Borrowed Time
Title: Borrowed Time
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong
Genre: Angst, Tragedy
Length: One-Shot
Warnings: Character Death, Drugs
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Plot belongs entirely to me. Do not plagiarise.
Summary: Three years after his death and all it took was a college assignment to rip those old wounds wide open.
A/N: This story is based primarily on an incident in my own life that has been altered to improve its literary and dramatic appeal.
“Jaejoong,” the teacher called out, smiling encouragingly at me, “It’s your turn.”
Oh God, I whispered under my breath, grabbing hold of the A4 sheet in front of me and staring at the tear stained words.
Oh God.
I felt faint as everyone in the classroom turned towards me, watching me as I scraped my chair backwards and headed uncomfortably to the front of the classroom.
Watching me like a ticking bomb that was about to explode.
I couldn’t do this. I thought, hands shaking, sweat breaking. I couldn’t do this.
“Have you done your assignment?” she asked, taking in my pale face and shaking frame.
I nodded, too afraid to speak.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Can I please not read this out?” I murmured, looking at my feet.
“Do you have stage fright? Is that it? Jaejoong, you don’t have to worry about anything. These guys are your classmates. They won’t-“
“It isn’t about that.” I cut her off in a whisper, “It’s not about that. Please. Can you just read and grade this by yourself?”
“I- Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Alright.” she agreed with a sigh, taking the sheet from me with one hand and using the other to wipe the faint traces of tears from my face.
“Thank you.”
“Class! Jaejoong isn’t feeling too well, so I’d like the next person to come up and read out their assignment. Jaewon, if you would please.”
____________________
I climbed the stairs unsteadily to my room as old wounds turned raw, wincing internally as they tore and ripped themselves open, making my heart bleed red and black.
I grabbed the bottle of Lexapro on my desk and downed a few tablets before crawling into my bed and clutching at the one thing that kept me saner than any antidepressant could- The necklace around my neck.
The necklace I’d locked away for years. The necklace I brought back from my repressed memories.
It didn’t change anything, I thought, it didn’t, but it was the memories behind it that counted the most.
Feeling tired and drained, I turned on my side and groaned when the screen of my laptop glared back at me, the window to my assignment open and begging me to read it.
Write about the one instance that changed your life. It said.
Changed. Destroyed. Ruined. It was all the same.
Nothing had ever changed.
So I read.
And read.
And read.
Until, the overwhelming pain in my heart drowned itself in a sea of memories.
“E.E Cummings once wrote, “To be nobody-but-yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”
The event that changed the course of my existence was the event that finally showed me that the things I was taught to believe, the things that I was taught to know were the things that would eventually make me lose sight of who I was and who I was supposed to be.
Making me write about a single event would be something indescribable at the best and immoral at the worst.
Who I am now, is a result of a culmination of events that involved a whole lot of pain, suffering, happiness, hope, faith, love, passion, fear and strength; none of which happened during a single instance.
However, if I had to bring all of these instances together, into one big, destructive climax, then it would have to be the day I lost the greatest friend I had ever known to one of the greatest enemies I have yet to face.
Jung Yunho, was a boy with many dreams; dreams that left one feeling hopeful for the future and passionate about the present.
He was one of the few good people who believed that visiting a cancer hospital every weekend with a guitar in hand would be the best way to bring a little light into the otherwise bleak lives of children suffering with Leukemia. His ambition, thus, was to become a doctor; a dream that he was bound to achieve with his superior academic performances and good heart.
However, fate had a funny way of torturing the people around him, especially when, during the morning of the 23rd of February 2010, my mother received a phone call, informing her, that her best friend’s son had died in a car accident.
My world, in all its disgusting trivialities, came to a screeching, stifling stop. If words could describe that very moment, then words are more powerful than I could have possibly imagined.
