Round 1, Challenge #1: "Like the Dust"
Title: Like the Dust
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,400
Summary: Yunho & Jaejoong, Roosevelt, and the Dust Bowl.
Warnings: Implied underage sex.
"Pat's little boy died."
"The poor thing."
"He was seven."
"Seven!"
"Seven."
-----
The soil, the base of the farm, was no longer useable. The old man in the white house blamed it on dry farming. Careless farming techniques and advanced mechanization that those farmers couldn't control. That those farmers didn't know how to use. Those careless farmers. That old man in the white house.
Pa didn't believe in Roosevelt, although Ma did. Pa believed in God, and baby Jesus, and the soil. The soil abandoned him. Pa chose to cling tighter to his gun. Ma chose to cling to Roosevelt.
Though you kept it to yourself, you couldn't see how either guns or God or Roosevelt could bring food to the table. You couldn't see how anyone could get the dust to stop swirling, could cure the depression, could revive that seven year old boy. You didn't get the newspaper, and your family didn't own a television, but the snippets you caught through the radio told it all. "… Farm equipment … buried … thick layers … dust … seven-year … boy … Kansas … suffocated …" Then there was Roosevelt. And the New Deal. And how it was going to help everyone, not just the wealthy.
Pa didn't believe him, but Ma did.
-----
"We're going."
"Where Pa?"
"To California."
"Why Pa?"
"To live the prosperous life that the Lord has promised us."
"Pa -"
"Shut your goddamn mouth and behave!"
-----
Your sister walked with a limp. She was never strong, always falling ill. Ma didn't say it, but you could see it in her eyes. She was worried. Ana wouldn't make it.
Your family walked in a single file line. Pa, then Ma, then Caroline, Mary, Beth, Ana, Justine, Laura. You were the last, and there were times when the accumulation of the dust from their feet seemed to swallow you whole. The fear became so great at times that you would reach out your hand to grab at the back of Laura's dress to assuage the terror of getting lost. The terror of being left behind.
Every few miles you passed by a crumbling shack, all boarded up. When you looked at those houses, you thought that not even all the boards in the world could cover the gaping holes in the roofs, the walls, the cracked windows. The destruction was devastating. After the sixth house, you didn't even bat an eyelash. Desensitizing. That was what it was called.
With every house your mother passed, the lines on her face grew darker. Deeper. The dust settled in those lines that used to be fine but were now just deep and jagged and harsh. It made her face ashy. You would look, but it scared you, the ash.
Your family walked in a single file line, and Ana's limp got worse. But there was no time to stop. No time in the world.
-----
"Hey."
"Good day."
"Another group of Okies?"
"Kansas, actually."
"It's all the same to us."
"Hm."
"You've got a fine line of young ladies trailing after you."
"My daughters."
"I know! Don't look so stern. I'm heading down to Highway 87, Arizona, you know? What's Arizona to California these days? Nothing. Hop in."
-----
The trunk gurgled and spat, trembled and shuddered with every dip in the road. Your legs hurt. They were cramped. Eight was not an easy number to fit into the back of a wagon, but it was better than walking, and Ana no longer had to hide her limp.
Ma had Laura in her lap, a full grown sixteen year old girl. Old enough to get married and raise children. But she was momma's little girl. Momma's baby. You didn't know what you were, but you didn't ask. It was early on when you learned not to ask questions, because questions were disrespectful. You could be dead somewhere in this wild wasteland, and no one would know. You could be dead in your home country, wherever it was, or you could have died at sea. But none of these things happened.
Fourteen and a half or maybe fifteen. That's how old you were, in years. In other things, you felt much older.
-----
"Welcome to Riverbank."
"Thank you. We need a place for nine."
"It's $100 an acre. We've got low monthly payments."
"Where can I find work?"
"Cotton, potatoes. You'll find something. It's too bad you haven't any sons."
"…Yeah, it's really too bad."
-----
Ma told you not to listen to men's talk. It was silly. They were silly. Especially when sharing a bottle. Ma always told you that grown men didn't understand little boys, even though they were once little boys themselves. When you looked at Pa, you didn't believe her. Pa could have never been little. Just large and booming and red-faced. Full of anger and pent-up frustration. You know.
Your one flaw was to grow up too pretty. Caroline was the prettiest of the girls, and she would've been married had the Dust not happened. Your two oldest sisters were left behind in Kansas with their families. No one said goodbye, not in those times.
Your eyes were delicately curved. Your hair long and soft. Men stared, because you were exotic. You never stared back, because you were never interested. At times you wished that you were big and strong like Pa. But those wishes never came true.
