The Red Asphalt
Title: The Red Asphalt
Rating: PG [death and gore and hinted insanity]
A/N: This was written for TVfXQ Forever's BTS Junsu Fanfiction Competition. <333
Shh. Don't cry.
He could feel the soft and silky jet-black hair underneath his hand. Her lower lip trembled and she sniffled, her eyes still glistening with tears. Her hands clutched onto the soft cotton material and she sought comfort from the physical contact, praying that it would all become better. He himself could feel something odd stinging his eyes and his free hand subconsciously rubbed his eyes every so often. It wasn't until he felt moisture that he realised he was crying. Stroking the smooth hair rhythmically, he found it not only soothed her but himself. He found himself seeking refuge in the infallible stroking rhythm.
It's alright, just don't look back.
He couldn't help but choke back the urge to throw up at the sight of the scene. It was gruesome, horrible, not for any human eyes. Covering her hazel brown eyes, the ones she had inherited from her mother, he shuddered and felt hot liquid burning trails down his face. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he forced himself to breath. He wanted to smack some sense into his heart, that was aching unlike any time before, but he had to hold on to her and holding onto her meant no free hands. She let out a loud cry of despair and he held her tight and close, sobbing silently.
Paint a picture in my mind.
He could feel her warmth against his skin and he took comfort in the fact that he wasn't alone, before drifting off into sleep. He had imagined sleep as his safety blanket, some place where they couldn't harm him. And yet he was wrong, they found him in his unconsciousness and they ravaged his mind, driving his sanity out the window. He twitched and turned uncomfortably as they played around with his mental state of mind, wrecking the once stability and causing chaos. He awoke to cold sweat running down his face, the heat of the blankets around his lower body and her arms wrapped tightly around his upper torso. She would never let him go.
Sing a song, any one you like.
His voice caressed her senses, lulling her into a mood where she would simply drift as she wished. Her sense of touch was numbed, as she floated in mid-air, amongst the clouds, feeling the breeze. Her sense of smelling was numbed; she couldn't sniff out the whiff of alcohol from his heavy breaths. Her sense of sight was numbed; she couldn't see anything but an everlasting road of whiteness, a breathtaking beauty of purity and originality. Her sense of taste numbed, the once sour taste of sorrow that tickled the tips of her tongue was mixed with her thick saliva and she barely taste the bitterness. She could no longer remember the tastes even if she forced herself to. And yet her sense of hearing never faltered. His sensual voice coaxing her into a slumber, where she wished she would never ever have to wake up again.
Release your sorrows, never hold back.
Screams. Shrill and sharp as he leaned against the headboard, trying to block out the sounds. She had been screaming for the past half hour of nothing in particular and he couldn't bear the sound anymore. Snapping his book, Digital Fortress, shut, he strode out of his room and towards the source of the noise. Her weak and fragile body did not match the eardrum-bursting screams that he was hearing. He couldn't believe how anyone so gentle as her could sound so much in resemblance to a banshee. And eventually, after the last hoarse whispers of her voice faded, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth, his lingering spicy cologne tantalizing her senses.
Humans are drawn funerals by nature, no matter how strange.
It was certainly a shock to see the cold, frigid body encased within a coffin. It seemed never long ago that the same person was laughing, smiling and hugging him. He couldn't bear to keep his eyes on the dark teakwood. He willed himself to stay, however, and say his last goodbye before his chance was taken away. His eyes slowly lost their fervent fire and the mud brown flashed crystal blue. As if ice. He wanted to laugh menacingly at all the guests who had been invited to give a speech of condolence. He so badly wanted to believe the words they weaved, like an expert and her well-woven basket, they used the words to hold together the lies of which they never spoke.
The holiday season brings cheer.
He held up the mistletoe. It was real. Not a piece of decoration to be used and tossed aside once done with. He had never quite seen a mistletoe before, due to his parents' disbelief in kissing under mistletoes. However, he remembered spotting the all-too familiar flash of white every Christmas as his parents disappeared into the study. He had never kissed under the mistletoe before. He remembered how easily the guests of the funeral had woven the basket of pretence. He mentally placed kissing under the mistletoe in the small basket of truth, a small and hesitant smile growing to his eyes.
Remember to forgive, but do not forget.
The strong aroma of roast turkey, ham and other festive goodies still infested his nostrils as he held the bouquet of flowers in his hands. A small hand in his, he bent down in his black suit to place the stalks of irises on the smooth and cool marble. She watched as the flowers came in contact with the grave and she watched as the purple turned more vibrant than before. He stood for a moment in silence, watching as pale hands ran across the granite not far off from the white marble. A gasp and a moment later, a red bloodstain was inerasable from the surface of the smoother marble. A remembrance.
