Prosaic
[Title] Prosaic
[Pairing] Broken Kyumin
[Genre] Angst
[Rating] PG-13
[Summary] All Sungmin wants is the light back in his life.
[Warning] Some violence, implied self-harm/self-mutilation, with a bit of character death on the side, and topped off with a little crazy Sungmin. Also this was written while I was feeling fairly unstable so yeah, there’s that. Proceed with caution I guess.
[Disclaimer] All ideas were like literally pulled from me.
[A/N] I'm fairly on the fence about posting this one, but since I let Naj read it, and she didn't hate me forever, I guess I'll unleash this on lj so I can stop looking at it.
*~*~*~*~*~*
The colors were fading quickly. No matter how many times he ripped, cut, sliced, he had once again fallen back into that monochrome and obscure world he escaped from. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t deal with it.
Everything went from lurid and exciting to harsh and silent. And he couldn’t take it. The silence killed him. Hurt him more than any physical pain could even begin to touch upon. Though he tried to match it, to surpass it, but strangely to no avail. How is it even plausible that he could feel so much and yet nothing at all?
Maybe he was broken. Maybe he just wasn’t wired right. Maybe he was the problem after all.
Is that why his brain tormented him with pristine visions of them tangled together, burning the images inside his conscious and unconscious mind endlessly; his ears bled with the sounds of them being together, like a never-ending melody that twists and curls and breaks within him, sickens him in a way that his body can’t comprehend, paralyzing him in utter confusion on how to break free from this unfamiliar grip; his mouth betraying him the most, even more than he did, by calling out for him, his voice somewhere between heated chaotic shouting and hoarse desperate mewls, as if he would rescue him from the agony, the devastation that he put him in to begin with.
But he was finally saved from himself. After weeks on days on hours on minutes on seconds, he shut down. His senses numb, his feelings dim, his world dull. It wasn’t better; it was more like… nothing. He couldn’t tell if he should be relieved or concerned.
The stabs of pain, the ferocious pounding, the unbearable agony- it all had finally ceased. The raging tides of despair inside of him had finally stopped wreaking havoc in his mind, and the storm had finally passed. The fog had instead settled in its place, obscuring everything in mist, and dulling the sharp edges of pain that were afflicting him.
But the numbness came with a price. A bleak, dreary world had quickly encased him, sucking out the all the feelings and sensations from everything in, and around him. A world with no action or reaction, no pain but no pleasure, no sadness but no happiness. He couldn’t really figure out which one was worse.
Until he made the most beautiful discovery one day. A simple slip of the hand, a slight prick of a semblance of pain, and there he saw it, sliding brilliantly down his finger in the most entrancing way.
It was enchanting, the way everything seemed to pour out of that one drop, and collide into his sight, bathing his surroundings in a light he had never seen before.
He wanted to capture it, to mark everything in its splendor, cover every surface with its brilliance, stain every object with its radiance.
So he did. He began to paint his world again, his walls, his floors, were now dyed, tinted with it-and it was absolutely blinding the way his world lit up again.
He was slowly beginning to feel again, as every cut went deeper, as every wound got wider, as every drop broke free, he could feel it. Everything he had missed.
Thrill. Excitement. Adrenaline. It was throbbing in his skull, glazing over his vision and pumping through his body, bursting and exploding out of every gateway in his skin that he created.
But the dilemma now, was that he could see it dimming quickly. Everything was covered; his walls, floors; everything was thoroughly tainted, but it wasn’t the same anymore. He could feel the darkness ebbing up on the corners of his vision, coming for him, to take away his salvation once again.
He had to stop it. He had to find another way to revive the light of his quickly extinguishing world.
But nothing was working. With every stab, every cut, he could see how it started to become listless as it spilled from his skin. Despair was quickly setting in again as he watched his last anchor to this world slide down the sliver that gleamed in his hands, the murky brown handle gripped firmly in his palm, and met with his skin again.
He was losing it, and he didn’t know how to get it back. His senses were fading once again. Even the freshly dripping graze didn’t inflict any pain on him anymore.
He was drowning in the remnants of his collapsing world; he didn’t hear the footsteps, the gasps, the screams of his name.
His seclusion was only interrupted when he felt a hand tug at the weapon in his hand, and he snapped, lashing out as he fought to keep it. It was the only way he could fix everything. It was the only way he could feel again!
The cry of pain was not from him. Neither was the intense color that was quickly spilling right in front of him. His eyes, open wide as to take in as much as they could, could see again. There was no sign of darkness anywhere as he took in the slumping form, emitting an absolutely heavenly glow. It continued to stain and discolor his hand while he watched in manic fascination as the liquid gleamed against his pale skin brighter than he had ever seen before.
Moving in a daze, his eyes drifted to where the person was leaning on his wall, calling for attention, asking for help and it finally clicked. His original source of light. It came back to him. It finally came back.
Kyuhyun.