A Glimpse of the Human Flesh Market

by Kwon Gu-hyeon

Ok-hwa ultimately could not judge what was right and what was wrong.

Her mind was hazy, and only one person remained in her heart.

Her mother.

She resented her mother.

It must have been for survival.

The arduous life of a single mother, the debts accumulating year after year, and even the desire to meet a man again and start a new life. That's why, four years ago, her mother entrusted young Ok-hwa to another family as an adopted daughter and moved far away to the countryside.

Along with a paltry sum of money.

It wasn't that letters hadn't been exchanged during that time.

Her mother must have truly believed that her daughter would study and live a decent life in that house.

Surely not.

Surely, truly not.

She could never have dreamed that the family she entrusted Ok-hwa to would sell her to a place like this, to a house like this.

Ok-hwa knew that fact too.

Even knowing, she resented her.

The person who entrusted her young daughter, born from her own womb, with whom she should share life and death, into the hands of others.

The person who ultimately led her to this predicament today.

Who else could it be but her mother?

But now, there was no way to even convey that resentment.

A situation where she couldn't even send a single letter.

As her thoughts reached that point, hot tears streamed down Ok-hwa's face again.

Sixteen.

She was still too young.

It was the spring of her youth, just beginning to blossom.

Her tender heart ached and ached.

However, it wasn't the past that tormented Ok-hwa more.

It was the future.

The days she had to live from now on.

The cold, endless despair that lay before her.

And the terrifying humiliation that would begin again this evening.

That was what she feared more.

"Ah... not even five years, not even five months... even five days would be difficult..."

Ok-hwa bit her lip.

"How can I... for five years..."

She felt suffocated.

Suddenly, a darker voice rose from within her heart.

Rather.

Rather than endure this endless humiliation—

“Ugh… rather than live such a dirty life for countless years like this…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Ok-hwa squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her own neck with both hands.

Tight.

It felt as if she was suffocating.

But the moment the agony surged, she instinctively let go.

Gasping, she looked up at the ceiling.

She wished that ceiling would just collapse.

That thought came to her.

Before her eyes, lye appeared again.

Negoiras.

And the image of a person struggling, spewing blood from their mouth and nose.

Death was never quiet.

It was never peaceful either.

Ok-hwa covered her face with both hands and trembled.

Shuddering.

“This body, born to live… why does it think of death…”

She asked herself,

And immediately answered herself.

“Because there’s no way to live.”

A brief silence fell.

And suddenly—

Ok-hwa sat up abruptly, as if she had made a decision.

Her eyes had changed.

“Alright. If I don’t die, I live.”

She swallowed.

“I will endure to the end, like the evening the day before yesterday.”

“I will resist to the end.”

“So if I die from a beating… I will die just like that.”

That way was cleaner, rather.

She thought that way was more human, rather.

Muttering to herself, Ok-hwa swept back the hair that had fallen by her ears.

She took out a small hand mirror from under her pillow and looked at her face.

Her forehead was straight,

And her long, drawn-out eyes beneath her dark eyebrows held a certain sorrow.

The tip of her nose was slightly upturned,

Her full lips held a gentle yet unyielding spirit.

Down to her rounded chin.

It was a face no one could dislike.

Rather, a face that captivated people's hearts.

Ok-hwa stopped applying powder, her hand pausing.

She carefully wiped away the tear stains, which remained like smudges on her cheek, with a handkerchief.

Then, she firmly straightened her disheveled collar.

It was just as she was about to shake out and tidy the bedding.

The door opened, and San-ok, who lived in the room on the left, entered.

San-ok.

Among the five or six girls, she was the one who treated her most humanely.