i curl up in this atrium and lick the wounds that will not heal
Yoochun-focused.
R - dark themes, hints of suicide.
Very strong angst; AU
Summary: "In this zombie state, I wander in the shadow world. The atrium of death where I must decide which exit, left or right, left into cold night, right into the endless struggle and bloody battles of life." - Mother's Reflections on Suicide from the Notes of Letizia Grasso.
Warning: No capitalization.
the world is mine, yoochun thinks, staring outside of his room's window in england. yet why do i feel so... so desperate? it's almost as if i wish for something to happen, something that will ruin the perfect world that i live in.
he continues to stare outside into the beautifully designed landscape, a landscape that looks just a little too perfect, a little too manufactured. he feels nothing when he looks at it; he used to feel pride at the beauty, but not anymore, not anymore.
his breath fogs the glass in front of him, eventually obscuring his view. his hand tightens on the blade he holds, tightening until his hand is shaking, shaking with the desperation he knows he should feel.
he doesn't feel anything when he suddenly punches the glass in front of him, cracking the window and cutting his hand, but his hand drips with blood, blood that looks so, so red on the white tiles that make up the floor. he languidly tilts his head to contemplate the slow trickle of blood that carries his life.
time will never stop, his mind whispers. so take this chance and become happy. isn't that what you've wanted for so long?
his gaze drifts down to where his hand is still clenching the blade. the edge looks so sharp, so perfect in its gleaming silver color. he runs a finger across the edge, mouth opening in surprise when blood appears. his mouth curves, happy to know that he marked the blade with his tainted blood.
he lifts his bleeding finger to the broken window, and he uses his blood as a medium to draw on the glass. he draws broken people, his mind making them seem alive, moving with pain and wailing with agony.
his eyes crinkles in the corner as he steps back, admiring his creation. he feels satisfied with his blood slowly sliding down the window, making the cracked glass look like it was tinted red.
he gently places the blade onto the windowsill, and after a final look at the view now blemished with lines of cracked glass that were seemingly weeping blood, he turns around and walks away, refusing to look back.
but his soft smile grows to become a full blown smile as he imagines someone finding his desecration of the window.
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..I'm sorry. I have no idea what I was on when I wrote this.