The Mafia's Ghost Bride

His breath was getting shorter and shorter. The smoke was engulfing him, making it hard to breath. Coughing violently, he looked around, trying to see through the heavy black fog. But the toxic gases were stinging his eyes, making him unable to see anything. "Mom!" he cried out. "Dad!" But his cries were drowned by more explosions in the rooms above him. The orange flames soared through the night sky, swallowing everything in its way. The roof would fall on him any minute. I must run! He thought wildly. His instincts told him to move, but his body was incapacitated by the poisonous gases. He could not move an inch as his knees wobbled. "Mom! Dad!" he shouted but to no avail. No one could hear him amidst the flames. He fell to the ground, coughing out blood from his lungs. "Someone…" he mumbled. "Please...save...us…" He felt his energy being drai

The room was devoid of any light. The pungent smell of urine and feces was so overwhelming that it would make anyone feel nauseous. It was locked from the outside and there was no other way to exit the room. It was sealed shut; not even a fly can escape. In the corner was a bed for one person. It was unmade and unkempt, stained with blood and food. The walls were drawn with random scribbles of different colors. A new doodle was being designed on it by a man in his fifties. He was rigorously coloring the wall. His appearance was daunting. His beard was almost white and reached till his stomach. Strands of grey hair hung on his head as if they were being ripped every now and then. The eyes were bloodshot red, as if he had not slept for days. "One plus one is two," he mumbled. "One plus one is two." He kept on repeating his gibberish as he drew on the wall. Suddenly, his pencil broke. He let out an ear

Joonjae stopped in front of an old, rundown factory building. The building was quite ancient. The wall paint was peeling off and the once white building was now a dirty brown color. There were no workers around and the windows were boarded up. There was a broken door at the front and there was not a soul in sight. Small insects and animals scurried here and there, building their homes in the corners of the abandoned place. Stepping forward, Joonjae checked his watch. It was almost 1 PM in the afternoon. He took out his phone and checked the text again. "1:30 PM," it said. He was half an hour early. Leaning against the car door, he waited patiently for someone to turn up. Finally, he saw a black minivan pulling up in front of the building. A short, stumpy man in his sixties stepped out. The old man walked towards Joonjae, carrying an envelope. "Long time no see," the old man comme

(WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND SOME DISTURBING ELEMENTS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)  After an hour, Joonjae and Yoseob pulled up in front of The Institute of Mental Rehabilitation. "Is this the place?" Joonjae asked. "That's what the article mentioned," Yoseob replied. They were standing in front of a large, white building. The entrance was locked with a heavily padded iron gate and electric barb wires were placed all throughout the wall's perimeter. "Let's talk to the guard," Joonjae pointed towards the gate. He walked forward, with Yoseob in tow. A pompous guard stood at the gate. He had a smug look on his face and he stared arrogantly at the approaching guests. "We want to meet a patient here," Joonjae informed the heavily armed guard. It struck odd to him that a mental institution would arm guards with live rifles and

It was a breezy night. A lone girl stood in the living room with her back to him. She looked ethereal. Her pearly skin was giving a soft glow in the dark, as if the moon descended on earth. He looked at her with love filled eyes but conflict in his heart. Slowly, he approached her. "I'm home," he said softly. She turned to look at him with sorrowful eyes. She looked so unearthly yet in pain. "Welcome back," she smiled sadly. "Your eyes do not match your smile," he commented. "Something is troubling you." "Everything troubles me," she said in melancholy. She held his hand. "Are we doing the right thing?" "What do you mean?" "We...we should not be together," she said. "We belong to different worlds. Our lives should not be intertwined. Yet, here we are, married to each other. We shouldn't be together." He felt his heartstrings being pulled.