The Girl Wants to Be M*rdered

I will return to the sky.

As dawn’s light touches ~poof~, disappears,
I will hold hands together with the dew.

I will return to the sky,
Playing together at the edge during twilight,
If the clouds beckon,

I will return to the sky,
On the day this beautiful world wraps up its picnic,
I will go and say, “It was beautiful…”

Crack, smack.
“…….Phew. It’s all over.”
Pressing the Enter key with my pinky.
With that, the typing that lasted nearly an hour came to an end.

Yeah,
Everything is over.

Maybe because I handled it too roughly, the keyboard isn’t typing ‘ㄴ’ and ‘ㅈ.’
I looked around multiple times to find the typos that came from that, and my eyes swelled up like balloons.
Every time I press the Enter key, it jumps two spaces, forcing me to look back at my novel and proofread it.
Just a few months ago, my vision was about 0.5, but now I can’t even see the letters at the top of the test chart clearly anymore.
And with migraines that scratch at my brain at least once this week and inflammation making my fingers swell more than normal, typing is a struggle.
Now, everything is over.

Honestly, it wasn’t always fun.
Hobbies are things you enjoy doing, but when it becomes work and routine and turns into obsession, it’s no longer a hobby but just simple labor.
The same goes for novels; it’s not just my problem to suffer through that pain.
But every time I faced that, it felt like I could rise again thanks to some readers’ messages cheering me on or asking for the next episode.

With my body resonating with those pains, and my mental state being even more depleted, I think there were many ups and downs in the quality and other aspects of my novel.
In fact, the flow of the first novel and the last novel could be seen as different enough to consider them completely separate stories.
Like a kind of transition, I suppose.
I learned a lot, and because of that, many things changed as well.

Well, if I were to go back in time,
“I would probably write it the same way.”
I find it hard to imagine myself not writing.

There’s a term for those who cannot settle in one place — it’s called the ‘wandering spirit.’
It refers to the fate of living a life unable to settle down, drifting about.
So, I must be bound to ‘writing.’
That might have been my destiny.

Was it elementary or middle school?
There was a time I pondered what life is, what kind of life I should live.
I think it all sparked from the instruction to fill out future aspirations in the student record.
Responses sprang from the kids’ hands, ranging from soldiers, police, firefighters, and teachers to various monochromatic answers.
“……..”
I remember staring blankly at that empty box for an hour.

In the end, I filled that box.
What I wrote down was, ‘Building a house in the countryside and living peacefully until I die.’
Hope, yeah. That was my future ambition.

Just for your information, I got scolded by the teacher and changed it to something else.
The new dream I wrote down was a casual ‘researcher.’
I was praised for it back then.
…Why?

Anyway, after that, I spent a lot of time reflecting.
How should I live?
What are the precious values and beliefs in my life that are worth more than my own life?
I pondered and pondered.
And in the end, the answer I confidently stated in front of my closest friend at the time was:
“If given another chance to live, I would confidently say I would live the same life as now.”

Just so you know, after saying that, I took my friend to the PC room.
And just so you know, the next week was exam week. I didn’t want to leave regrets.
And just so you know, my friend bombed the exam.
Sorry.

Time passed, and I met a friend who loved philosophy.
That friend said, “That sounds like something Nietzsche said.”
At that time, I only knew the graffiti on the bathroom wall that read “God is dead — Nietzsche,” and “Nietzsche, you are dead — God,” and “You both are dead — the cleaning lady,” which led me to explore Nietzsche’s thoughts and discover that he actually said something similar, which surprised me.
Of course, the context was different, but I think it went something like this:
“Is this what life is? Ah, how nice. Then once more.”
Of course, I used those words as an excuse to head to the PC room.
When I told my friend, they were ecstatic.
When I linked Nietzsche’s concept of Übermensch to Superman, they nearly died of joy, wanting to turn me into a pancake!

Hiiing, why?
If you mention “Oh, Übermensch. That Superman?” to someone who likes Nietzsche, they’ll enjoy it, trust me.
Try it someday.
I won’t be responsible for the aftermath, though.
It’s like telling those who barely play guitar, “Wow, you play great, but why are there only four strings?”
Or asking philosophy students, “So, where do people who graduate from philosophy find jobs?”

Well.
If you ask me if I hate writing now, I’d firmly say no.
I would have still written the same way if I went back in time, and if I go back to the past, I wish to write even better.
Of course, I’ll invest in Bitcoin too.
Isn’t Bitcoin a god, and I invincible?

Anyway, while reading my past writings, I couldn’t help but think, “Wow, who is this genius? Oh, it’s me.”
But I viewed that as a respectful nod to the inexperienced me from the past.
Honestly, part of me didn’t want to do a remake.
…Just kidding.

I learned a lot.
And I think I lost quite a bit too.
If you ask if I regret the things I lost, I might say I feel a bit sad, but since what I’ve gained is greater, I wouldn’t really express any regrets.
“Because—”
The messages, lessons, and inspirations left by the readers are something I couldn’t trade for anything of value.

I received support from some,
learned from others,
and received passion from someone.
One written piece can move the hearts of people.
The emotional impact and joy it brings is beyond words.
The guy who once just read now writes.
Isn’t that a fascinating experience?
A joy only I can possess, irreplaceable.

In novels, all of the author’s essence is revealed.
And I suspect I am no exception to that rule.
In every piece, every sentence, every word, in every selection and arrangement, the author’s entire being is exposed.
What do I want to say? What do I want to convey? What are the author’s values?
I was able to convey what I wanted to express while writing novels, and I’m satisfied with that.
I get to vent, and I don’t even have to pay; instead, I get paid?
This is like a jackpot!
Author, try hard, try hard.

“Uwaaa, so, what’s next?”
Crack, I stretched my arms.
With the scoliosis-induced back pain, I prepared for my last typing session.
If it’s the last, then it better be cheerful, funny, or an ending that brings everyone to tears.
— Tap.
“…..I need to wrap it up.”
I grabbed the keyboard again.

The novel is over.
But it’s not completely finished yet.
Depending on my destiny, I’ll end up rewriting the novel someday.
I think it may turn into a work containing everything I’ve experienced while writing this story.

There’s no such thing as an eternal end.
Only the repetitive beginnings exist.
I don’t know when I’ll drop the next novel.
I’ve got everything planned out, but I feel like it might be tough for about a month due to personal reasons.
First, I need to visit the hospital and gradually tackle the things I’ve put off.

But, I will return someday.
Even if I drift through various places aimlessly, I know where my home is.
Even if I merely watch from afar, I will eventually come back here.
Because this place is like the location of my birth.

“Well then, this is it. The real last one, truly the last.”
In my favorite movie, ‘The Truman Show,’ the day begins with the line:
‘In case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night.’
You could just say have a good day, but I keep dragging it out.

But, I will absolutely come back here someday.
No matter what happens, I will definitely return.
Let’s replace that grim statement with something different for a finale.

Just a common phrase.
A phrase everyone always uses.
Ordinary, yet meaningful upon reflection.
Words that resonate deeply.

“Well then.
I’m off.”
When I return, I’ll bring some Melona.
This is the end.
The real, final end.

And, a new beginning.

*

The girl wants to be murdered.
The record of the serialization from Chapter 107.
From May 30, 2021, to November 10, 2021.
It began simply due to having nothing else to do, wrapping up a weird novel, and with the single thought of writing a story I genuinely want to write, the author ends up finishing this chapter.

“I die excessively, just like I’ve lived.”
Complete (完結)