It is not if you want to heal or not but if your heart chances upon the right path.
The stale stench of unwashed bodies and spilled whiskey was forever embedded within the small house, once before, a home. As a young child fingered the shirt of her teddy bear, she watched as he downed another beer, another shot, another glass, another bottle and another carton. And when she sees his bloodshot eyes, she remembers.
Do not dredge up the past.
A flash. The sight of pure incarnadine. Another blinding shot of light. The view of bodies twisted at grotesque angles. The crackling sound of thunder. A blundering man. The roars of God. A fallen child. The hail beats down. A splash of crimson and slowly the tears begin the fall. The lights turn out and amidst the darkness, the young child prayed for an angel to descend upon her and save what was left behind. Whatever she could salvage, she prayed for an angel to help her keep. The bellowing of the intoxicated and she forgets.
Sometimes, it's okay to hide behind the layers of your mother's dress.
Standing next to his daughter, he admires her in her grandmother's wedding gown. He pushes aside the anguish that plagues his heart at the idea of his own mother, the colourful stains of red blurring away to reveal a patch of white, pure and untainted. She is as slender as she was and fits as perfect as a pin, her bosom heaving and her shoulders trembling. She is not prepared. And yet he walks forward towards the man standing at the altar, awaiting her arrival. The organ continues to stream out the marching music and he smiles. The steady trickle of snow upon the transparent veil alerts him of what holiday he is missing and he smiles. Nothing could be more important than his daughter. His precious. And he will watch as another man learns to wipe away her tears and kiss her bruised heart better.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Kim Junsu loves Christmas and New Year's the most, out of all the holidays in the year. He loves Christmas Eve because it was the day his beloved daughter was married. He loves Christmas because of the simple thought of kissing under mistletoes. He loves Boxing Day because of the presents to be opened. He enjoys the 27th of December because he learnt to accept the death of his wife. He cherishes 28th of December because his parents join him in preparation for the New Year's countdown. He lingers upon 29th December because it was then he decided to remain sober for the sake of his precious daughter. He cannot bear to pass through December 30th because it is then he carries his small grandson, appreciating the smile on the young baby's face. He anticipates New Year's Eve because of the end of all the hardships of the year arrives and he is able to wash away the feeling of absolute desperation. And he can never wait for New Year's Day because for him, it is the sign of new beginnings.
Rating: PG [death and gore and hinted insanity]
A/N: This was written for TVfXQ Forever's BTS Junsu Fanfiction Competition. <333
Shh. Don't cry.
He could feel the soft and silky jet-black hair underneath his hand. Her lower lip trembled and she sniffled, her eyes still glistening with tears. Her hands clutched onto the soft cotton material and she sought comfort from the physical contact, praying that it would all become better. He himself could feel something odd stinging his eyes and his free hand subconsciously rubbed his eyes every so often. It wasn't until he felt moisture that he realised he was crying. Stroking the smooth hair rhythmically, he found it not only soothed her but himself. He found himself seeking refuge in the infallible stroking rhythm.
It's alright, just don't look back.
He couldn't help but choke back the urge to throw up at the sight of the scene. It was gruesome, horrible, not for any human eyes. Covering her hazel brown eyes, the ones she had inherited from her mother, he shuddered and felt hot liquid burning trails down his face. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he forced himself to breath. He wanted to smack some sense into his heart, that was aching unlike any time before, but he had to hold on to her and holding onto her meant no free hands. She let out a loud cry of despair and he held her tight and close, sobbing silently.
Paint a picture in my mind.
He could feel her warmth against his skin and he took comfort in the fact that he wasn't alone, before drifting off into sleep. He had imagined sleep as his safety blanket, some place where they couldn't harm him. And yet he was wrong, they found him in his unconsciousness and they ravaged his mind, driving his sanity out the window. He twitched and turned uncomfortably as they played around with his mental state of mind, wrecking the once stability and causing chaos. He awoke to cold sweat running down his face, the heat of the blankets around his lower body and her arms wrapped tightly around his upper torso. She would never let him go.
Sing a song, any one you like.
His voice caressed her senses, lulling her into a mood where she would simply drift as she wished. Her sense of touch was numbed, as she floated in mid-air, amongst the clouds, feeling the breeze. Her sense of smelling was numbed; she couldn't sniff out the whiff of alcohol from his heavy breaths. Her sense of sight was numbed; she couldn't see anything but an everlasting road of whiteness, a breathtaking beauty of purity and originality. Her sense of taste numbed, the once sour taste of sorrow that tickled the tips of her tongue was mixed with her thick saliva and she barely taste the bitterness. She could no longer remember the tastes even if she forced herself to. And yet her sense of hearing never faltered. His sensual voice coaxing her into a slumber, where she wished she would never ever have to wake up again.
