Remnants

You open your eyes to a [[hospital room]]. Your [[mother]] is sitting next to you. She's crying. Sunlight filters through the window.

The room is filled with complicated-looking medical equipment of varying sizes and shades of gray. You never really liked hospitals; the constant beeping made you nervous. On the bedside table there is a vase filled with [[colorful flowers]], brightening the rather dull room. Looking at them helps you calm down.

She's [[sitting|opening]] by your side, still dressed in her olive green pajamas. She weeps silently, her face glistening with tears. (if: $mother is false) [You haven't seen your mother cry in years. You reach to take her hand, only to find that your hand passes through hers, wisps of its shape lingering behind as you move it back and forth. Startled, you look [[down|body]]. ] (if: $mother is true) [You reach out your hand, somehow understanding that it will touch. Your mother lifts her head from the slightest of sensation on her hand. She doesn't quite understand, but she knows you're there. You finally made it to her, but you already know what she will [[show you->pause]]. ]

You see that you are still in your school uniform, but you don't seem to feel the fabric against your body. Your hands are pale, almost cloud-like, and the edges of each finger are blurred. Looking to your left, you see a young girl lying in the hospital bed, ebony hair sprawled out in great contrast against the white pillow. Although her face is obscured by bandages and a ventilation mask, you identify the girl as [[yourself]].

Your daily routine was fairly consistent. You took the train to school everyday. Although you never liked to study, you spent a lot of time in your [[classroom]], chatting with friends or sneaking a short nap. (if: $classroom is true)[ After classes, you hurried to the [[music room]]. You played the piano in the school's classical ensemble. ] (if: $classroom is true and $musicroom is true)[ The sun always began to set when club activities ended. It was a shame to go straight home, so you and your [[closest friend]] liked to walk around town. ]

You were in class 3A. Although this meant that you had to climb three flights of stairs every morning, you loved being able to see the entire courtyard from your classroom window. Your teacher's name was [[Ms. Han]]. There are multiple class [[announcements]] posted on the chalkboard. Running your hand over your [[desk]], you notice all the little scratches that accumulated over the years.

Chairs and music stands are arranged in a semi-circle, and stacks upon stacks of sheet music are piled in filing cabinets at the back of the room. Though it was a humble set-up, you were thankful for the space regardless. The music room was originally an unused storage space on the first floor; it was only adapted into the room it is now a few years ago when the classical ensemble requested a new place to [[practice]].

Her name is [[Areum Park]]. The two of you met on the first day of school. Your seats were next to each other, so naturally you became good friends. (if: $areum is true)[ Areum was your mirror half. Together, you liked to walk through town and spend your allowances on snacks and karaoke. You both had a favorite [[food stall]] in the market district that sold strawberry and nutella crepes. ] (if: $areum is true and $foodstall is true)[ Afterwards, you migrated to the [[large fountain]] in the district square. It was a place where many families took their children to play in the little geysers of water that gurgled in different colors. Sometimes, you and Areum played in them too. ]

Ms. Han was a family friend who went out of her way to wake you up in the morning for [[school|classroom]] with her incessent phone calls. She also offered many times to personally tutor you in math, which you needed plenty of help with. You always felt guilty that she did so much for you, but at least now she won't have to anymore.

You see your name on the rotation for chalkboard cleaning duty. That is one thing you're sure you won't miss. There's also a poster about the [[school's|classroom]] upcoming cultural festival in the spring. You volunteered to be on the planning committee, but someone else will have to replace you. It's a shame, really. You were really looking forward to it.

Buried within your desk are countless scraps of paper, most of which are notes passed between people during [[class|classroom]]. There is also a [[letter]] from an old friend, the graphite slightly smudged. You forgot you had left it here. You wonder what will happen to this letter. Will it be thrown out?

You remember that you were practicing alone yesterday. Lost in your own [[playing]], the sun sank further and further until the room was washed over in an orange glow. It was unusual of you to lose track of the time.

(either: "Yellow", "Pink", "Purple", "Blue", "Orange") [[lilies|opening]].

