The motor of the purifier screeched, letting out a final gasp as if it were breathing its last.
The sharp grinding of metal echoed through the narrow facility.
I turned the valve, and at once a stench of oil and chemicals surged out.
The acrid, fishy smell clawed into my nostrils, coating my throat and making it hard to breathe.
No matter how many times I scrubbed with a wet cloth, the stench would not disappear.
It clung to my skin, seeping into the bones like mold that had rooted deep inside.
Even after showering, even after changing clothes, it always returned to the tip of my nose.
As though the smell had become part of me.
I pinched my nose and muttered,
"Ha… what's the point of all this."
The river was already far too polluted.
The purifier I had designed had won awards, even been featured in documentaries.
The world praised me, but it was all an empty shell.
When the factories upstream dumped their waste every night, this machine became nothing more than an expensive life-support system.
Clean today, filthy tomorrow.
Tomorrow becomes today again, and the cycle repeats endlessly.
In the end, can the river ever be healed?
⸻
I stood by the riverbank, letting the wind brush against me.
The air was heavy with dampness and stench, pressing down on my lungs.
On the surface of the water, Styrofoam and plastic bottles drifted aimlessly.
Rotting branches and plastic bags clashed as the wind stirred them together.
On the bridge, the morning commute was packed.
Suits rushed with quick steps.
Cars clogged the bridge, horns blaring in a discordant chorus.
On the surface, the city looked normal.
Billboards still gleamed, subways still overflowed with passengers.
But I knew the truth.
The people, the river, the air—everything had already collapsed.
This city was nothing more than a giant corpse wearing its skin.
My phone buzzed.
The name flashing on the screen was my younger brother.
— Hyung, come home for dinner. It's Mom's memorial day.
"Yeah," I answered simply.
My brother studied astronomy.
I worked in environmental engineering.
Both were sciences, but we spoke different languages.
The more we talked, the more we ran into walls.
⸻
I looked up at the sky.
It had been a smooth, flawless blue only moments ago, but now it was dimming to a shade of ash.
And then—
"…Huh?"
A strange resonance throbbed inside my ears.
No plane overhead, no broadcast van nearby.
Yet a voice spilled out of the empty air.
"You have committed too many sins."
The wrench slipped from my hand.
It clattered across the floor with a metallic clang.
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
I glanced around.
A jogger with earbuds kept running.
A woman pushing a stroller handed a snack to her child.
A bus rumbled beneath the bridge.
…No one else seemed to notice.
"What the hell… what is this, damn it."
The words burst from my mouth, a rope tying me to reality.
Or maybe it was a scream to confirm that I wasn't the only one losing my mind.
The voice came again, clearer this time, falling from nowhere.
"You have sacrificed too much."
"You are unworthy of being predators."
My heart sank.
The word predators echoed endlessly inside my skull.
The shadow at my feet wavered.
Sunlight trembled, and the edges of my outline unraveled into pale strands.
It was as though the seams of the world itself were being picked apart.
Through the blinding blue of the sky, a black fissure shimmered faintly.
And once more—
"You were wrong."
My body froze.
The words allowed no explanation, no excuse.
They were simply a verdict.
I screamed at the empty air,
"Who's there! Damn it, who the hell are you! Stop screwing with me!"
But no answer came.
The noises of the city peeled away one by one.
Car horns.
Voices.
The whisper of the wind.
All collapsed into a single point, swallowed into silence.
And then, from the sky, the thinnest scream in the world came falling down.