The house your family was given was a decent one, with windows of glass and a door that hardly creaked. Your sisters stared in wonder before fluttering about, tidying it up here and there. Ma and Pa smiled.
You began to believe in this place called California.
-----
"Who's he?"
"New kid."
"Looks like one of those Chinese."
"Probably is."
"Kid doesn't look like he can lift a stone."
"He probably can't."
"I guess we should make him do the women's work."
"Heh. Pretty thing. We can make him do other things that women do, yeah?"
-----
Work was work. There was nothing special about work, and you didn't particularly enjoy it. But work was work, and there was something pleasantly mindless about it all.
The pub was the pub, a place that promised magic and mystery, and somehow you let some of the men drag you there after your third week. They told you it was fun, and that's what all the men did, and there was no point in going home, anyway, when there wasn't a woman to enjoy. You thought about your sisters, but you didn't say anything.
The pub was dark, and at first it scared you. There were men everywhere, ranging from all ages, but you were sure none as young as you.
Someone handed you a beer, and though you had never had any before, you took it down. Like a man. Some of your work makes cat-called and hollered. You found that you liked the attention.
Four beers later, you found that you didn't like the attention. Men touched you all over the place, from your neck to your mouth to your chest to your crotch. It made you awkward. But it also made you pleased. The combination was a nasty one.
Fourteen and half to fifteen years young. You didn't know better.
-----
"Jesus Christ how young is this kid?"
-----
You woke with a pounding head and sore limbs.
When your eyes could function and you could move your head without moaning, you realized that there was a man in the room with you. Watching you with dark, beady eyes. Strangely familiar eyes.
It took you a while, but soon it dawned on you. This man was like you. Chinese. Oriental. Exotic.
You opened your mouth to say something but it came out as a croak. You rolled to the side to get up but once your feet hit the ground, you winced. Pain shot up your back.
The man noticed, standing abruptly and rushing to your side. With one hand he held you steady, with the other he brushed your hair behind an ear.
His eyes were dark and beady. Brilliant and beautiful.
-----
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"You're wincing."
"I'm not."
"Okay, heh."
"Where am I?"
"At my place."
"Why… How?"
"Took you here after your wild night."
"…What am I wearing?"
-----
His name was Yunho Jung. A good strong name. He told you he was Korean, from Korea, and that you were too, if the name Jaejoong had anything to do with it. You told him you didn't know anything about Korea, and that you had a Ma and a Pa who loved you.
When you told him you were fourteen and a half but maybe fifteen, he rubbed a dry, dirty hand over the stubble on his chin and told you that, fucking god, you were young.
He let you go home after you had breakfast, and after your clothing finished drying on the line outside. He told you that his house was always open, and if any man tried to do what they did last night again, you just come running to him.
At home, when your Ma asked you where you were the night before, you couldn't say anything. All you could do was smile, a silly little smile.
For some reason, you were pleased.
-----
"Hey, kid."
"Jaejoong."
"Yeah?"
"My name is Jaejoong."
"I know. But you're saying it wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"You sound silly. Jaejoong. It's Jaejoong."
"Still the same."
"Ah, but not."
"Do you speak … Korean?"
"Yeah. A little."
"Teach me."
-----
You spent all your time with him, following with wide eyes like a loyal sheep after his shepherd. Ana giggled. Told you you were in love, and that you had better tell her with who or she'd tell Pa. You didn't believe her, and you didn't tell her who. Because you weren't in love. You were only fourteen and a half or maybe fifteen. Ma told you that you wouldn't understand love until you were at least eighteen, and then you'd be old enough to have kids and know how to treat your wife well.
Yunho wouldn't make a good wife, you think. But he made a good friend, and sometimes he held your hand like you were the most important thing to him. No one had ever looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world before, and you found that you liked it.
There were times when you did silly things to make him look at you more. Touch the back of his hand. Accidentally ghost your lips against the back of his neck when he carried you on his back. He was big and strong and so much taller and older than you were.
One day, he threw you off his back. Pinned you to the wall. Didn't give you anything to drink, but he took you, rammed into you, moaned and groaned against the side of your neck.
It hurt. It was awful.
-----
"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry."
"…"
"Fuck. Jaejoong. Look at me. I'm sorry."
"It - it's okay."
"No. Fucking Christ you're fourteen!"
"I - "
"Geez. Just… don't come back here again, okay? Forget this."
-----
You told him you would forget it, but it was a lie. Ma told you that lying was of the devil.