He was my best friend. He was my soul mate. He was the person who vehemently refused to help me with my math homework, but who finally did it for me when I’d fallen asleep frustrated beside my books, leaving a simple post it on top of them saying, “This is the last time. I’ll teach you how to do it when you get back. Have fun at school, brat.”
All those memories, all those moments of laughter and pain, came flooding back like a well-aimed hammer.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t understand.
Weeks of sleepless nights later, my mother knocked on my bedroom door and handed me a box; whispering softly that it was his last birthday present to me.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want to remember. But those little facts didn’t stop my hands from opening the lid of the square container and pulling out a silver necklace and a tiny card.
We live on borrowed time. Don’t live in the past. Live for the future. Fight for your true self and forget the person you’re being forced into believing that you are.
The kids at the hospital made this for you. Remember to look at it and understand how lucky you are.
Happy Birthday, Jaejoong!
I could only revel in the painful irony of those words. Borrowed time, indeed.
After that incident, I locked the necklace and the card away, never to look at them again, but always feeling their undying presence in periphery of my soul.
Those words were the catalysts that finally allowed me to break out of my own inner demons and shrug off the pressures and dictates of my friends, my peers and my teachers.
I knew then, that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t make something of my existence and do something with the opportunity of life that my best friend was denied. I knew then, that I wouldn’t be able to emulate his dreams or his ambitions but that I would do something equally important.
I would survive.
My life, in all its trivialities, hasn’t reached this point through one single event.
Who I am now, is a result of a culmination of events that involved a whole lot of pain, suffering, happiness, hope, faith, love, passion, fear and strength; none of which happened during a single instance.
But my life was certainly inspired by one.”
______________________
I closed my eyes against the pain and reached out to shut the screen, my heart thudding to a sickening beat.
Survive, I murmured to myself for the millionth time, Survive.
FIN.
A/N 2: I wrote the assignment in this story for an Additional English class based on the same criteria. I hope it touched you'll on some level and that a few of you could relate to this. I have drawn immense strength from this experience and felt inclined to share it with everyone using something as important as my love for the boys to put it across to you guys.
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong
Genre: Angst, Tragedy
Length: One-Shot
Warnings: Character Death, Drugs
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Plot belongs entirely to me. Do not plagiarise.
Summary: Three years after his death and all it took was a college assignment to rip those old wounds wide open.
A/N: This story is based primarily on an incident in my own life that has been altered to improve its literary and dramatic appeal.
“Jaejoong,” the teacher called out, smiling encouragingly at me, “It’s your turn.”
Oh God, I whispered under my breath, grabbing hold of the A4 sheet in front of me and staring at the tear stained words.
Oh God.
I felt faint as everyone in the classroom turned towards me, watching me as I scraped my chair backwards and headed uncomfortably to the front of the classroom.
Watching me like a ticking bomb that was about to explode.
I couldn’t do this. I thought, hands shaking, sweat breaking. I couldn’t do this.
“Have you done your assignment?” she asked, taking in my pale face and shaking frame.
I nodded, too afraid to speak.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Can I please not read this out?” I murmured, looking at my feet.
“Do you have stage fright? Is that it? Jaejoong, you don’t have to worry about anything. These guys are your classmates. They won’t-“
“It isn’t about that.” I cut her off in a whisper, “It’s not about that. Please. Can you just read and grade this by yourself?”
“I- Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Alright.” she agreed with a sigh, taking the sheet from me with one hand and using the other to wipe the faint traces of tears from my face.
“Thank you.”
“Class! Jaejoong isn’t feeling too well, so I’d like the next person to come up and read out their assignment. Jaewon, if you would please.”
____________________
I climbed the stairs unsteadily to my room as old wounds turned raw, wincing internally as they tore and ripped themselves open, making my heart bleed red and black.
I grabbed the bottle of Lexapro on my desk and downed a few tablets before crawling into my bed and clutching at the one thing that kept me saner than any antidepressant could- The necklace around my neck.
The necklace I’d locked away for years. The necklace I brought back from my repressed memories.
