Fic-DBSK-Matching Red Slippers
Title: Matching Red Slippers
Author: virdant
Length: 774 words; one-shot
Rating: PG
Genre: General, Angst
Pairing: None.
Summary: ...black glass eyes and real human hair and a wide red smile painted permanently onto white porcelain skin...
Warning: None
Notes: Halfway through writing this, I wanted to stab myself. I don't know what that says about the story except that it's stab inducing. * shrugs *
Matching Red Slippers
For Changmin’s sixteenth birthday, they promise him a doll.
A beautiful one, they assure him. A beautiful doll with black glass eyes and real human hair and a wide red smile painted permanently onto white porcelain skin. It will be beautiful, they assure him, dressed in bright red and matching red slippers. He will love this pretty doll, this pretty doll that will belong to him and only to him.
He accepts this doll with a serious face, cradling it preciously. It’s delicate, and he worries that even brushing his fingers across the smooth face and carefully sculpted hands will shatter beauty into nothingness, to say nothing of having the polished ceramic slip past his fingers. He sets it far away from him, where she will be safe from clumsy fingers and remain pretty and perfect forever.
From her perch behind panes of glass, on a shelf that Changmin never ventures to touch for fear of shaking it, Changmin’s doll smiles widely at him whenever remembers to glance by.
She has no other expression than the star-struck smile etched permanently on her face.
*
Yoochun has plastic dolls. They have painted eyes under plastic eyelids that snap shut and open, Kanekalon synthetic hair, and lips permanently curved into identical smiles from identical molds. The bodies are soft stuffed cloth, but the hands and feet are hard plastic. Tanned plastic skin. Wide brown eyes and smiles
See these pretty dolls of yours, they say. You must treat them kindly, they demand. You must keep them safe, they command.
Yoochun sets the dolls aside where they sit with matching red hair ribbons tied to their hair, dressed in red dresses and matching red slippers. They sit on a shelf, with their legs dangling down, and when Yoochun passes by, he smiles at their wide smiles and their wide open eyes.
Good night, he thinks as he turns off the lights, and he imagines their eyes still wide open in the darkness, staring and staring at him with eyes that won’t shut until they collapse, not from exhaustion, but from slippery hair sliding down glossy walls and slick red crumpling.
*
Close to Junsu’s heart, he keeps rag dolls dressed in felt-red dresses and matching red slippers painted on. Black button eyes sewn on with embroidery thread, glossy. Wide red-yarn smiles. Nose-less faces, but bright smiles on them nevertheless.
He clutches them to him, through thick and thin, and when they finally slide from his hands, arms torn off and legs bleeding white stuffing, he mourns as he tries, needle in red-pricked fingers, to piece together broken limbs.
But they are broken, and Junsu mourns each loss bitterly, red dresses torn and stitched together with trembling fingers. Crooked stitches tracing constellations. Red slippers worn pale from fingers rubbing them over and over.
Love them, they command, and Junsu obeys, because how could he not love glossy button eyes and red yarn permanently stretched into a smile? How could he not wrap his fingers around hands defined by black stitches and smile?
How can he not smile at the red dress and matching red slippers?
*
For Yunho are sun-baked dolls, with holes for eyes. All sun-baked red, with smiles not painted, molded, or glued on, but rather etched into crumbling faces. They all have the same eyes, the same nose-a ball scored and then slip-casted onto the face-and the same etched smile.
They have arms raised forever, legs spread the same distance apart, every single one of them. They’re all dressed the same. In dresses of red and matching slippers too.
They stare straight into him, his dolls of clay. When he cradles one close to him, he hears: protect them. Protect them, as a leader should.
Yunho does. He protects them until they crumble in his hands, and then he sweeps up the dust and carries ashes in his heart, for each doll broken is a failed responsibility.
*
Jaejoong plays with his dolls. He stands in the center, paper-thin dolls all dressed with marker-red dresses drawn on, scattered around him so that wherever he looks, he sees nothing but a sea of red. He wades in the layers of paper dolls, all dressed in red and matching red slippers.
These are yours, they say, for you to love.
And he loves them. He loves them even as he treads on the ones on the bottom of the ocean and leaves a wake of bent and broken arms in his wake.
And if they rip, he mourns long enough to cremate them, discarding ashes where pretty red dresses were.
And matching red slippers too.
End.
Okay. Sorry. That's all I really can say. If you think like me, or I managed to hammer in my bad symbolism in enough, then hopefully you feel as bad as I do. Because I feel horrible. But uh, yeah. Hand in Hand chapter 6 would be done, except I started writing this instead. Sorry. Update soon, promise. :)?