It was hard not to look for him at work, around town. But you never saw him. Ana noticed, because Ana noticed everything, and instead of teasing you or asking you about it, she just held you in her arms and pet your hair. You didn't cry. You couldn't find a reason to cry, though there were times when you tried looking for one. But you couldn't find one.
It hurt when Yunho took you against the wall. But it hurt more when he left you behind.
-----
"Who the fuck - Jaejoong!"
"I lied."
"What? Why are you here?"
"I didn't forget."
"…"
"I didn't. I'm sorry."
"Jaejoong, go home. Please. You have to forget."
"I can't."
"I'm twenty-two!"
"I'm fourteen and a half."
"…But maybe fifteen."
"Yeah."
"…Yeah."
"Please? You never taught me the word for lo - "
"Come in."
-----
Your days were spent with Yunho. Running through the fields with Yunho, learning Korean with Yunho, lying on Yunho's bed. There was never another time against the wall, but there was time in the backroom, and on the floor, and over Yunho's frayed and broken couch.
There were three more years until you would turn eighteen and understand what love was, but it pleased you to know that you were practicing. Getting a head start. There was nothing more you wanted than to work on the wet fields and then go back to take a shower with Yunho. Maybe forever. There was no dust in California.
Ma and Pa never asked you where you spent all your time after work. They never asked when you missed a meal, because that meant there were less mouths to feed. But Ma noticed when you came home with a purple mark on the side of your neck. And so did Pa.
What happened after that, you don't know. You heard screaming through a wall, thuds, a man yelling. Yunho's name. You were locked in your room, not allowed to work, to see your sisters.
When they let you leave, Ma with red eyes and Pa with a thin line for a mouth, you knew that it was over. Everything. Over.
-----
"Jaejoong."
"Mmm?"
"Jaejoong, I'm sorry."
"S'okay Ana."
"Jaejoong, come here."
"Ana, don't cry."
"I'm sorry baby. I should've looked after you better. I should have never let that man touch you."
"…"
"Jaejoong! Answer me!"
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."
-----
You never saw Yunho again.
Pa worked until his dying day, taking his last breath with a hoe in one hand and Ma in his other.
All your sisters found nice, upstanding, hard-working men to marry and have children with. All except Ana. She died, two years after Yunho disappeared.
He said you could go to his house whenever you needed someone. Whenever you were scared or alone. You believed him.
But not anymore.
Like the dust, everything blew over.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,400
Summary: Yunho & Jaejoong, Roosevelt, and the Dust Bowl.
Warnings: Implied underage sex.
"Pat's little boy died."
"The poor thing."
"He was seven."
"Seven!"
"Seven."
-----
The soil, the base of the farm, was no longer useable. The old man in the white house blamed it on dry farming. Careless farming techniques and advanced mechanization that those farmers couldn't control. That those farmers didn't know how to use. Those careless farmers. That old man in the white house.
Pa didn't believe in Roosevelt, although Ma did. Pa believed in God, and baby Jesus, and the soil. The soil abandoned him. Pa chose to cling tighter to his gun. Ma chose to cling to Roosevelt.
Though you kept it to yourself, you couldn't see how either guns or God or Roosevelt could bring food to the table. You couldn't see how anyone could get the dust to stop swirling, could cure the depression, could revive that seven year old boy. You didn't get the newspaper, and your family didn't own a television, but the snippets you caught through the radio told it all. "… Farm equipment … buried … thick layers … dust … seven-year … boy … Kansas … suffocated …" Then there was Roosevelt. And the New Deal. And how it was going to help everyone, not just the wealthy.
Pa didn't believe him, but Ma did.
-----
"We're going."
"Where Pa?"
"To California."
"Why Pa?"
"To live the prosperous life that the Lord has promised us."
"Pa -"
"Shut your goddamn mouth and behave!"
-----
Your sister walked with a limp. She was never strong, always falling ill. Ma didn't say it, but you could see it in her eyes. She was worried. Ana wouldn't make it.
Your family walked in a single file line. Pa, then Ma, then Caroline, Mary, Beth, Ana, Justine, Laura. You were the last, and there were times when the accumulation of the dust from their feet seemed to swallow you whole. The fear became so great at times that you would reach out your hand to grab at the back of Laura's dress to assuage the terror of getting lost. The terror of being left behind.
Every few miles you passed by a crumbling shack, all boarded up. When you looked at those houses, you thought that not even all the boards in the world could cover the gaping holes in the roofs, the walls, the cracked windows. The destruction was devastating. After the sixth house, you didn't even bat an eyelash. Desensitizing. That was what it was called.