(text-style: "blur")[//^^Hey.^^//] (text-style: "blur")[//^^I'm sorry. I always meant to tell you, but the timing never seemed right. How's school? Are you still playing the piano? I hope you are; you were really good at it. Maybe someday I'll hear you play again...^^//] (text-style: "blur")[//^^...^^//] (text-style: "blur")[//^^...so that's where I am. Thanks for being my friend! I had fun. I still have that one picture framed in my room; everytime I look at it I remember all the crazy things we used to do together... ^^//] (text-style: "blur")[//^^...^^//] (text-style: "blur")[//^^This might sound cliche, but I feel like you're still with me in my memory. It's because of you that I am who I am today, and I'm so thankful. I won't [[forget|day]] you.^^//] (text-style: "blur")[//^^Love, your friend.^^//] (set: $classroom to true)

It has a sad melody, but listening to it gave you [[contentment|day]]. (set: $musicroom to true)

That day, Areum waited for you to finish practicing so you could hang out after school. She always acted so considerate, compelling you to do your best in being a [[good friend]] to her.

Yesterday, you and Areum stopped by as usual. Because you were regular customers, the [[owner]] was always happy to see you.

What did she want to [[show you|good friend]]? (set: $showyou to true)

As you were crossing the street, you felt compelled to turn back and wave [[goodbye]].

It's coming back to you. It was here that you decided to [[part ways]].

It seemed like Areum was [[waving]] goodbye too.

She [[wasn't]]. You understand that now.

[[...]]

You understand. Although you lived a quiet, normal life, your life had meaning. You were an inconvenience for some, a [[necessity]] for others. You had a [[passion]], and it made you happy. There was a [[friend]] you particularly cherished. (if: $necessity is true and $passion is true and $friend is true)[ You're sad, but your heart is [[content]]. ]

Remnants ^^A narrative written by Kelly Sung.^^ [[Begin|opening]] 🔈 [[Note|quote]] [[Sources]] ^^"What is meaningful is not the foreseeable end but the preceding circumstances that leads one to the edge." - Unknown^^ (set: $questionA to false) (set: $questionB to false) (set: $questionC to false) (set: $classroom to false) (set: $musicroom to false) (set: $areum to false) (set: $foodstall to false) (set: $mothercrying to false) (set: $pace to false) (set: $showyou to false) (set: $necessity to false) (set: $passion to false) (set: $friend to false) (set: $mother to false) (set: $kitchen to false) (set: $livingarea to false) (set: $bedroom to false)

(text-style: "blur")["What will you do?"] The rustling of a voice surprises you. You look around, but there's no one there. [["Who are you?"]] you ask. [["Am I dead?"]] [["Why is this happening?"]] (if: $questionA is true and $questionB is true and $questionC is true)[ [["Where do I go from here?->where]] ]

... There's [[no answer|can't remember why]]. Was the voice in your head? (set: $questionA to true)

... There's no [[answer|can't remember why]]. But you're //seeing//. You're //moving//. You're //thinking//. Wasn't death supposed to feel more... //empty//? (set: $questionB to true)

... There's [[no answer|can't remember why]]. You don't know what to feel. To see your own body, barely breathing. You turn away. (set: $questionC to true)

... (text-style: "blur")["What do you [[remember]]?"] the voice asks again.

You don't know how to respond. You don't know what you remember. You know you were [[alive]]. You know you weren't lying in this bed the day before. You know that you had things to do. Things you wanted to do.

You don't know how to respond. You don't know what you remember. You know you were alive. //You could walk and run and jump and play.// You know you weren't lying in this [[bed]] the day before. You know that you had things to do. Things you wanted to do.

You don't know how to respond. You don't know what you remember. You know you were alive. //You could walk and run and jump and play.// You know you weren't lying in this bed the day before. //You were at home, at school, in town.// You know that you had things to do. Things you [[wanted]] to do.

(text-style: "blur")[//What will you do?//] the voice asks again. //Will you [[accept]]?// //Will you [[defy]]?// //Will you [[search]]?// The choice is yours.

You are dying. When the plug is pulled, you will be gone. This 'body' of yours is nothing but a delusional construct of your mind. You [[don't exist]].

