The Name on the Grave
I have known a selfish guy for a long time, and he was also the person I hated the most. Maybe, to others, he was kind, but not to me. Not only did he make his friends cry, but he also made every person who knew him cry, making their hearts bleed heavily.
I can't — or won't — allow myself to forgive him for that.
He was the type of person who really loved to talk. He would walk up to any stranger and was always willing to help them. Sometimes it even made people doubt whether they had truly been strangers before meeting that day.
But only I knew his truly selfish side because, after he helped them, they would be mercilessly abandoned by him — like their happiness had nothing to do with him. He would only offer his heart and shoulders when people were in trouble. When they survived their difficult situations, he would have already disappeared from their lives, looking for another stranger to help.
Isn't that way too selfish?
Kindness — in this unforgivable world — was truly scarce.
People are only willing to show kindness when they need something from others. He had understood this truth in his early childhood. But whenever someone seemed to cry, he would surely help them, as if he were programmed that way.
If someone were to ask him, "Why are you kind to everyone and everything?"
He would always answer:
*"I'm not kind; I'm a selfish person. I live for me. And I'm free. This kindness and selfishness of humans are not opposites; they are the same in complex ways. I help people so that I can feel comfortable. If I were to abandon someone in need, I would feel uncomfortable. Unlike others, my mind, my heart, and every inch of my body would argue with me again and again. Maybe this would make me regret it for the rest of my life."
*"For me, regret and sadness are cages that bind my wings. So in every difficult situation, whether it be for me or for others, I would break it and offer them pink roses since they are my favorite. But I'm not picky... or maybe I am. I'm not saying this is my humanity — it's my personality and my will."
*"I'm willing to be kind to others for my dreams, just like how others hurt each other for their own dreams. And that's what makes me human — a really selfish human."
*"Everything about me was shaped by me and the environment around me. I never learned to abandon someone if I could truly help them."
*"My selfishness never intended to foster cooperation, trust, or long-term relationships. It was to make me live freely."
In this colorful world, his brown eyes were common without any special traits. But to those who truly knew him, his eyes glowed like the sun, burning away the sorrows of others and offering warmth. Every path he had walked was bright, unknowingly guiding others. But he had never known this fact — just like how he always lied to himself.
He was selfish. And that was the truth.
He was selfish enough to travel to an unfamiliar place just to help someone.
He was selfish for trying to save a teenage girl from hungry, two-legged dogs. He had never seen her or known her, nor would he ever in the future.
But... he recognized those eyes, those emotions. It was familiar enough for him to fight for her — to fight for his old self.
And he was selfish enough to take that blade aimed at her into his own body. He had never had anyone suffer for him instead.
He had felt the coldness of blood in the past. Even now... his blood — it was cold and unfamiliar, just like those faces he wished would vanish from his dreams. But... he could feel the warmth of her tears, tearing away those binding illusions for him.
"Hah, how nice it is to have someone cry for you."
"What was my name again? No... his. Or was it mine? This is too distressing."
So In this strange dream, he took the name 'Asher.' And now he felt truly blessed — happy to experience it.
Asher was the epitome of selfishness.
Not only did he make his friends cry, but every person who knew him — everyone he had helped — broke down. They cried for him, cared for him, and some even cursed him for being too selfish. His body was no longer there to see all of their worries or offer them his shoulders to cry on — to help them and tell them not to worry about the selfish man he was.
"How cruel it is... to have someone cry for you."
"To burn in their tears and drown in their cries." Asher was not there — only his ashes and 'me'...
Even after years, looking at the familiar grave, 'I' could see a sea of pink roses left by one stranger after another. The grave still looked new, cleaned by strangers who came and went.
The name was carved so clearly. But the letters shifted if I stared too long. Was it Asher or another word — a name I once knew but couldn't remember?
It seems he was never forgotten... but I was.
"I wasn't sure who he was anymore."
The figure left the cemetery again, as it did every year, but this time it spoke before leaving.
"Looks like they still remember I liked pink..."
"How should I even tell them that I don't have any problems even if it were red roses?"
He kept walking... walking to where?
A dream where he never reaches the end...