With every house your mother passed, the lines on her face grew darker. Deeper. The dust settled in those lines that used to be fine but were now just deep and jagged and harsh. It made her face ashy. You would look, but it scared you, the ash.
Your family walked in a single file line, and Ana's limp got worse. But there was no time to stop. No time in the world.
-----
"Hey."
"Good day."
"Another group of Okies?"
"Kansas, actually."
"It's all the same to us."
"Hm."
"You've got a fine line of young ladies trailing after you."
"My daughters."
"I know! Don't look so stern. I'm heading down to Highway 87, Arizona, you know? What's Arizona to California these days? Nothing. Hop in."
-----
The trunk gurgled and spat, trembled and shuddered with every dip in the road. Your legs hurt. They were cramped. Eight was not an easy number to fit into the back of a wagon, but it was better than walking, and Ana no longer had to hide her limp.
Ma had Laura in her lap, a full grown sixteen year old girl. Old enough to get married and raise children. But she was momma's little girl. Momma's baby. You didn't know what you were, but you didn't ask. It was early on when you learned not to ask questions, because questions were disrespectful. You could be dead somewhere in this wild wasteland, and no one would know. You could be dead in your home country, wherever it was, or you could have died at sea. But none of these things happened.
Fourteen and a half or maybe fifteen. That's how old you were, in years. In other things, you felt much older.
-----
"Welcome to Riverbank."
"Thank you. We need a place for nine."
"It's $100 an acre. We've got low monthly payments."
"Where can I find work?"
"Cotton, potatoes. You'll find something. It's too bad you haven't any sons."
"…Yeah, it's really too bad."
-----
Ma told you not to listen to men's talk. It was silly. They were silly. Especially when sharing a bottle. Ma always told you that grown men didn't understand little boys, even though they were once little boys themselves. When you looked at Pa, you didn't believe her. Pa could have never been little. Just large and booming and red-faced. Full of anger and pent-up frustration. You know.
Your one flaw was to grow up too pretty. Caroline was the prettiest of the girls, and she would've been married had the Dust not happened. Your two oldest sisters were left behind in Kansas with their families. No one said goodbye, not in those times.
Your eyes were delicately curved. Your hair long and soft. Men stared, because you were exotic. You never stared back, because you were never interested. At times you wished that you were big and strong like Pa. But those wishes never came true.
The house your family was given was a decent one, with windows of glass and a door that hardly creaked. Your sisters stared in wonder before fluttering about, tidying it up here and there. Ma and Pa smiled.
You began to believe in this place called California.
-----
"Who's he?"
"New kid."
"Looks like one of those Chinese."
"Probably is."
"Kid doesn't look like he can lift a stone."
"He probably can't."
"I guess we should make him do the women's work."
"Heh. Pretty thing. We can make him do other things that women do, yeah?"
-----
Work was work. There was nothing special about work, and you didn't particularly enjoy it. But work was work, and there was something pleasantly mindless about it all.
The pub was the pub, a place that promised magic and mystery, and somehow you let some of the men drag you there after your third week. They told you it was fun, and that's what all the men did, and there was no point in going home, anyway, when there wasn't a woman to enjoy. You thought about your sisters, but you didn't say anything.
The pub was dark, and at first it scared you. There were men everywhere, ranging from all ages, but you were sure none as young as you.
Someone handed you a beer, and though you had never had any before, you took it down. Like a man. Some of your work makes cat-called and hollered. You found that you liked the attention.
Four beers later, you found that you didn't like the attention. Men touched you all over the place, from your neck to your mouth to your chest to your crotch. It made you awkward. But it also made you pleased. The combination was a nasty one.
Fourteen and half to fifteen years young. You didn't know better.
-----
"Jesus Christ how young is this kid?"
-----
You woke with a pounding head and sore limbs.
When your eyes could function and you could move your head without moaning, you realized that there was a man in the room with you. Watching you with dark, beady eyes. Strangely familiar eyes.
It took you a while, but soon it dawned on you. This man was like you. Chinese. Oriental. Exotic.
You opened your mouth to say something but it came out as a croak. You rolled to the side to get up but once your feet hit the ground, you winced. Pain shot up your back.
The man noticed, standing abruptly and rushing to your side. With one hand he held you steady, with the other he brushed your hair behind an ear.
His eyes were dark and beady. Brilliant and beautiful.
-----
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"You're wincing."
"I'm not."
"Okay, heh."
"Where am I?"
"At my place."
"Why… How?"
"Took you here after your wild night."
"…What am I wearing?"
