Big Life

“Damn... Damn old man... Anyway, I think I brought it here to do something good, but it's a waste of time. I took it to the old man's grave on purpose. ”

“You purposely took it away? I thought you said you were his father. With laptops and glasses, they all belonged to my father, didn't they? ”

“Oh, you don't have to say that! Anyway, take it back or throw it in the garbage in front of the house. They're garbage that can't be sold for money. ”

The man tries to close the road.

The reconstruction grabbed the door that was about to close in a hurry.

“Now, wait a minute. What about Lika?”

The man's eyes narrowed.

“How do you know the damn cat's name? ”

“It's written on your collar, your name. This is the cat you grew up with, right? I don't know about anything else, but you have to take the cat back. ”

The man smiles coldly and raises his left hand. Then the reconstruction realized that the man's hands were bandaged.

“What that damn cat, Rica, did to me. He put out his hand to bring me back, and he scratched me like this. Fuckin 'cat. Throw it on the road or you raise it. ”

“Now, wait a minute! ”

Reconstruction gripped the door desperately. He asked the man who was staring fiercely.

“Just one more thing. What did the deceased Seo Gun Woo do? ”

It was a question reminiscent of Seo Gun Woo's dream.

Suddenly, the man drops his head and lets out a long sigh. I spit it out like a chew.

“Writer.”

“Writer... Writer?" You were a writer? ”

“Yes, writer! He was a dead writer! Now, please, just go! ”

Kuaang!

The door slammed shut in front of the reconstruction. At his desperate feet, Lika makes an elongated cry.

"You were a writer...!" ’

Reconstruction took hold of the railing on the stairs. I couldn't stand properly because my legs were twitching. The memory of a dead writer is passed on to a living writer himself.

“Meow, meow. ”

Reconstruction looks down at Lika, drawn by the sound of crying.

Suddenly, I remembered a passage from an occult book that I read one day. A cat is an animal that can be a bridge between the living and the dead.

“Lika, you know something, right? ”

“Meow.”

Reconstruction squats down on the spot like a collapse.

Expecting answers and asking questions from cats. I felt like I'd lost myself. Do people with panic disorder feel this way about cognitive dissonance?

I was walking down memory lane and suddenly I was in front of the house.

‘What? How did you get back? ’

I couldn't remember where or how I got on the subway and where I got off. Reconstruction stumbles down the stairs and returns to the studio on the second floor.

‘Maybe there's something on the laptop. ’

I was even more curious when I heard that someone named Seo Gun Woo was a writer. The memories that were transferred to him were merely a part of it. There were so many things I didn't know.

Reconstruction pulled the laptop out of the backpack before even taking it off. Fortunately, when I plugged in the adapter and pressed on the power, it worked normally.

‘It's really old there. ’

After the boot up, I checked the specifications, and laughter came out first.

The main memory was only 256 MB. There was 40g of hard, and the operating system was Windows 98. It was a laptop I could refuse to use for free.

‘There's nothing there. ’

There was no information about anyone named Seo Gun Woo. There was no sign of a search. The program was also basically just one word program for writing documents.

Reconstruction accessed the Internet on its own computer. I searched by the name of Seo Gun Woo.

There were so many Dongmyeong-in. Nothing came up when I searched as a writer. Even when I searched for the year of birth and year of death, there were only one results.

‘Was he published under a pseudonym? ’

There are many authors who write books under their real names. Reconstruction itself was using a pseudonym.

However, the conclusion would be one of the two, since there is nothing to search by Seogun Woo. I've been on a pseudonym my whole life. Or none of them have been published.

Glug glug!

A sudden phone call came from the car I was thinking about, and the reconstruction made my body tremble. I remembered the name of the three-letter 'Haejin’ who called on the screen. It was the name of my three-year-old sister.

Reconstruction hesitated without answering the phone immediately. I was returning to a reality I had forgotten for a while because of my sister's phone call. There was nothing to please my sister.

If you don't answer the phone, you'll be worried because you're still treating your 27-year-old brother like a kid on the water. Reconstruction answered the phone after sighing.

“Hey, sis. ”

I thought you were asleep and I was gonna hang up.

“No, I was up. ”

- Did you eat?

“What time is it? I ate it. ”

Reconstruction replies, pressing down on the groaning belly.

- What 'd you eat for dinner?

“I ate it roughly well. Stop asking. Am I a child?”

- Baby, of course.

“Erik.”

On the other side of the phone, my sister laughed. Then he spoke in a serious voice.

- Are you coming home tomorrow?

“Gotta go.”

- Yeah, you should come and see your dad sometime. He's very old.

“Huh."

- Why is your voice so weak? Is something wrong?

My sister asked me anxiously.

Reconstruction was sorry for my sister, but she lied because she was afraid to continue the conversation.

“I'm sorry, I have to work now because I'm closing. ”

- Oh, I should have told you! All right, all right! I gotta go!

Knuckles!

The phone was disconnected immediately. When it came to writing, she was always the sister who always stood behind everything. So again, the effect was rectangular.

‘I'm sorry, sis. ’

She smiles and says she wants to be Gold Miss herself. But reconstruction knew the truth. that I didn't do a good job of taking care of my poor family.

‘This is not the time. ’

We have to make an excuse for Dan to be true. Reconstruction ran the word program by clicking on the icon on the computer desktop. The first draft of a diligent unspoken novel appeared before my eyes.

‘It's dark……. ’

Maybe it's because I heard a bad sound from the editor.

It was not a novel, but just a mass of text, a mixture of letters.

Reconstruction lifts the scroll to the top, wrapped around the forehead. I was going to try to find a part to edit while reading from the beginning.

"Huh?"

Reading the novel, the face of the reconstruction became pale at all times.

I certainly didn't think it was perfect. But I never thought it would be so much trouble. Yesterday, problems were pouring out that were completely invisible.

‘At this point, this information is unnecessary. Readers are just sick of it. Clear the barrel! ’

‘This is an important scene where the protagonist learns and grows new skills, but he lacks a lot of acting. We need to keep this place in more detail! ’

‘This woman slapped the protagonist in the cheek. This is what psychopaths do, right? Pray to the protagonist! ’

Ta-da! Tadahak! Tadak!

I flew over the keyboard at an invisible speed of ten fingers.

How many times have I been so immersed in writing? No, the reconstruction was completely engulfed in the revision work so that it couldn't even think of itself. An inspiration that was not there before was rushing in, spreading its wings on the fingers of the reconstruction.