Chapter 10: Outside is a burning swamp(2)
I decided to buy a dress.
Obviously, it’s because I have nothing to wear. The stretched-out t-shirt’s one thing, but I also lack proper pants.
The only pants that fit are drawstring sweatpants, and even those are too long, dragging on the floor.
There’s no deep meaning to buying a dress. It’s not about accepting my new self as a woman.
It’s just cheaper. One dress costs less than two pieces.
I ordered three dresses.
A week into streaming, I finally made some money.
13,000 won. Not a small amount.
10,000 of it was from the underwear comment… but whatever, it’s no big deal. I don’t care. No feelings about it. Just another day.
The next day, the day after, and beyond, I kept streaming.
The title stayed “Screwed Life Pretty Girl.” If asked why, I’d say it’s because I’m broke. My calculated donation bait.
Fewer viewers than the viral day, but still around thirty.
[Here comes the carry parasite.]
[Miha (Pretty Girl lol Hi lol).]
Most are jerks… but that’s streaming for you.
[Hi, Pretty Girl.]
[Hello.]
[Look at her picking chats lol.]
[Is this for real?]
[Bet she’ll only reply to 1,000-won donations soon.]
Not a bad idea.
I imagined it: 1,000-won donations get a reply, 10,000 get a chat thank-you, 100,000 get a bow.
Feels like a fair rate for my frail body.
[Pay up if you’re gonna say that.]
[;;]
[Crossing the line.]
Whoops, not what I meant.
[Joking lol.]
[I, uh…]
[Lol your face says it all.]
[For real.]
[Haton522550 donated 1,000 won: This work?]
1,000 won might seem small, but it’s huge for me today.
I’ve run all the profitable weekly dungeons, raids, and carries. All that’s left are dailies and new zone story quests. Nothing lucrative.
1,000 won is 10 million silver. That takes 30 minutes of grinding.
[Thank you ^^.]
[Eye smile lolol.]
[So obvious.]
…Maybe the emoticon was too much for 1,000 won.
[Haton522550 donated 1,000 won: Can’t you do a real eye smile instead of chat?]
[Ooh.]
[Ooh…]
Eye smile.
I know what it is. Arching your eyes and brows like you’re smiling. I get it, but…
How do I do it?
[Is that even possible?]
[Lololol.]
[With those dead fish eyes lol.]
[Hmm ;]
Fine, if I know it, I can do it.
Knowing is the start of doing, and doing completes knowing. What can’t I do?
I tried smiling. Pushed my cheeks up, lifted the corners of my mouth.
Squinted my eyes a bit, furrowed my brow slightly, lowered the outer edges of my eyes and brows. Felt pressure in my mouth and jaw.
I didn’t look at the cam. It’s in the bottom-right corner, and I worried tilting my head would ruin the expression.
Instead, I turned to the chat.
[Lololololololol.]
[Lol.]
[Using her face like crazy lol.]
[Like my little sister staring at me.]
[Ohh…]
Assholes.
…I relaxed my face.
[Dead eyes on.]
[Such a shame.]
[Haton522550 donated 10,000 won: My bad…]
[Lol.]
[This is worth 10,000, agreed.]
I’m happy, but not that happy.
10 million silver… no, more with the crashed market.
[Thanks lol.]
[Lol.]
[Swapping emoticons quick.]
[Eye smile OFF lolol.]
I thought about why while gaming.
Maybe I don’t smile much. Forcing it felt overwhelming.
My mouth usually opens to eat or drink.
Or maybe it’s no eye makeup. My brows and lashes are decent, but they can’t beat cosmetics.
Obviously, my brows aren’t silver just because my hair is.
[You sure you’re not foreign?]
[I said no.]
[She says no.]
[Heard she’s Korean.]
[But that hair?]
I’ll claim I’m a naturalized foreigner and keep details secret.
[With that look, you’d be famous.]
[For real.]
[If I saw you on the street, I’d take a pic lol.]
[Me too.]
[That’s creepshot territory?]
[If the face isn’t in it, it’s fine.]
[What?!]
I need to control personal info bait.
Almost two weeks of streaming, I’m making about 20,000 won daily. Managing viewers is basic.
[You probably haven’t seen me.]
[??]
[????]
[Don’t go outside?]
[Yup.]
Can’t.
The dresses arrived quickly.
My first time wearing this type, but it wasn’t hard. I debated pulling it down or up to put it on… then realized it didn’t matter.
Clothes that fit my figure, even cheap ones, were pretty. Comfy too.
I impulsively took a selfie at the entrance. A plain dress, not perfectly fitted, bulging at the stomach because of my chest, but I was enchanted.
Then I stood there, thinking. A lot.
About going outside.
I know I have to someday. I’m not clueless.
My hair’s getting too heavy. It’s harder every day. I need to do something.
Not just the salon. I’m not ignoring it. There’ll be a reason to go out eventually.
I don’t know how long I stood at the door. My legs started aching.
After long hesitation, I opened it with effort.
Light spilled in. A breeze carried outside air.
The sounds weren’t rich. It’s just the hallway of a one-room building—what’s so special about that?
I live in a five-story building of one-rooms. Old place. First floor and basement have units too. The landlord lives on the fifth.
Outside is an alley of similar buildings. Weathered brown bricks and gray walls in a dreary residential area. The street’s steep, not much traffic.
I’m on the fourth floor. Old buildings rarely have elevators. To go out, I take the stairs.
I grabbed the dusty railing. My pale, slender right arm trembled in my sight.
What about my left arm?
How do people use their left arm going downstairs? If the right holds the railing, does the left spread to touch the wall?
No, probably not.
Maybe keep it at my side. Thinking of passing someone, that felt right.
I did that and creaked down the stairs.
Luckily, no one passed by. The building’s quiet on weekday afternoons.
At the bottom, a glass door shows the outside, letting sunlight through.
My shadow stretched inside, long and deep, up to my shoulders, the head lost in the inner shadow.
It looked severed.
My throat tightened. Breathing got hard.
Like a coarse rope strangling me, squeezing my Adam’s apple, crushing my carotid.
I just opened the glass door.
It swung open easily, too easily, with a squeak grazing my ears.
I stepped forward, barely.
Sunlight hit me directly. It stung. Like a burn on my skin.
Sharper, more painful, were the gazes.
Eyes.
Dark, unclear pupils.
Definitely watching me, but I couldn’t read their thoughts—yet felt I could, yet couldn’t.
He passed, but another gaze pierced me.
I don’t know who. I saw him as he saw me, but I couldn’t tell if he was man, woman, old, young. I couldn’t remember. Their faces vanished.
People walked, saw me, kept walking.
I stood still, the sun blazing, hot air slapping my cheeks, voices, cars, horns, loud noises, piercing screams, clamor, faceless people passing, so hot.
Like it was burning.
All gathered, blazing, mocking me—or I don’t know their expressions or thoughts, but the fire was bright, mesmerizing, sharp, hot, terrifying, beautiful.
Yet as they burned, they seemed to sink.
Melting, flowing down.
Like Dalí’s clocks, dripping, the lunatics and their causes and effects all blurred.
Outside was a burning swamp.