-----
His name was Yunho Jung. A good strong name. He told you he was Korean, from Korea, and that you were too, if the name Jaejoong had anything to do with it. You told him you didn't know anything about Korea, and that you had a Ma and a Pa who loved you.
When you told him you were fourteen and a half but maybe fifteen, he rubbed a dry, dirty hand over the stubble on his chin and told you that, fucking god, you were young.
He let you go home after you had breakfast, and after your clothing finished drying on the line outside. He told you that his house was always open, and if any man tried to do what they did last night again, you just come running to him.
At home, when your Ma asked you where you were the night before, you couldn't say anything. All you could do was smile, a silly little smile.
For some reason, you were pleased.
-----
"Hey, kid."
"Jaejoong."
"Yeah?"
"My name is Jaejoong."
"I know. But you're saying it wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"You sound silly. Jaejoong. It's Jaejoong."
"Still the same."
"Ah, but not."
"Do you speak … Korean?"
"Yeah. A little."
"Teach me."
-----
You spent all your time with him, following with wide eyes like a loyal sheep after his shepherd. Ana giggled. Told you you were in love, and that you had better tell her with who or she'd tell Pa. You didn't believe her, and you didn't tell her who. Because you weren't in love. You were only fourteen and a half or maybe fifteen. Ma told you that you wouldn't understand love until you were at least eighteen, and then you'd be old enough to have kids and know how to treat your wife well.
Yunho wouldn't make a good wife, you think. But he made a good friend, and sometimes he held your hand like you were the most important thing to him. No one had ever looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world before, and you found that you liked it.
There were times when you did silly things to make him look at you more. Touch the back of his hand. Accidentally ghost your lips against the back of his neck when he carried you on his back. He was big and strong and so much taller and older than you were.
One day, he threw you off his back. Pinned you to the wall. Didn't give you anything to drink, but he took you, rammed into you, moaned and groaned against the side of your neck.
It hurt. It was awful.
-----
"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry."
"…"
"Fuck. Jaejoong. Look at me. I'm sorry."
"It - it's okay."
"No. Fucking Christ you're fourteen!"
"I - "
"Geez. Just… don't come back here again, okay? Forget this."
-----
You told him you would forget it, but it was a lie. Ma told you that lying was of the devil.
It was hard not to look for him at work, around town. But you never saw him. Ana noticed, because Ana noticed everything, and instead of teasing you or asking you about it, she just held you in her arms and pet your hair. You didn't cry. You couldn't find a reason to cry, though there were times when you tried looking for one. But you couldn't find one.
It hurt when Yunho took you against the wall. But it hurt more when he left you behind.
-----
"Who the fuck - Jaejoong!"
"I lied."
"What? Why are you here?"
"I didn't forget."
"…"
"I didn't. I'm sorry."
"Jaejoong, go home. Please. You have to forget."
"I can't."
"I'm twenty-two!"
"I'm fourteen and a half."
"…But maybe fifteen."
"Yeah."
"…Yeah."
"Please? You never taught me the word for lo - "
"Come in."
-----
Your days were spent with Yunho. Running through the fields with Yunho, learning Korean with Yunho, lying on Yunho's bed. There was never another time against the wall, but there was time in the backroom, and on the floor, and over Yunho's frayed and broken couch.
There were three more years until you would turn eighteen and understand what love was, but it pleased you to know that you were practicing. Getting a head start. There was nothing more you wanted than to work on the wet fields and then go back to take a shower with Yunho. Maybe forever. There was no dust in California.
Ma and Pa never asked you where you spent all your time after work. They never asked when you missed a meal, because that meant there were less mouths to feed. But Ma noticed when you came home with a purple mark on the side of your neck. And so did Pa.
What happened after that, you don't know. You heard screaming through a wall, thuds, a man yelling. Yunho's name. You were locked in your room, not allowed to work, to see your sisters.
When they let you leave, Ma with red eyes and Pa with a thin line for a mouth, you knew that it was over. Everything. Over.
-----
"Jaejoong."
"Mmm?"
"Jaejoong, I'm sorry."
"S'okay Ana."
"Jaejoong, come here."
"Ana, don't cry."
"I'm sorry baby. I should've looked after you better. I should have never let that man touch you."
"…"
"Jaejoong! Answer me!"
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."
-----
You never saw Yunho again.
Pa worked until his dying day, taking his last breath with a hoe in one hand and Ma in his other.
All your sisters found nice, upstanding, hard-working men to marry and have children with. All except Ana. She died, two years after Yunho disappeared.
He said you could go to his house whenever you needed someone. Whenever you were scared or alone. You believed him.
But not anymore.
Like the dust, everything blew over.