My Favourite Toy Prologue
Junsu had a favourite toy.
It was red, tiny and shiny. With a sharp silver blade that was ready to nick and prick your skin if you dared to touch it.
PROLOGUE
Junsu had a favourite toy.
It was red, tiny and shiny. With a sharp silver blade that was ready to nick and prick your skin if you dared to touch it.
Junsu had a favourite toy.
Not only it was in his favourite colour, it also always gave him the sensation that he loved the most…
Shiny, ruby-coloured liquid oozing through the tiny openings on his skin… trailing down his fingers, his arms, his elbows… contrasting beautifully against the pale skin of his own…
And the most important thing, it kept away the sounds that are ruthlessly badgering him to topple over the edge of insanity.
And he hummed as he carefully wiped the small sharp razor with a piece of white cloth, taking time to admire the streaks of red lines produced on the cloth as he dab the it on the silver blade. A tiny smile was formed on his face when he satisfactorily inspected the now spotless red razor as he gently put his treasure inside his wooden box and locked it safely.
It was his favourite toy.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:
Wincing slightly at the burnt feeling on his arm, Junsu could only watch helplessly as the stainless glass rolled off from the surface of the table and hit the ground with a reverberating sound.
Quickly, he bent down to retrieve the glass by the hand, ignoring the scorching hotness that radiated from the glass since it contained freshly made coffee made not even 15 seconds ago, although he knew that it was too late since the loud sound must have alerted the other occupants of the house.
True to his prediction, just when the bottom of the glass touched the wooden surface, a worried and annoyed face was looking at him from across the table.
“What was that? Did you drop something again? Oh! Don’t tell me it’s Jun…”
Junsu quickly lifted up the glass into his mother’s perspective line, face smiling despite the blister he could feel quickly forming across his arms.
“No, omonim. It’s not Junho’s. See?” His mind silently thanked him for not using Junho’s cup like he usually did when he missed his twin so much.
Upon knowing that nothing of Junho’s was harmed, the 40 year old lady quickly huffed and strode away from the kitchen while muttering under her breath. “Careless as usual… why can’t he be like Junho? Junho… my Junho…”
In the kitchen, Junsu kept his head bowed as he could hear his mother broke into a stifled sob again, a normal occurrence every time she was reminded of her lost son…
Her now dead son because of Junsu.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:
He adjusted the dark brown piece of cloth on his wrist with one hand as another hand stretched out to reach his bag and slung it over his shoulder, suppressing a wince as the blister throbbed with every movement his arm made.
His strappal was thankfully spared from the spillage of the scalding hot coffee during his breakfast just now. Anyway it would be weird for him or his friend to see his wrist bare without the protection of the brown strip of cloth.
He had been wearing it since… as long as he could remember. Before, it was to protect his weak joint from being twisted when he is vigorously chasing after the black and white ball across the field. And now...it was still used to protect himself… from the twisted and condescending stares that he knew he would get if people would know what lay beneath the strappal.
But he couldn’t afford to lose it. Not when it was the only thread of sanity that he had left.
Every cut that he had lovingly carved on his skin reminded him to stay silent and patient every time his father threw a scathing glare filled with hatred and accusation whenever he saw him. It helped him to piece his heart back together every time he heard his mother sobbed whenever he reminded her of him…
Of his twin.
Whom he killed.
It was not unusual for him to lie on his bed pondering why he wasn’t the one who died that night, instead of Junho. He was…the rebel, the black sheep of the family, the thorn on his mother’s side whenever he disappointed her again and again with his results in school, the failure in his father’s eyes whenever he refused to listen to his father’s instruction to learn more about the business, instead opting to spend his days and nights practicing in the soccer field.
And the final straw was the death of Junho.
That night, he was out late, practicing soccer as usual, refusing to go back home despite it being so late. His dad had called, but he defied the older man’s order as usual, body and mind was still too involved in the enjoyment of the game. The rush of the adrenalin gave him the gut to reject the instruction.
So, his twin decided to come and pick him up. It was late and it would be dangerous for a young man like him to be wondering alone on the street when he was walking home. Hence Junho took the initiative to ride his bike to fetch him home.
Who would ever guess that he ended up riding his way to death instead?
It was late and the night was dark. The road was dangerous for a young man to be wandering alone, but it was apparently also dangerous for a young man to ride his bike for he and his bike was smashed by a vehicle drove by pair of love birds who was too busy flirting with each other to pay attention on the road.
At least he had died instantly and had not felt the prolonged pain of crashing to the hard asphalt after being thrown for 6 meters.
Not that that fact had ever lessened Junsu’s guilt.
He bowed slightly and muttered “I’m going off Ahbuji,” Under his breath when he saw his father sitting in the front porch, reading his newspaper as usual.
He got no response as usual, but that day the stinging pain in his heart was painful enough for him to reach his right hand to grasp the newly made scar on beneath the strappal on his left hand.
A/N I finally knew the price to go to the showcase to meet the twin... $250!! well, it include autograph session and also photo taking... but... I don;t really care about Junho, really. (sorry to him) and there will only be Junsu who will probably sing 1 or 2 songs the very much. Should I still go?
