Dust Motes in Golden Light

The morning sun, a tender caress filtering through the window, painted the dust motes dancing in the old room with a golden hue, their delicate waltz a spectacle of pure beauty. Here, on the ‘Hell’ bed, I lay on my back, my gaze lost in their luminous ballet. I held my hands out before my face, flexing my fingers, then turned them to catch the sunbeams, watching their golden light pass through. Was this reality, the unvarnished truth, or merely a figment of a nightmare from which I could not awaken? I couldn't tell. My existence, submerged in figures and ledgers for eight hours a day, six days a week, had rendered me little more than a robot, programmed by my surroundings. I hadn't found a way out of the trap of the so-called real world. Perhaps, more accurately, I hadn't even truly looked.

"Yeint... Mother isn't feeling very well, dear."

From the shadowed corner of the room, my mother’s frail moan struck my chest like a powerful blow. Some of my acquaintances, my childhood friends, had taken to calling me ‘Hell,’ shortening my name with a mischievous inflection. But Mother, she never called me that. She said she didn't want the entity named ‘Hell’ to cast even a shadow over her son.

She knew, and I knew, that despite my name, Yeint, meaning brave, there was no bravery left to display amidst the mounting hospital bills, the cost of medicine, and the crushing weight of debt. The salary of a mere accountant was hardly enough to warrant any courage.

That night, I remained alone in the office. My fingers trembled as I stared at the company’s confidential bank account on the computer screen, the calculator poised beside me. I knew, deep down, that cancer had a way of signaling its final departure. Yet, I could no longer bear to witness the hidden pain behind my mother’s forced smiles, the brave face she put on amidst her suffering.

"Do what you need to do with a clear conscience, my son. I'm feeling better. If you get a chance, we'll go back to Kyarku for a while, and I can rest properly then."

I knew best that Mother truly longed to return to our village, Kyarku. She filled her thoughts with dreams of solace, of relief from her pain, but her eyes, they told a different story, a story her son understood.

This one button press, and everything would change. The life of ‘good boy’ Yeint, who always kept his head down and maintained a polite smile in front of others, would end here. Just as dead cells could never be reborn, I never again wanted to see the fading of my mother’s smile. But to be able to offer her a final, strong, smiling breath, was this opportunity, this fleeting moment, this period of time, something I could afford to let slip away? Without hesitation, I pressed the Enter key.

When I returned home that late night, I knelt beside my sleeping mother’s bed. A choked whisper escaped my lips, a raw sound from the depths of my heart. "Mother... I’ve killed. I’ve killed the obedient Yeint who stood before you. Please, Mother, don't cry... don't cry..." The night was profoundly dark, and I had already committed something far darker, far more ignoble. Though I had set in motion an irreversible event, my spirit, I imagined, watched me with a gentle smile, offering solace. But I knew I had to confess to Mother, for the rest of my life. Even though I knew the medication would keep her from truly hearing, the act of confessing the truth to her, to wash away my own ego, was where my courage lay. Whether she heard or not, speaking these words to her was what would give me strength. As I spoke in hushed tones, my voice fading, regret, like a cool breeze, flowed through my veins.

The next morning, a week later, a week etched in memory, the world continued to spin as it always did. But for me, everything had fractured, like a shattered mirror. The rhythmic tapping of the intern’s keyboard in the office sounded like the relentless clatter of a typewriter, interrogating my very soul. The manager’s cough was the judge’s unmerciful verdict, about to be pronounced. The hushed whispers of my colleagues, their faces turned towards each other as they gossiped with such vehemence that it felt like spittle flying, now roared in my ears like the hollow, meaningless lamentations at a funeral.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug on my coat from behind. "Hell... he stole it... these financial statements, he manipulated them... Guards, hold this one tight! He’ll try to run before the police arrive..."

"You didn't take leave, yet you were the last one working overtime, sir. It wasn't natural. I checked the CCTV footage thoroughly, sir. This guy started plotting this from then. He looked harmless, like a cat that couldn't catch a mouse. What? Yeint? What is it... you have the courage to steal? Huh? Hell, you beggar, thief!"

