Member-only story
Four Minutes in Heaven
He spoons me, whispering affection in my ear while his love cools on my thigh.
CN: references to bullying; implied suicide.
Anyone can be a wangtta:, an outcast, a victim of bullies. In my town it has been me, for nearly six years. On my first day of high school I used the wrong honorific, to the wrong girl, at the wrong time. She slapped me, once, and I became wangtta forever. There are whispers in streets and hallways, sneers or trips or jabs from anyone I pass, every day. I am alone.
And so I learned to hide. At school, I hide in empty classrooms. In winter evenings, I hide in my room; in summer, I do my homework lying on the platform of the old railway station, then when the light fades I put on purple lipstick, listen to Dreamcatcher, and dance. I’m not happy, not exactly, but for a little while I can be someone else, someone not so sad.
No one ever comes here, except me and Solitary Man. Every Friday night, at eleven-seventeen, Solitary Man appears beside the far end of the platform, wearing an old-fashioned suit. He steps forward, looks around, frowns, and waits. After forty-two minutes, he gives up: he turns, jumps onto the track, and disappears.
Every Friday, he does the same thing. Except this Friday. This Friday, the wangtta will not hide…