It didn’t change anything, I thought, it didn’t, but it was the memories behind it that counted the most.
Feeling tired and drained, I turned on my side and groaned when the screen of my laptop glared back at me, the window to my assignment open and begging me to read it.
Write about the one instance that changed your life. It said.
Changed. Destroyed. Ruined. It was all the same.
Nothing had ever changed.
So I read.
And read.
And read.
Until, the overwhelming pain in my heart drowned itself in a sea of memories.
“E.E Cummings once wrote, “To be nobody-but-yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”
The event that changed the course of my existence was the event that finally showed me that the things I was taught to believe, the things that I was taught to know were the things that would eventually make me lose sight of who I was and who I was supposed to be.
Making me write about a single event would be something indescribable at the best and immoral at the worst.
Who I am now, is a result of a culmination of events that involved a whole lot of pain, suffering, happiness, hope, faith, love, passion, fear and strength; none of which happened during a single instance.
However, if I had to bring all of these instances together, into one big, destructive climax, then it would have to be the day I lost the greatest friend I had ever known to one of the greatest enemies I have yet to face.
Jung Yunho, was a boy with many dreams; dreams that left one feeling hopeful for the future and passionate about the present.
He was one of the few good people who believed that visiting a cancer hospital every weekend with a guitar in hand would be the best way to bring a little light into the otherwise bleak lives of children suffering with Leukemia. His ambition, thus, was to become a doctor; a dream that he was bound to achieve with his superior academic performances and good heart.
However, fate had a funny way of torturing the people around him, especially when, during the morning of the 23rd of February 2010, my mother received a phone call, informing her, that her best friend’s son had died in a car accident.
My world, in all its disgusting trivialities, came to a screeching, stifling stop. If words could describe that very moment, then words are more powerful than I could have possibly imagined.
He was my best friend. He was my soul mate. He was the person who vehemently refused to help me with my math homework, but who finally did it for me when I’d fallen asleep frustrated beside my books, leaving a simple post it on top of them saying, “This is the last time. I’ll teach you how to do it when you get back. Have fun at school, brat.”
All those memories, all those moments of laughter and pain, came flooding back like a well-aimed hammer.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t understand.
Weeks of sleepless nights later, my mother knocked on my bedroom door and handed me a box; whispering softly that it was his last birthday present to me.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want to remember. But those little facts didn’t stop my hands from opening the lid of the square container and pulling out a silver necklace and a tiny card.
We live on borrowed time. Don’t live in the past. Live for the future. Fight for your true self and forget the person you’re being forced into believing that you are.
The kids at the hospital made this for you. Remember to look at it and understand how lucky you are.
Happy Birthday, Jaejoong!
I could only revel in the painful irony of those words. Borrowed time, indeed.
After that incident, I locked the necklace and the card away, never to look at them again, but always feeling their undying presence in periphery of my soul.
Those words were the catalysts that finally allowed me to break out of my own inner demons and shrug off the pressures and dictates of my friends, my peers and my teachers.
I knew then, that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t make something of my existence and do something with the opportunity of life that my best friend was denied. I knew then, that I wouldn’t be able to emulate his dreams or his ambitions but that I would do something equally important.
I would survive.
My life, in all its trivialities, hasn’t reached this point through one single event.
Who I am now, is a result of a culmination of events that involved a whole lot of pain, suffering, happiness, hope, faith, love, passion, fear and strength; none of which happened during a single instance.
But my life was certainly inspired by one.”
______________________
I closed my eyes against the pain and reached out to shut the screen, my heart thudding to a sickening beat.
Survive, I murmured to myself for the millionth time, Survive.
FIN.
A/N 2: I wrote the assignment in this story for an Additional English class based on the same criteria. I hope it touched you'll on some level and that a few of you could relate to this. I have drawn immense strength from this experience and felt inclined to share it with everyone using something as important as my love for the boys to put it across to you guys.