"I Could Have Choked."
The cat survived, but from that day on Yumi’s lungs moved as if they were half-paralyzed.
As the gray-furred Lucche pressed his trembling chest against the transparent mask, Yumi already knew what came next: it wouldn’t be the cat that suffocated this time—it would be her.
Min-su sat sideways on the doorframe and lit a cigarette. The flame’s brief flare grazed her pupils, then vanished.
"Hey, even the cat almost choked—just like you."
He added with a grin.
"Panting with its tongue out, rubbing against me just like you do."
Her chest caved inward. Yumi hugged Lucche tighter. The cat’s body was cold, yet the spot Min-su’s gaze touched burned.
She took a deep breath; the mask straps cut into her skin.
This is no joke, she whispered inside. It’s a verdict wrapped in punchlines.
"A joke? Which time are we on?"
Yumi spoke, her throat bobbing.
"Min-su, you said ‘this time,’ didn’t you?"
"What?"
"That I almost choked this time. What was it last time? When you told me not to open the car window? I sat in the back seat holding my breath then, too."
Min-su shrugged, tapped ash from his cigarette, and stepped closer. He brushed her hair aside and murmured,
"Back then you were the one who felt stifled. I was only helping."
The word help ended with fingertips drumming against her nape. When the hand fell away, pale marks lingered—an asphyxiation signature instead of a kiss.
The Living Cover-Up
Case 1. Hye-jin & Jae-woo
Seventh floor of an officetel, 2 a.m. Steam from the humidifier settled heavy above the bed. When Hye-jin’s sinuses suddenly scorched, she sprang up. Red dots speckled the white pillow.
Jae-woo kicked the door open.
"Again?" He yanked her chin up. "Can’t even breathe right."
"It’s not me— the humidifier’s too strong—"
"Who keeps the window closed every night? You’re just sensitive."
He laughed while pressing a handkerchief to her nose. The redder the stain, the brighter his eyes.
After that night Hye-jin visited a sleep clinic. The doctor gave her one sentence:
"You’re not breathing wrong. Someone is making you breathe wrong."
Case 2. Soo-ah & Do-hyeon
Pet shop, 3 p.m. Two kittens tumbled behind the glass. Do-hyeon gripped Soo-ah’s wrist and pulled her inside.
"These little things could choke overnight, you know."
"…Why suddenly?"
"Life’s like that. If I don’t squeeze, you will; if you don’t, someone else will."
He lifted a pitch-black kitten. Its tiny neck bent sharply under his fingers.
Soo-ah met the kitten’s eyes, not Do-hyeon’s. In those pupils she saw her own face.
What if that kitten were me?
Her heart thumped—not with fear, but with envy.
Jokes and Windpipes
A joke flips like a hand: no one knows whether the next side will draw laughter or cut off air.
Choking holds two scripts at once:
- I am the strangler
- I am the strangled
The moment the word lands, the body maps its coordinates: Where am I standing?
Only later do we realize: at the end of every joke waits someone’s throat.
Min-su fitted an oxygen mask on the cat and told Yumi,
"If you’re hurting, learn how to breathe first."
As the words settled, Yumi understood: every molecule of oxygen in this apartment circulated only with Min-su’s permission. Grateful as she was that Lucche lived, she knew next time it could be her turn to die.
Punching a Hole in the Air
Yumi wrapped Lucche in a blanket and stood.
Min-su blocked her with an arm.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
"A walk. Lucche wants fresh air."
Min-su snickered, exhaled smoke.
"Outside air’s too cold. You could choke."
Yumi turned the knob. Thump, thump—her heart pounded. When the door cracked open, cold air knifed her lungs.
For the first time, she breathed on her own.
"I’m quitting. You can quit too."
From behind, Min-su’s voice followed.
"Fine. I’ll wait until you come back gasping again."
The door shut. Yumi walked down the hallway, Lucche in her arms. Even without an oxygen tank her lungs felt light. Fear still clung to her ribs, but she had learned to breathe—more surely than the cat that almost died.
A Brutal Truth
Every joke foreshadows the next suffocation. So—
- whenever someone tosses out, "I could have choked,"
- we flip the agenda of the joke and ask:
At this very moment, are you laughing? Or are you holding your breath?
Few people breathe freely after the punchline ends.