The voices of the manager and his assistants, who had, from the countless times I’d pleaded for loans, seemed to see only what they could gain, now echoed, stripping me bare. A cacophony of sounds, a barrage of gazes, swirled in my head, mocking me. Amidst the disorientation, I struggled to breathe. The thousand eyes of those around me felt like the hungry talons of vultures, poised to descend and tear me apart. My every step faltered, threatening to send me sprawling. Before I could take the steps that would lead my mother back to Kyarku, before the whispered confessions I’d made could fade, was I to fall first?

The manager’s venomous words, the contemptuous glares of my colleagues, formed an insurmountable wall around me. The moment before two police officers calmly entered the room and produced handcuffs. "Was I wrong? Was I wrong...? I laid bare the unbearable pain, the suffering I endured. Didn't you hear my cries, my silent pleas for salvation? What are these looks now...? I am not a thief. Right? Am I a thief...? What I stole... What I stole was..." My voice, speaking to no one in particular, became a deafening roar in my ears. In that instant, all the years of suppressed anguish, of bowed heads, of oppression, erupted within me like a thunderclap. I kicked the desk before me with a violent crash, sending financial statement files and the computer screen flying.

"Yes! I stole! I did it!" My enraged shout shook the entire office like an earthquake. I stared at the manager and the onlookers, my gaze sharp and predatory, like a tigress about to tear into her prey. "Do you all want to stone me to death? Do you all...? Who among you is pure? Who among you is honest? Because you are all so saintly and upright? My mother.... My mother...." Yeint couldn't continue. Amidst the ensuing silence, the two police officers, stunned, snapped back to reality and moved to strike me with their batons.

"This beggar wants to die. Damn it... your mother, huh? After doing whatever you please, you want to go cry on your mother's shoulder? What is it... is your mother dying, so you had to do this...?"

"Aaaah...!"

"Hey... Yeint!"

"Oh, dear... I'm dead!"

One of the officers didn't get to finish his sentence. Amidst the cries, in an act no one anticipated, Yeint lunged at the officer, embracing him, and together, they plummeted from the office window.

The ground below the high-rise office window was a macabre tableau of shattered glass and deep crimson blood, smeared grotesquely across the pavement. The dark, life-giving fluid streamed from ‘Yeint’s’ head, splattering his face beyond recognition. Yet, from beneath the viscous blood, the corner of his mouth curved upwards in a faint smile. His left arm, grotesquely bent, a bone protruding through a tear in his shirt, lay beside the police officer who had fallen with him, groaning and immobile. The shouts of the surrounding crowd, the multitude of eyes fixed upon the scene, now held no meaning for Yeint. He knew the charges that awaited him – attempted murder of a public servant, theft, and a host of other offenses related to the death. But he had already managed to send the money for his mother's medical expenses and her travel to Kyarku. His heart felt utterly light. Hadn't he, from the life of ‘Hell,’ defiantly broken free?

A short while later, an old, battered police van arrived. Yeint was placed inside, and the vehicle drove away. Despite the searing pain from his injuries, Yeint leaned against the van door, a hollow chuckle escaping his lips. Let the world judge him however it wished... in the end, nothing truly mattered. At that moment, the van abruptly stopped at a traffic light. This city’s police station was a joke; the one for the relevant district was at the northernmost edge of town, far from the southern part where the incident occurred. How long they had been driving from the scene, he didn’t know. From a roadside stall selling amplifiers and speakers, a song blared out, a test of the equipment. A gentle piano melody intertwined with Freddie Mercury’s mournful voice, seeping through the bars of the van.

“Nothing really matters…”

“I really like this song, Mother…” The special security officer, riding shotgun, could hear him despite his muffled voice. With the thought of what this madman might spout next, he cocked his rifle and yelled at the driver officer beside him, pounding on the door.

"This guy is rambling and singing songs, sir..."

The police van remained stationary. The two officers from the front emerged hastily.

"...Anyway the wind blows..."

Clutching the window bars, Yeint gently closed his eyes, savoring the fading notes of the music and the evening breeze. The light filtering through the bars, the light from the rifles aimed at him. Slanting rays of pale sunlight fell before him, caught between the bars and the barrels of the guns.

Spreading his hands to catch the pale sunlight…

“This isn’t a dream, Mother. This is the reality I chose…”

Thahtetsitt 26.6.2026.22:17

(In memory of Hell)