Anyway, enjoy the story and please comment!
It was red, tiny and shiny. With a sharp silver blade that was ready to nick and prick your skin if you dared to touch it.
PROLOGUE
Junsu had a favourite toy.
It was red, tiny and shiny. With a sharp silver blade that was ready to nick and prick your skin if you dared to touch it.
Junsu had a favourite toy.
Not only it was in his favourite colour, it also always gave him the sensation that he loved the most…
Shiny, ruby-coloured liquid oozing through the tiny openings on his skin… trailing down his fingers, his arms, his elbows… contrasting beautifully against the pale skin of his own…
And the most important thing, it kept away the sounds that are ruthlessly badgering him to topple over the edge of insanity.
And he hummed as he carefully wiped the small sharp razor with a piece of white cloth, taking time to admire the streaks of red lines produced on the cloth as he dab the it on the silver blade. A tiny smile was formed on his face when he satisfactorily inspected the now spotless red razor as he gently put his treasure inside his wooden box and locked it safely.
It was his favourite toy.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:
Wincing slightly at the burnt feeling on his arm, Junsu could only watch helplessly as the stainless glass rolled off from the surface of the table and hit the ground with a reverberating sound.
Quickly, he bent down to retrieve the glass by the hand, ignoring the scorching hotness that radiated from the glass since it contained freshly made coffee made not even 15 seconds ago, although he knew that it was too late since the loud sound must have alerted the other occupants of the house.
True to his prediction, just when the bottom of the glass touched the wooden surface, a worried and annoyed face was looking at him from across the table.
“What was that? Did you drop something again? Oh! Don’t tell me it’s Jun…”
Junsu quickly lifted up the glass into his mother’s perspective line, face smiling despite the blister he could feel quickly forming across his arms.
“No, omonim. It’s not Junho’s. See?” His mind silently thanked him for not using Junho’s cup like he usually did when he missed his twin so much.
Upon knowing that nothing of Junho’s was harmed, the 40 year old lady quickly huffed and strode away from the kitchen while muttering under her breath. “Careless as usual… why can’t he be like Junho? Junho… my Junho…”
In the kitchen, Junsu kept his head bowed as he could hear his mother broke into a stifled sob again, a normal occurrence every time she was reminded of her lost son…
Her now dead son because of Junsu.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:
He adjusted the dark brown piece of cloth on his wrist with one hand as another hand stretched out to reach his bag and slung it over his shoulder, suppressing a wince as the blister throbbed with every movement his arm made.
His strappal was thankfully spared from the spillage of the scalding hot coffee during his breakfast just now. Anyway it would be weird for him or his friend to see his wrist bare without the protection of the brown strip of cloth.
He had been wearing it since… as long as he could remember. Before, it was to protect his weak joint from being twisted when he is vigorously chasing after the black and white ball across the field. And now...it was still used to protect himself… from the twisted and condescending stares that he knew he would get if people would know what lay beneath the strappal.
But he couldn’t afford to lose it. Not when it was the only thread of sanity that he had left.
Every cut that he had lovingly carved on his skin reminded him to stay silent and patient every time his father threw a scathing glare filled with hatred and accusation whenever he saw him. It helped him to piece his heart back together every time he heard his mother sobbed whenever he reminded her of him…
Of his twin.
Whom he killed.
It was not unusual for him to lie on his bed pondering why he wasn’t the one who died that night, instead of Junho. He was…the rebel, the black sheep of the family, the thorn on his mother’s side whenever he disappointed her again and again with his results in school, the failure in his father’s eyes whenever he refused to listen to his father’s instruction to learn more about the business, instead opting to spend his days and nights practicing in the soccer field.
And the final straw was the death of Junho.
That night, he was out late, practicing soccer as usual, refusing to go back home despite it being so late. His dad had called, but he defied the older man’s order as usual, body and mind was still too involved in the enjoyment of the game. The rush of the adrenalin gave him the gut to reject the instruction.
So, his twin decided to come and pick him up. It was late and it would be dangerous for a young man like him to be wondering alone on the street when he was walking home. Hence Junho took the initiative to ride his bike to fetch him home.
Who would ever guess that he ended up riding his way to death instead?
It was late and the night was dark. The road was dangerous for a young man to be wandering alone, but it was apparently also dangerous for a young man to ride his bike for he and his bike was smashed by a vehicle drove by pair of love birds who was too busy flirting with each other to pay attention on the road.
At least he had died instantly and had not felt the prolonged pain of crashing to the hard asphalt after being thrown for 6 meters.
Not that that fact had ever lessened Junsu’s guilt.
He bowed slightly and muttered “I’m going off Ahbuji,” Under his breath when he saw his father sitting in the front porch, reading his newspaper as usual.
He got no response as usual, but that day the stinging pain in his heart was painful enough for him to reach his right hand to grasp the newly made scar on beneath the strappal on his left hand.
A/N I finally knew the price to go to the showcase to meet the twin... $250!! well, it include autograph session and also photo taking... but... I don;t really care about Junho, really. (sorry to him) and there will only be Junsu who will probably sing 1 or 2 songs the very much. Should I still go?
Anyway, enjoy the story and please comment!