#14 Radio-cassette Player

Hwoarang knew that boredom had struck when he was reduced to counting the specks of glowing static in the morning light. In one hand, a drying biro lay loose against his palm. The other was empty, clenched in a fist around the thin cotton of his pillow as he tried to suppress some dangerous cravings. Behind him, Han and Kim lounged on the floor, both in similar states of drowsiness. An after-effect of a stiflingly warm afternoon combined with lethargy brought on from trying too hard. Industries like the music business thrived on pomp and show where mainstream synthesized beats sold like pop-corn in a movie-theater. Fortunately for Sky Rush, they'd come in at a time where the masses were tiring of the recycled expletives and sexual euphemisms streaming from the mouths of ghetto superstars. They were a 'niche market' as the oily-haired executive at their recording label had put it, a 'breath of fresh air in an over-saturated industry', a new generation of 'post-modern emo-punk hybrids' it seemed.

Heh, yeah right. The guy couldn't have distinguished Emo from Goth even if they'd taken turns parading around stark naked in front of him. As long as it sold to someone, he was happy to take them for the ride.

As for them, all they could do was hang on and try not to lose themselves to the whims of those who knew less.

Thanks to an accident involving Han and a scattered banana peel on the kitchen floor, Hwoarang had also been forced into searching for inspiration through an out-dated portable radio-cassette player with ear-phones. His shattered Ipod, containing his beloved anthems by System of a Down, Korn and old-school Linkin Park to name a few, had been sent for repairs so he'd had to settle for listening to deadbeat boybands and audio disasters which managed to pass off as 'hardcore techno' playing over the single radio-station which a clear transmission. Listening to mainstream pop may have been an acquired taste for most people but Hwoarang had never quite honed his senses to get used to sugary love ballads. These, combined with the dull sunshine, were making him sleepier if anything.

The thirst for a cold stiff drink made his throat itch. Good thing that he felt too lazy to get up and visit the nearest bar. They'd probably be closed around this time anyway…

A nagging thought gnawing at the back of his conscience kept him awake with heavy eyelids… if only he could figure out what it was… try to remember what he was supposed to have remembered…

"That was the sweet sound of SoundMash with their new single Frenzy playing on – "

A scowl twisted his lips as the shrill cheery voice of the radio host pierced through his skull like a migraine. Yeesh, happy people should be placed on a curfew. If not, at least save the chipmunk-voiced ones for the early hours of morning when nobody was listening. It was enough to make anyone reach out for a joint or two.

" – and now, we have a request from Mei-Mei who'd like to dedicate Just Touch Me, Baby by XiaoMi to her boyfriend who's – "

Hwoarang groaned.

Damn you, Mei-Mei. Damn you and your pathetic taste in music.

XiaoMi was actually a duo. Ling Xiaoyu and Miharu Hirano, two little school-girls who'd taken the teen-pop world by storm in a pair of pastel mini-skirts and cherry-stained lip-glossed pouts. Unless you were born with a cynical eye, it was easy to fall for their saccharine charm. Two seemingly innocent virginal Bambi-eyed girls who used the word 'Baby' in every song their writers came up with. The ones that the middle-school girls want to emulate, the prizes that hormonal-charged teenage boys want to win, the posers at whom industry insiders secretly roll their eyes. Nobody cares if they couldn't sing shit even if they actually knew what the song was about. As long as they sold well, anything could pass for the sacrifice of real talent.

Music's a craft, an art. Unfortunately, he'd seen how many had used it to garner ill-deserved attention and accolades. It seemed that no matter how hard you worked, there would always be a bunch of plebs who couldn't tell the difference between a masterpiece and a hoax. So much for dreams of fame and fortune achieved through years of toil and trouble. It wasn't worth it if you were going to lose it to a pretty young thing who 'like, really really, you know, like liked singing and whose favorite singers were, like, Hilary Duff because she's so cool and Miley Cyrus because, like, she can sing and you know, dance and act too'.

Bah, so what if everything they worked for was a humbug? They were going after it even if it killed them.

Ah… the irony of that sentence. He considered writing it down. Great last words those were…

"I'm gonna chase my dream even if it kills me first."