You closed your eyes and accepted. [[Read again.|title]]

Though it may seem futile, you cannot bring yourself to accept. Not yet. There are still so many unanswered questions. You don't want to harbor these feelings as you pass on. You're not gone yet. You're still breathing, albeit through a machine. You still have time. You want to know what happened. You want to remember. You decide to retrace your steps the preceding [[day]]. Maybe you will find clues that will jog your memory.

You can't help but feel anger, pity, desperation. You see your [[mother crying]]. You [[pace]] around the room. (if: $mothercrying is true and $pace is true)[ There's a [[knock|physician]] on the door. ]

You cannot physically [[touch her]], but you try anyways.

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again]].

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again|again2]], and again.

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again|again3]], and again, and again.

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again|again4]], and again, and again, and again.

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again|again5]], and again, and again, and again, and again.

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again|again6]], and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

Your hand goes straight through. You try [[again|again7]], and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

Your hand goes straight through. You try again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. But you [[cannot|defy]] touch her. (set: $mothercrying to true)

You walk back and forth across the room. You walk, and walk, and [[walk]]. It's daylight.

You continue to [[walk|break]]. It's still daylight.

You continue to [[walk|break2]]. It's the afternoon.

You continue to [[walk|break3]]. The sun is setting.

You continue to [[walk|break4]]. It's nighttime. The [[streetlights]] have been turned on.

[[...|walk2]]

[[...|walk3]]

[[...|walk4]]

[[...|walk5]]

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights]].

You didn't notice, but you paced all day and night. Sunlight filters through the [[room|defy]]; it's morning again. (set: $pace to true)

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights2]]. Why you?

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights3]]. Why you? ...

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights4]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much.

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights5]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ...

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights6]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair.

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights7]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ...

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights8]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing.

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights9]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing. ...

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights10]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing. ... There is nothing at the end of this path.

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights11]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing. ... There is nothing at the end of this path. ...

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights12]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing. ... There is nothing at the end of this path. ... Nothing but endless lights.

You decide to walk outside, following the [[lights|lights13]]. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing. ... There is nothing at the end of this path. ... Nothing but endless lights. ...

You decide to walk outside, following the lights. Why you? ... You didn't ask for much. ... It's unfair. ... Though you have been walking for hours, you feel nothing. ... There is nothing at the end of this path. ... Nothing but endless lights. ... Choosing between [[acceptance|accept]] or [[searching for answers|search]], which is easier?

A physician enters with a solemn expression. "Miss, are you [[ready]]?" he asks your mother.

Drying her tears, she [[nods]]. Wait, you think. Stop. You're not ready.

He flips the [[switch]].

You couldn't defy death. [[Read again.|title]]

Your absence would be felt; Ms. Han might, out of habit, still call you in the morning. But after the second ring, she'll remember. And she'll feel that emptiness. The thought makes you happy. You know it's a selfish thought, but you know she'll learn to make that mistake [[less and less]].

You could say it was your passion that was the cause; if you hadn't practiced for so long, things might've been different. But that's [[okay]].

Knowing her innocence, she might blame herself. Because you waved to her, you were blind to your surroundings. You hope she knows that this [[isn't true]].

(text-style: "blur")["Did you find what you were looking for?"] the voice asks. You feel that [[you did]]. (if: $showyou is true)[ Is there anything [[missing]]? ]

You closed your eyes and accepted, your heart content. [[Read again.|title]]

Your mother told you to come [[home]] early that night.

Home was a small, two bedroom apartment; it was only you and your mother, but that was enough. Her love was so plentiful that it easily filled up what was left [[vacated]]. All you wanted was to give her the same.

What did she want to show you? You look in the [[kitchen]]. (if: $kitchen is true)[ Maybe it's in the [[living area]]? ] (if: $livingarea is true)[ Lastly, you open her [[bedroom]] door. ] (if: $bedroom is true) [ [[What was it?->found]] ]

Unchopped vegetables are left on the kitchen counter; she was in the middle of making dinner. You see the abandoned ingredients and realize she was making your favorite. There's [[nothing|vacated]] else out of the ordinary. (set: $kitchen to true)

The walls are lined with numerous photographs. There's a few of you and her together here and there, but it's mostly your smiling face. You search, but there's [[nothing|vacated]]. Did she //really// have something to show you? (set: $livingarea to true)