Author: virdant
Length: 774 words; one-shot
Rating: PG
Genre: General, Angst
Pairing: None.
Summary: ...black glass eyes and real human hair and a wide red smile painted permanently onto white porcelain skin...
Warning: None
Notes: Halfway through writing this, I wanted to stab myself. I don't know what that says about the story except that it's stab inducing. * shrugs *
Matching Red Slippers
For Changmin’s sixteenth birthday, they promise him a doll.
A beautiful one, they assure him. A beautiful doll with black glass eyes and real human hair and a wide red smile painted permanently onto white porcelain skin. It will be beautiful, they assure him, dressed in bright red and matching red slippers. He will love this pretty doll, this pretty doll that will belong to him and only to him.
He accepts this doll with a serious face, cradling it preciously. It’s delicate, and he worries that even brushing his fingers across the smooth face and carefully sculpted hands will shatter beauty into nothingness, to say nothing of having the polished ceramic slip past his fingers. He sets it far away from him, where she will be safe from clumsy fingers and remain pretty and perfect forever.
From her perch behind panes of glass, on a shelf that Changmin never ventures to touch for fear of shaking it, Changmin’s doll smiles widely at him whenever remembers to glance by.
She has no other expression than the star-struck smile etched permanently on her face.
*
Yoochun has plastic dolls. They have painted eyes under plastic eyelids that snap shut and open, Kanekalon synthetic hair, and lips permanently curved into identical smiles from identical molds. The bodies are soft stuffed cloth, but the hands and feet are hard plastic. Tanned plastic skin. Wide brown eyes and smiles
See these pretty dolls of yours, they say. You must treat them kindly, they demand. You must keep them safe, they command.
Yoochun sets the dolls aside where they sit with matching red hair ribbons tied to their hair, dressed in red dresses and matching red slippers. They sit on a shelf, with their legs dangling down, and when Yoochun passes by, he smiles at their wide smiles and their wide open eyes.
Good night, he thinks as he turns off the lights, and he imagines their eyes still wide open in the darkness, staring and staring at him with eyes that won’t shut until they collapse, not from exhaustion, but from slippery hair sliding down glossy walls and slick red crumpling.
*
Close to Junsu’s heart, he keeps rag dolls dressed in felt-red dresses and matching red slippers painted on. Black button eyes sewn on with embroidery thread, glossy. Wide red-yarn smiles. Nose-less faces, but bright smiles on them nevertheless.
He clutches them to him, through thick and thin, and when they finally slide from his hands, arms torn off and legs bleeding white stuffing, he mourns as he tries, needle in red-pricked fingers, to piece together broken limbs.
But they are broken, and Junsu mourns each loss bitterly, red dresses torn and stitched together with trembling fingers. Crooked stitches tracing constellations. Red slippers worn pale from fingers rubbing them over and over.
Love them, they command, and Junsu obeys, because how could he not love glossy button eyes and red yarn permanently stretched into a smile? How could he not wrap his fingers around hands defined by black stitches and smile?
How can he not smile at the red dress and matching red slippers?
*
For Yunho are sun-baked dolls, with holes for eyes. All sun-baked red, with smiles not painted, molded, or glued on, but rather etched into crumbling faces. They all have the same eyes, the same nose-a ball scored and then slip-casted onto the face-and the same etched smile.
They have arms raised forever, legs spread the same distance apart, every single one of them. They’re all dressed the same. In dresses of red and matching slippers too.
They stare straight into him, his dolls of clay. When he cradles one close to him, he hears: protect them. Protect them, as a leader should.
Yunho does. He protects them until they crumble in his hands, and then he sweeps up the dust and carries ashes in his heart, for each doll broken is a failed responsibility.
*
Jaejoong plays with his dolls. He stands in the center, paper-thin dolls all dressed with marker-red dresses drawn on, scattered around him so that wherever he looks, he sees nothing but a sea of red. He wades in the layers of paper dolls, all dressed in red and matching red slippers.
These are yours, they say, for you to love.
And he loves them. He loves them even as he treads on the ones on the bottom of the ocean and leaves a wake of bent and broken arms in his wake.
And if they rip, he mourns long enough to cremate them, discarding ashes where pretty red dresses were.
And matching red slippers too.
End.
Okay. Sorry. That's all I really can say. If you think like me, or I managed to hammer in my bad symbolism in enough, then hopefully you feel as bad as I do. Because I feel horrible. But uh, yeah. Hand in Hand chapter 6 would be done, except I started writing this instead. Sorry. Update soon, promise. :)?