfather, and great grandfather.
I watch the ticking hands of the
grandfather clock race away. It’s 7:50 PM.
Soon, it’ll be 8PM.
Graphic Design by Jinwoo Lee
As usual, the park one block down from
my old, tin roofed house is festive. I can
hear the booming music, as the sounds
resonate and frolic to my doorsteps, and
the peoples’ laughter that all erupts like
firecrackers. It was dynamic, vivacious,
and colorful there, a stark contrast to
the dark blue paint peeling off of my old
house. At 8PM, the weekly Saturday
fireworks will break out above the cheerful
and cheering people below.
18
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Ding. The grandfather clock cabinet door
opens and shuts quickly eight times,
continuously ringing, to signify the time.
It’s eight o’clock, and as promised, the
thunderous sounds of the fireworks soon
fill the air. I slowly struggle to get up, then
gaze out the window to see the vibrant
array of colors that now decorate the
pitch-dark night sky. They almost look like
flowers, like blooming blossoms.
They all say that fireworks bring
with them a sense of warmth and
love; that the spirited colors remind
them of the beauty of the world, that
the celebratory act of watching the
fireworks during Fourth of July parades
and New Year celebrations brings them
closer to their families, and for some,
that the lights awaken them to the fiery
and blazing passion within them. But to
me they’re cold. They’re lonely. As I sit
cooped up at my shabby and shivering
home, I have one to celebrate with—
no parents, no children, no friends. Not
even a casual romantic lover.
I go back to the couch and lay down.
My hands slowly and smoothly
caress the leather of the couch as I
despondently wonder who this couch
will end up with. Probably a stranger
with no familial affiliations. Or maybe,
if I’m lucky, a long lost aunt or niece.
I shut my eyes to fall asleep. It’s now
only 8:15PM, but I figure I have nothing
else to do. The brilliant lights outside
seep through the half-shut, diaphanous
curtains of my windows and dance on
the surface of my eyelids. It’s too bright
to sleep.
I reason that going on a quick stroll
outside would do me no harm. In fact, it
would wear my weak self out and help
me fall asleep. I struggle into a black
pair of sweats and an equally black,
roomy hooded sweatshirt. I quietly slip
outside and gaze at my house. It looks
the same from when I was inside;
there were no dimmed lights to signify
the presence or absence of a human
being—just pitch black as usual.
Short Fiction
Without much thought, my footsteps head
for the park. The sound of the fireworks
soon overwhelms me as I inch closer to
the end of the block. The blackness of the
sky gradually fades away and is instead
replaced with hues of vibrant yellow and
majestic purple. But I still feel lonely as
ever. The approaching chatter and clinking
of beer bottles only make it worse. Why
did I, out of all places, walk this way?
I decide to walk only a few laps around
the bustling park before heading back
to my unwelcoming home. As I take my
first, heavy step into the entrance of the
park, the sky above me roars as another
firework explodes, making the stars look
feeble in comparison.
Soon enough, I’m on my fourth lap of the
park. I stroll in an endless, purposeless
loop, just like how I’m doing with my life.
Feeling tired, I sit on a wooden bench
to recharge myself before heading back
home. I shiver in the cold as I sit alone.
I gaze intently at the sky above, waiting
for another explosion to chill me to the
bones. Absorbed, I fail to realize that an
old man took his place besides me.
“I come here every Saturday, ever
since my wife passed away. The bed
feels too cold and empty without her.
The fireworks that happen here are
indeed beautiful but they make me
lonely, reminding me of her; she loved
fireworks you see. She always went on
and on about how they gave her a fuzzy
feeling inside. Ha!”
As I sit still, unsure of how to respond,
a realization dawns upon me that I’m
not as alone as I feel. He was me. No, I
was him. It wasn’t the brightness of the
room that prevented me from sleeping;
I was just too lonely. That was why
I unconsciously headed this way: to
quench my loneliness, to unknowingly
find companions.
“Well, I better get going now. With my
old joints, it’ll take me forever to get
back home,” chuckles the old man.
I look up to meet his eyes, and he
smiles a smile that was as bright as
day. I feel something flicker inside.
Could it be, warmth?
After he leaves, I, too, make my way
“What are you doing outside all by back home. I rattle my door open and
yourself?” inquires the old man.
lie down on the couch, again. It looks
“Couldn’t sleep,” I tersely respond.
as if I never left. It’s now 9:10PM. The
“Me nei \