Her bedroom is largely barren. In the corner, there is a large box filled with old drawings and report cards of yours. She kept every one; on your birthday, you'd always go through its contents together. It was as if she only lived for [[you|vacated]]. (set: $bedroom to true)

In the end, you don't find it. Instead, you find remorse. Grief. Heartache. Nostalgia. Thankfulness. Appreciation. Love. You can either [[carry these feelings with you]] or [[seek one last time|mother]]. (set: $mother to true)

You closed your eyes and accepted, your heart brimming. You will miss her. [[Read again.|title]]

The line goes flat. [[Read again.|title]]

[[...|trueending]]

You don't know what to feel; you don't know if you can feel at all. Are you dreaming? This conclusion, although convenient, doesn't put your heart at ease. On closer inspection, you recognize the respiration machine. Your body is on life support, you realize, but why? You [[can't seem to remember|can't remember why]].

Maybe you should have believed in God. You're scared. You don't want to [[disappear]].

You wonder if you will be missed. You wonder what [[could've been]]. Is it [[right|search]] to give up like this?

You have lingering, bitter thoughts. But as you come to accept, these thoughts too begin to [[fade]].

You joined the ensemble with a love for playing the piano, and your passion showed. You were selected to play the solo in this year's spring recital, and you practiced daily. Your [[keyboard]] is still sitting in the corner. Thankfully, it was rented.

You were playing a piece called //[[Remnants]]//, composed by your favorite pianist. It was dedicated to the memory of the composer's departed daughter, arranged from an original composition written at her birth. You took pride in your musical knowledge.

You recall that your mother wanted you to come home early that evening. She had something she wanted to [[show you]]. However, you were apologetic to Areum, so you decided to [[accompany her|closest friend]] for an hour or two before heading home. (set: $areum to true)

"Welcome, girls! What'll it be today?" he asked. You sadly explained that you had used up all your allowance, but you would come back tomorrow. "I see. Well, I'll be [[waiting for you|closest friend]]!" You feel a pinch of regret for not being able to receive your next allowance. You then feel embarrassment for feeling regret over something like this. (set: $foodstall to true)

No more chalkboard cleaning duty. The student assigned after you might think it's still your turn and not clean it. They might get in trouble, and if they do, that person will [[think of you]].

The planning committee will redelegate tasks, now that there's one less person. You had already made a sketch for the poster; hopefully it'll still be used. Many won't know who you are, but they'll [[see your name]] in the bottom right corner. "What a talented person!" they'll say.

Your name will be taken off the class list. The scraps of paper crammed in your desk will most likely be thrown away. They might find that one letter; you wonder if your friend will hear what happened. If she did, she'll be glad that she sent that letter. You're [[glad|...]] she sent that letter. (set: $necessity to true)

Someone will find your keyboard still sitting in the corner. They'll also find your sheet music left on the stand the afternoon before. It's a good thing you didn't clean up. They'll see this evidence and [[remember you]] as a true pianist.

Though you won't play in the recital, you know the emptiness of your sound will be present. Your seat will be left unoccupied. Others might wonder why there is an additional chair, but your fellow musicians will know. And in [[your honor]], they'll leave it as it is.

Your fellow keyboardist will finally be able to play a solo. She might feel hesitant at receiving the opportunity in this way, but you hope she will take it. She played beautifully; you're [[happy|...]] for her. (set: $passion to true)

She, too, will move on someday, but you know she'll still remember you. That's more than [[enough|...]]. (set: $friend to true)

“Interactive Onion" by Marie-Laure Ryan “The inner layers of the onion are much harder to conquer than the outer layers, but we should not confuse problem-solving difficulty with aesthetic value… But for the reader who truly cares for the [[story|title]], an interactive work that produces a relatively fixed plot but gives intense pleasure during its unique run is not inherently inferior to a system that creates a wide variety of mediocre stories” (59-60).

Pictures of the Floating World. “Cloud Chamber.” Free Music Archive. Accessed 14 Feb. 2019. Ryan, Marie-Laure. “The Interactive Onion.” New [[Narratives|title]]: Stories and Storytelling in the Digital Age, edited by Ruth Page and Bronwen Thomas, University of Nebraska Press, 2011, pp. 35-62.