Body Count – Camellia Peebles

February 23, 2026

Bar, Seattle — 9:25pm:

“I’m not afraid of dying; I’m afraid of becoming someone’s ‘fun fact,’” I sigh to my friend, watching them nod sympathetically.

“I don’t blame you,” she replies, Which is more akin to an insult rather than commiseration. “You have terrible luck.”

“Don’t say that…” I scowl.

That’s how I knew this one was temporary, too. Just like everyone else.

“There’s worse things than being a fun fact.” She tells me. Her wisdom flawed like a cheap diamond. Which was my cue to tune out. No matter. I was used to the acquired taste of audacity.

Anytime someone ten years younger than me who has never known true ‘struggle,’ offers me advice, their naive words barely register.
I simply shrug, letting her keep her blind positivity. Eager for her to learn the hard way. We all do. Or is it just my own, “bad luck?”

Fun Fact #1 — Hagwon break-room, Gyeonggi-do, 11:40 a.m.
Source: Two former coworkers who bonded over catty gossip and coffee from the chain downstairs featuring a cute K-pop band and as their ambassadors.

“I heard she dated that K-drama actor,” one of them says, delighted. “And he crossed a major line.” she says major the way people say soulmate.

“Let’s Google the other one she says she talks to,” the other says, already typing. “He lives in London. British, like me,” he adds, wedging himself into the topic.

They scroll.
They joke.
They nod approvingly at a man who will never know their names.

“Please,” co-worker two adds. “He’s a celebrity. He can have anyone. Why would he choose her?” he scoffs as he swipes right on a man via a hook-up app about ten centuries out of his league. Attempting to ignore the smell that always followed coworker one around like toilet paper stuck to her shoe.

I sat one wall away in my classroom as my students practiced writing their names. Unknowingly, my life became their group activity.

Fun Fact #2 — Las Vegas Dispensary, 4:20 p.m.
Source: Ginger-haired man in his late twenties with an L.A. Lakers tattoo and unlimited, undeserved, confidence.

“You know,” he says, leaning against the counter, “I hooked up with this girl who used to come here all the time. She’d smoke me out and we’d go all night.”
He says this while losing a video game.
He says this while wearing gym shorts that are trying to escape.
He says this like it’s career advice.

“Yeah, okay,” his coworker says. “When’s it my turn? I’ve been here just as long.”

“It’ll happen,” he replies, condescendingly, like a youth pastor who secretly goes to strip clubs.

Somewhere in this story, I am supposed to be impressed.
Somewhere, I am supposed to feel special.
Instead, I become a highlight with benefits.
If only I weren’t the punchline, too.

Fun Fact #3: California Apartment, 3:25 p.m.
Source: A man who looks like Clark Kent and has by now decided I was a mistake, already sinking back into his primordial ooze of narcissism.

“Remember that girl who stalked me?” he says casually, opening the fridge. “She found my address online and sent me a birthday present. I blocked her.” he takes out almond milk. “What a psycho.”

“Didn’t you sleep with her, though?” his friend asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “Several times. I had a rotation.” He says this like he’s talking about laundry.
“Wanna get pizza?”

In this version, I am a cautionary tale.
In this version, affection is evidence.
In this version, liking someone too much is a crime.

Fun Fact #4 — Hongik Univ Station, Seoul, 6:10 a.m.
Source: A stranger who thinks confession is small talk.

“Right there,” he says, pointing at the emergency stairs. “That’s where a drunk foreigner and I secretly had sex.”
He laughs.
“After, I tried to return the condoms at the convenience store,” he adds. “They wouldn’t take them back.”
He seems personally wounded by this.

My friend nods, impressed.

“Woah, really? Hongdae is really magical,” he says, reverently.

In this story, I am not a person.
I am a trophy.
I am a rumor with GPS coordinates.

Fun Fact #5 — Manchester, England, 1:15 a.m.
Source: A man from Tinder who believed geography was intimacy and has a name that, apparently, sounds like a pirate’s.

We met because he liked my third photo best.

“You seem different. Come over?” he told me, three messages in.

He also said this to twelve other women that night.
We talked about music, about the UK, about how Americans say “bathroom” instead of “toilet.”

Never about anything that mattered.

I told him I had a crush on Jonathan Rhys Myers
on the t.v. for an ‘immersive experience.’
Later, I would realize that I was a story he probably didn’t tell.
Later, he told me he felt no spark.
Two weeks later, he would have an Asian girlfriend.
In this version, I am a notch.
I am a screenshot.
I am proof he went abroad and got plenty of attention.

Fun Fact #6 — Seoul Hotel, 2:40 a.m.
Source: A six-foot-five Danish volunteer with green eyes and soft hands.

“I didn’t want to meet a Korean guy tonight,” I told him. “I want a blonde boy with blue eyes.”

“Well,” he said, smiling, “you got green.”

We laughed like people who think coincidence is romance.
We lay on his friend’s bed, careful not to wrinkle anything.
He asked me hard or slow.
He asked me about my life.
He remembered the answers.
In the morning, he made sure I had water.
In another life, he might have stayed.
In this one, he became a what if.

Fun Fact #7 — High School Bedroom, Age Seventeen
Source: A boy who promised patience and practiced betrayal.

He said he would wait.
He said he cared.
He said he would be my first when I was ready.
On my birthday, he slept with my best friend.
She told me later.
She did not apologize.

“I don’t regret it,” she said, casually, like she bought a scalpel just to cut me with surgical precision.

This was the first time I learned how permanent other people’s choices could be.

I learned that day that loyalty was optional.
I learned that day that love could be both negotiable and poisonous.
In this version, I am not sexy.
I am disposable.
I remain a virgin.

“Somewhere, someone is probably telling my story wrong right now.” I shake my head with a sigh.

I opt to head home early. I shower and climb under the covers, settling into my depression like a routine. I turn off my bedside light, my room dark and quiet, my bed empty. As I close my eyes, I wonder which version of me will survive.
I finally drift off, tired of being interesting only in ways that hurt.