I gathered knives from the kitchen that would fit in my pockets, then went to bed. Staring at the crayon, I hesitated: *Should I take it or just rely on the knives?* Eventually I shoved it in my pocket too. I waited for sleep to take me, but fear kept me awake until 2 AM.
Suddenly, my eyes opened to the black sphere's familiar glow. "So there's no escaping this," I whispered bitterly. As if responding, it pulsed violet and formed that inky pool beneath it. I knew what came next. My hand flew to my pocket for the knives—only to grasp the crayon.
"Damn it!" My voice cracked as panic set in. "This place wants me defenseless!"
I raised the crayon like a boxer's guard just as the faceless creature charged. Waiting until it was within arm's reach was stupid—its limbs were nearly my full height. A crushing blow shattered my nose. As I crumpled, the punches kept coming. "Pl...please st—" I begged between strikes, but the onslaught continued until darkness took me.
I jolted awake in bed. My sister slept peacefully nearby, clutching her tattered doll. Stumbling to the bathroom, I slid down the wall, muffling hysterical sobs. "It hurts... why me? Why why WHY—"
The knives' weight mocked me. Drawing one, I pressed its edge to my throat. *One push ends it all. No more pain. No more fear.*
I flung it aside violently. "I ran once," I rasped, hugging my knees. "Never again."
A timid knock interrupted. "Jihoon? You done in there?"
My sister's voice. I splashed icy water on my face, scrubbing my teeth raw to purge the despair. The hollow-eyed stranger in the mirror smiled crookedly—a broken mask.
"Morning!" I chirped, swinging the door open. She stood there, doll in arms.
"You're crying," she observed, small hand reaching up.
"Just water," I lied, catching her wrist.
Her suspicious glance lingered but she dropped it. While she showered, I sat rigid on the couch, listening to every sound. The faucet. The door creak. Then—silence.
"Jihoon?" Her sudden voice made me jump. Damp hair framed her face as she toweled it. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Just thinking." My smile felt brittle.
As she left, I retrieved the half-hidden knife. Nausea rose—*she almost found it*.
At Grandma's that evening, I watched Grandpa repair a chair. "You know combat moves, right?"
His bushy eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"Teach me. Anything."
Though amused, he corrected my stance. "Balance is everything."
That night in the white room, when the monster charged, I pivoted and struck its knee—my first successful hit. It staggered briefly before slamming me down.
"I know your pain," I spat blood, "but I'll keep coming back!"
Morning brought my sister shaking me awake. "You were shouting in your sleep."
"Just a nightmare." Rubbing my sore arm, I felt something unfamiliar—hope.