Fame was the disease that consumed all of them in the end. What he needed was a kiss from Lady Luck herself but unfortunately she was a picky vixen. She beamed down in sunny colors and star-lit skies on those who didn't need much to begin with. The rest of the human populace was apparently far below her touch. As a kid, he'd searched for her in the first star that appeared in every night sky. As a troubled teen, he'd sought her comfort in the kisses he received from girls curious enough to try. Years later, he'd given up and tried to accept his fate. Not that he was any good at it.

The jeering twinkling notes of the song's melody made him grit his teeth in frustration.

"Boy, you look so fly.

Lemme make you high…

Higher and higher."

These had to be among the cheapest lyrics he'd ever heard. For crying out loud, he'd come up with better ones whilst he was drunk. This pathetic excuse for rhyme and rhythm almost sounded like a sugar-coated drug-peddling commercial. Or was this some, Heaven forbid as he rolled his eyes, indirect reference to sex? He wouldn't be surprised at all if these squeaky-clean pop princesses turned out to be closet skanks. Who knew what passed on between the young, beautiful and reckless in the smoky darkness of the swankiest night-clubs in these lonely cities better than he did?

Perhaps it should be his pity that they deserved instead of his contempt. Poor stupid little girls who'd fallen for the glitter and not the gold.

Not even twenty-two and as jaded as a veteran, he mused wryly. Such was the present. It wasn't as if the past had been any better either.

Finally letting his eyelids fall, he let sleep take over…

She remembered these flowers from a dream she'd had some time ago. They'd cushioned her fall as the searing pain had cut through her like several thousand knives through her aching flesh. Now as she walked through them, barefoot and cold, she wondered how she couldn't have noticed their scent when she was here the last time. Daisies and daffodils, endless fields of pure white and sunny yellow as far as her eyes could see. The clouds seemed to have descended from the skies and taken refuge on earth as a heavy mist enveloping her in its tight frigid embrace.

Pausing for a moment in her walk, she knelt down and gently stroked a delicate golden petal which had caught her fancy. The daffodil head seemed to droop mournfully from its stalk as if pining for something. Or someone. Echo the wood nymph pining for Narcissus who pined away for his reflection in the crystal clear waters of a spring. A tragic punishment befitting the sin of self-love.

A shot of white-hot pain rushed down her spine, causing her to gasp and stagger forward on her hands and knees. The awaiting bed of blossoms could only nod their heads in sympathy at her plight. As soon as it had sprung, the ache had dissipated just as instantly. She rolled onto her back and wiped at the trickle of sweat which had been trickling down her forehead.

When Echo pined away, she left nothing behind but her voice. Would Fate expect the same from her as well?

"Hey!"

One call, one voice was all it took for her to forget the darkening bruises on her skin and the loneliness of wandering through this path alone. The flowers didn't seem so sorrowful, the whiteness of the mist wasn't so harsh on her tired eyes and her heart began to hum a tune of sunshine and rainbows.

"Jules!"

"Hwoarang."

And everything was all better now.

He almost reminded her of those mythical heroes who came dashing through smoke and fire to save the trapped princess. Except that she'd be the one to save him from his own demons first. How quaint and unconventional, she smiled at the imagery.

"You're better now, aren't you, Jules? Better than when I last saw you here?"

The irony made her heart tremble but she smiled and nodded reassuringly for his sake. He looked like he was in better spirits than before. The scars still remained though and that worried her. His pain lived on inside of him, feeding off his hidden despair. It was still present; she could feel it on him, within the dark pupils of his eyes and throbbing beneath his skin. Memories of buried crimes and secret mistakes echoed around him. He could hear them but he'd chosen not to listen for the moment. It would be a matter for time until the dam would reach its limit and collapse…

A million little fears began to form in her conscious, lucid as the clearest of nightmares.

But…

"I'm glad you're here. With me."

"So am I." The touch of his hands gliding up her arms and then around her waist as he drew her closer was enough to make her head spin and her eyes water. "… God, Julia… I missed you… so much."

She'd missed him too. More than he'd ever know.

"And I had so many things to say to you… and I've gone and forgotten them all…"

"It's okay, you're here with me now. Nothing could be more important than that."

The world around him had melted away with his words and she stayed encircled in his arms, wrapped up warm and safe, even if it was just for the shortest period that time could grant. Yet she would give anything, absolutely anything, to make sure that the clock ceased ticking so that she'd stay here for a little while longer…

Just a little while longer…

She winced as his hand brushed past her shoulder. Her anguished cry made him loosen his grip immediately with a gaze of concern. Unable to bear it anymore, she tried to retreat from his embrace but he held onto her firmly. Raising a trembling hand, he lifted a corner of one broad strap of her dress and pushed it aside to reveal a thickening bruise, dark and grey as a thundercloud.

