The Requiem of the Nature
by Ik Hwan Kim

In the blue sky, the bright sun was shining as always, and the earth was entwisting itself because of the waves of heat. The sound of people talking became a part of nature. It became like a sound of a wind, which comfortably relaxed my ears.

The grass was so green, in the small park, a spring of life surrounded by the thick forest of buildings, and whole family sat down on the grass, eating lunch. Everybody started to talk about the holidays they will get in a few days, and two girls, who are my cousins, ran around the field with full of smiles on their faces.  I could hear the sound of the metronome from my left chest, conducting the music of nature. A metronome touched by an excitement was now playing a vivace. That was when my eyes catch the scene, and my metronome started to play presto, incredibly fast and loud.

The sound of metronome made me no longer able to hear anything else. The anxiety and fear spun the dial of the metronome. I saw my grandfather falling, spilling his blood out of his mouth. Red energy, poured down from my grandfather’s mouth, saturated the ground. A drop of tear fell down from my eyes. Looking at people run toward my grandfather, trying to help him, and hearing screams, and the sound of the siren, I could do nothing but standing still, dropping my tears. Sun, which was so bright before, was losing its brightness, and the blue ink of the sky was moved into my feeling. Instead, the dark black ink was replacing the emptiness of the sky.

Ambulance started to run into the forest of buildings. In a small square box inside the car, the orchestra of medical machines started to play requiem. Sound of the siren, a constantly repeating sound, conducted the requiem. Requiem was approaching its climax, when the sound my grandfather, a sound of nature, made a discord.

“Ik Hwan . . .”

The orchestra of nature started over the requiem. Long, unbreakable silent substituted the prelude of the requiem. Sudden high pitch discords, made by everybody crying in the square box, lead the requiem to its climax. Suddenly, a tear of one boy moistened the dried, sorrowful music. A tear of the boy, whose name was called as one man’s last word. A boy, who was the first, beloved grandson of the departed.