Release your sorrows, never hold back.
Screams. Shrill and sharp as he leaned against the headboard, trying to block out the sounds. She had been screaming for the past half hour of nothing in particular and he couldn't bear the sound anymore. Snapping his book, Digital Fortress, shut, he strode out of his room and towards the source of the noise. Her weak and fragile body did not match the eardrum-bursting screams that he was hearing. He couldn't believe how anyone so gentle as her could sound so much in resemblance to a banshee. And eventually, after the last hoarse whispers of her voice faded, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth, his lingering spicy cologne tantalizing her senses.
Humans are drawn funerals by nature, no matter how strange.
It was certainly a shock to see the cold, frigid body encased within a coffin. It seemed never long ago that the same person was laughing, smiling and hugging him. He couldn't bear to keep his eyes on the dark teakwood. He willed himself to stay, however, and say his last goodbye before his chance was taken away. His eyes slowly lost their fervent fire and the mud brown flashed crystal blue. As if ice. He wanted to laugh menacingly at all the guests who had been invited to give a speech of condolence. He so badly wanted to believe the words they weaved, like an expert and her well-woven basket, they used the words to hold together the lies of which they never spoke.
The holiday season brings cheer.
He held up the mistletoe. It was real. Not a piece of decoration to be used and tossed aside once done with. He had never quite seen a mistletoe before, due to his parents' disbelief in kissing under mistletoes. However, he remembered spotting the all-too familiar flash of white every Christmas as his parents disappeared into the study. He had never kissed under the mistletoe before. He remembered how easily the guests of the funeral had woven the basket of pretence. He mentally placed kissing under the mistletoe in the small basket of truth, a small and hesitant smile growing to his eyes.
Remember to forgive, but do not forget.
The strong aroma of roast turkey, ham and other festive goodies still infested his nostrils as he held the bouquet of flowers in his hands. A small hand in his, he bent down in his black suit to place the stalks of irises on the smooth and cool marble. She watched as the flowers came in contact with the grave and she watched as the purple turned more vibrant than before. He stood for a moment in silence, watching as pale hands ran across the granite not far off from the white marble. A gasp and a moment later, a red bloodstain was inerasable from the surface of the smoother marble. A remembrance.
It is not if you want to heal or not but if your heart chances upon the right path.
The stale stench of unwashed bodies and spilled whiskey was forever embedded within the small house, once before, a home. As a young child fingered the shirt of her teddy bear, she watched as he downed another beer, another shot, another glass, another bottle and another carton. And when she sees his bloodshot eyes, she remembers.
Do not dredge up the past.
A flash. The sight of pure incarnadine. Another blinding shot of light. The view of bodies twisted at grotesque angles. The crackling sound of thunder. A blundering man. The roars of God. A fallen child. The hail beats down. A splash of crimson and slowly the tears begin the fall. The lights turn out and amidst the darkness, the young child prayed for an angel to descend upon her and save what was left behind. Whatever she could salvage, she prayed for an angel to help her keep. The bellowing of the intoxicated and she forgets.
Sometimes, it's okay to hide behind the layers of your mother's dress.
Standing next to his daughter, he admires her in her grandmother's wedding gown. He pushes aside the anguish that plagues his heart at the idea of his own mother, the colourful stains of red blurring away to reveal a patch of white, pure and untainted. She is as slender as she was and fits as perfect as a pin, her bosom heaving and her shoulders trembling. She is not prepared. And yet he walks forward towards the man standing at the altar, awaiting her arrival. The organ continues to stream out the marching music and he smiles. The steady trickle of snow upon the transparent veil alerts him of what holiday he is missing and he smiles. Nothing could be more important than his daughter. His precious. And he will watch as another man learns to wipe away her tears and kiss her bruised heart better.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Kim Junsu loves Christmas and New Year's the most, out of all the holidays in the year. He loves Christmas Eve because it was the day his beloved daughter was married. He loves Christmas because of the simple thought of kissing under mistletoes. He loves Boxing Day because of the presents to be opened. He enjoys the 27th of December because he learnt to accept the death of his wife. He cherishes 28th of December because his parents join him in preparation for the New Year's countdown. He lingers upon 29th December because it was then he decided to remain sober for the sake of his precious daughter. He cannot bear to pass through December 30th because it is then he carries his small grandson, appreciating the smile on the young baby's face. He anticipates New Year's Eve because of the end of all the hardships of the year arrives and he is able to wash away the feeling of absolute desperation. And he can never wait for New Year's Day because for him, it is the sign of new beginnings.