His eyes turned impassive and a chill rushed through her.

"What happened?"

"An accident."

Behind those rust brown eyes, an ache that mirrored her own bloomed in moist colors. Bit by bit, she watched helplessly as its crippling effect unfolded.

"But you're alright, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me that it's true…"

She wasn't sure.

Seeing the cast-down image in her eyes, he let his head droop in misery as a single answer loomed heavily on his mind. A mourning daffodil, on the verge of falling apart, pining for a lost lover that may never returned. She found the tears flowing down, hard and easy, lost in his desolation. As dark as the storm clouds were, a lone ray of sunlight was enough to break through the bleakness. A cheerful daisy in the midst of a sea of weeping daffodils. Sometimes… the smallest ounce of hope was capable of carrying the most broken of men forward… as she'd once heard a long time ago.

"Come," she whispered softly in his ear. "Lie here with me for a while."

She guided him down to the grass, where he'd once held her close in a reverie, and rested his head on her lap. A bleary eye stared up at her from behind strands of copper-red hair.

"So many golden daffodils as far as I can see. Reminds me of the story of Persephone. I'll tell you about her so that everything makes sense."

Brushing away the loose strands of hair from his face, she silently pleaded with him to listen.

"Persephone was a Greek goddess famed for her beauty and gentle nature. She was said to be the epitome of spring, innocence and the soul. It must have been hard for anyone not to fall for her charm. This was what happened when Hades, the Ruler of the Underworld, set his eyes on her.

"Hades was often portrayed as a villain in many of the myths I read about but I felt some pity for him. It must have been hard to rule over a land as cold and barren as the Underworld, where nothing of joy could ever survive. The only sort of life that existed down there were the souls that had been dragged down there to be punished for sins they'd committed in their previous lives. In a world of death and grief, Persephone's beauty was the sunlight that had never graced Hades with her soft touch. Love at first sight, simple as that. The feeling consumed with a fire so scorching that he struck the earth beneath her causing it to split in two. As she fell, he caught her and spirited her away to the Underworld."

"… Did she ever escape?"

"Yes. Her mother, Demeter, sent a messenger called Hermes who managed to drive a bargain with Hades. Persephone would return to her mother but she would visit Hades and stay with him for four months of the year. That's why she wore a garland of daffodils in her hair from then onwards. As a reminder of the promise she was a part of and to never go back on her word."

"Poor her…"

"Poor Demeter… I can only imagine what she'd felt at losing her daughter…"

The pain returned to her once more. This time, it was anything but physical. It had been too long. It may stay like this forever. Too many things were too uncertain to hold on to for as long she liked.

"What does any of this have to with you, Jules? Or us?"

"You might figure that out sooner or later." She slipped a warm, comforting hand into his. "If anything, it's just a story. It's how the listener interprets it from the narrator that counts. You should understand that yourself… a rockstar is simply a bard in jeans and a leather jacket. A modern-day story-teller."

"You're as elusive as a nymph yourself… why can't you just answer a simple question?"

"It's hard when the answers are never set in stone themselves. Aside from that, I want you to take care of yourself from now on. I'll be with you every step of the way if you should need me."

"But…"

"Don't worry… I know you'll be fine. You're much, much stronger than you think…"

The last thing he knew was the sweet spice of her lips against his… a light teardrop landing on his dry cheek…

"Do me proud, soldier. Know that someone's always watching over you…"

A light shake startled Hwoarang awake.

"Dude, you're as pale as a ghost. Bad dream?"

Han's voice seemed to come from a far-off distance. His vision had also grown static, blurry shapes with concerned tones in their voices.

The last thing he needed or wanted was a drink as he tried to press the invisible imprint of her hand into his empty palm and the taste of cool sweet lips on his. The nagging reminder at the back of his mind resurfaced in full force before him.

Where do you go when you sleep, Julia?

He wasn't sure if he knew any more than she did. Or if he'd ever find her there.

The parched screams forming a part Liar in the Glass by Eyes Set To Kill rang out loud and clear from the muffled ear-pieces.