ent. @aprisonder
silly. it’s silly, silly, silly.
slouched against the gilded wallpaper of the overlook, seha cannot help but smile into his fingers as he peers just around the corner where the parlor and production crew awaits, setting up for the evening’s party trick.
a séance; absolute child’s play. he was no writer, but the script must’ve been written by a five-year old. rubbing its snotty nose with crumb covered fingers in pride of its work. no, seha retracted. even a five-year old was more imaginative than this.
he questioned the the director’s aim, the motive. as bewildered and intrigued by the unexplained as he was, seha couldn’t see how this rouse would contribute anything to the investigation, much less evidence. physical evidence, that is. no, he surmised the intent had less to do with lending aid to the untimed death of heeseung and more to do with a greed for ratings. the maggots had not even touched the man’s body but human’s did not wait to eat him up for fatter pockets; for entertainment.
because people were obsessed with death. he could imagine they might crawl in their seats from the comfort of home as though the show were another true crime documentary, in nail-bitten anticipation, watching the misfortune unravel to sate their sadistic need for the plight and the drama. seha could only guess whom, in the desire of their black little hearts, they wanted to see rot next.
the elevator chimed. seha craned his head towards the lift, looking for his partner in this game. he knew her—knew of her that is—but did not assume she’d remember his face among the dozens of others behind the cameras.
“miss ryu sumin, yes?” he stepped out into her path (to persuade, not to block) his hands splayed at his sides in a seemingly awkward, unthreatening manner. he shifted his glasses with a nod. “i’m ahn seha, i’ll be working with you today for the…seance.”
he chuckled, his voice quiet, a pinch of ridicule in his smile. “kind of silly, isn’t it?”