infinite; sungyeol-centric (atm); prompt #2
anonymous
October 1 2011, 02:27:14 UTC
The Honam Line from Seodaejeon Station to the one in Seoul is approximately 160 kilometers, most of which Sungyeol spends looking out the window and seeing only his reflection in the glass.
There’s this girl, standing to his left and off-center, her bags heavy and frame small. She meets his eyes once or twice, this small, possibly sad smile on her lips. And it hits Sungyeol because this is a real person’s smile-not the fake grins for the camera Woohyun has perfected or the forced wide smiles of Sunggyu. He’s struck wanting to know her name and offer his seat all at the same time, grasping at straws practically in an attempt to open his mouth and do the one thing he’s good at: speak.
When he makes to stand, the train lurches just so and sends her hand-purse rushing toward his feet. It hits the curve of his insole, settling there as if it’s the missing piece in the puzzle. The girl bows her head, apologizes with a low voice most likely acquired from the cigarettes he sees peeking out from behind her coat pocket.
“Thank you.”
Sungyeol meets her eyes again, and upon closer inspection they’re even sadder than her smile. The incandescent lighting inside the train give her face a softer touch and she looks less like a tragic heroine to something almost untouchable for someone like him. They’re halfway to Seoul and all the way broken.
Sungyeol opens his mouth, the beginnings of something on the tip of his tongue, when the train speaks for him with a triplet chime of ding! ding! ding! and the doors slide open for a pit-stop. The girl tilts her head, the bangs she’d probably pinned back sometime earlier falling into her eyes, and she thanks him again.
“Wait!”
The doors slowly begin to slide shut and the girl is swallowed by a sea of people, like a tiny boat in an ocean of warships. Sungyeol feels like he’s on the lifeboat still calling out for help, and the only one who would listen is sailing fast away. _____ Most accidents don’t make the news-too many deaths happen each day and there’s not enough time to broadcast every single occasion. It’s too time consuming, and no one much cares for it anymore. People would much rather see the highlights of a ballgame missed or catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. No one cares for anything that matters, only what’s new.
Sungyeol wonders when he’ll be something that doesn’t matter.
But there, on one of the station’s website, is a small article with a picture. Girl commits suicide by jumping in front of an oncoming train, body recognized as Kim Yoonmi-or at least that’s what the I.D. in her purse said-a twenty-three year old accountant from Daejeon.
The picture is nice, carefully combed hair as black as his t-shirt and make-up covering the splotches of acne on her cheekbone. She’s gorgeous and what makes her so is the sheen in her eyes. Smart and talented, the article says, but who isn’t for the right price. So happy, but obviously not. The thirtieth death of the new year.
Sungyeol leans back in his chair. His watch lights up green to signal the new hour and his morning coffee is cold and bitter like the insides of his chest. It’s time to start a new day.
He realizes three steps into his room, staring at Myungsoo’s face, that he finally learned her name-just too late.
There’s this girl, standing to his left and off-center, her bags heavy and frame small. She meets his eyes once or twice, this small, possibly sad smile on her lips. And it hits Sungyeol because this is a real person’s smile-not the fake grins for the camera Woohyun has perfected or the forced wide smiles of Sunggyu. He’s struck wanting to know her name and offer his seat all at the same time, grasping at straws practically in an attempt to open his mouth and do the one thing he’s good at: speak.
When he makes to stand, the train lurches just so and sends her hand-purse rushing toward his feet. It hits the curve of his insole, settling there as if it’s the missing piece in the puzzle. The girl bows her head, apologizes with a low voice most likely acquired from the cigarettes he sees peeking out from behind her coat pocket.
“Thank you.”
Sungyeol meets her eyes again, and upon closer inspection they’re even sadder than her smile. The incandescent lighting inside the train give her face a softer touch and she looks less like a tragic heroine to something almost untouchable for someone like him. They’re halfway to Seoul and all the way broken.
Sungyeol opens his mouth, the beginnings of something on the tip of his tongue, when the train speaks for him with a triplet chime of ding! ding! ding! and the doors slide open for a pit-stop. The girl tilts her head, the bangs she’d probably pinned back sometime earlier falling into her eyes, and she thanks him again.
“Wait!”
The doors slowly begin to slide shut and the girl is swallowed by a sea of people, like a tiny boat in an ocean of warships. Sungyeol feels like he’s on the lifeboat still calling out for help, and the only one who would listen is sailing fast away.
_____
Most accidents don’t make the news-too many deaths happen each day and there’s not enough time to broadcast every single occasion. It’s too time consuming, and no one much cares for it anymore. People would much rather see the highlights of a ballgame missed or catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. No one cares for anything that matters, only what’s new.
Sungyeol wonders when he’ll be something that doesn’t matter.
But there, on one of the station’s website, is a small article with a picture. Girl commits suicide by jumping in front of an oncoming train, body recognized as Kim Yoonmi-or at least that’s what the I.D. in her purse said-a twenty-three year old accountant from Daejeon.
The picture is nice, carefully combed hair as black as his t-shirt and make-up covering the splotches of acne on her cheekbone. She’s gorgeous and what makes her so is the sheen in her eyes. Smart and talented, the article says, but who isn’t for the right price. So happy, but obviously not. The thirtieth death of the new year.
Sungyeol leans back in his chair. His watch lights up green to signal the new hour and his morning coffee is cold and bitter like the insides of his chest. It’s time to start a new day.
He realizes three steps into his room, staring at Myungsoo’s face, that he finally learned her name-just too late.
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and jw, does the fact he's staring at myungsoo's face have any special significance?
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it miiiight ;_; thank you, anon.
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