Visionary

Precipice

He pulled into his driveway, giving a content sigh as he recalled the day's events. A lost puppy had made it's way into a nearby store. He had gotten to clean up the little guy once the crew had brought him into the centre. He was a maltese, and once he had it cleaned it's fur , it looked like a sparkling ball of snow. The only difference was that a ball of snow was not soft and warm.

He liked his job. After making his way onto the plush love seat, he looked around and whistled for his own dog, a maltese named Bolero, to settle in his lap.

He absolutely adored animals.

People, however, were another species entirely, and his knowledge of the human sort was rather limited. He had a few friends, but had never been the outgoing, wild one amongst his class. He felt comfortable spending time with the same group of people; he had never felt change neccessary.

In fact, he had never felt the need for change in anything. He was a man of routine, and felt that his lifestyle was normal. Humans were habitual creatures, after all.

The idea of love seemed like a distant fantasy. He clinged on to the idea of having a true love, often immersing himself in the fantastical realms of romantic novels and shows. He was extremely emotional, the kind of person that would be brought to tears at every every sad animal centre commercial, the sad parts in movies. When the people in his books cried, so did he. For him, the myth of every person being attached to his or her soul mate by a red string of fate was a most hopeful and beautiful thing. But when he came to terms with himself, he knew it was not realistic for him to find a girl. He was an awkward little man, who worked an animal adoption and rescue centre. What girl in her right mind was tied to his strand of fate?

After stroking Bolero's head, already nestled in his lap, he heard a deafening crash. His heart jumped at the sound, and Bolero virtually bounced out of his lap, jumping onto the ground, uninjured. He took a few moments to find composure and inched his way to the door, opening it just a creak. It was pretty late.

He didn't see anything outside in the hall, so went back inside to look down from the small window on his balcony. He scanned the street below him, his hands on the cold metal bars of the balcony, and his eyes landed on the pile of garbage bags on the side walk of the apartment scheduled for pick up the next morning. A hand flew to his mouth in surprise. There was a man sprawled atop the black trash bags. He squinted to get a better look, but no bystanders were there. His heart was pounding as he pulled on his plush house slippers to rush down the stairs and almost tripping on his own feet.

He felt the soft plastic bottom of his slippers padding on the pavement as he neared the garbage heap. He held his nose to defend his nostrils against the stench. The man he had taken notice of, lying on top of the heap was wearing a silver blazer and tight pants that looked almost plastic by the way they shined with strands of light running the side of them. The man looked as if he had been wearing a head piece that was laying on the ground nearby. The headpiece resembled one half of a set of headphones, covered in lines of light just like the man's pants.

Kyungsoo could only stare at the man, thinking to himself that he didn't often see men sport costumes in the middle of the week in December, in Seoul.

He squatted down beside the man, giving up on trying to shield himself from the odor emitted by the waste, shook the man's arm in an attempt to wake him up. After giving it his best shot in his gradually harsher attempts to awaken him, he felt responsible for this strange man as there was nobody around to help- or even to take note of the poor fellow. By the time he gathered up the strength to drag the stranger to his room (using the elevator, of course), he was certain that there was nobody around to give him any questioning stares. Kyungsoo let the man fall onto the love seat, wishing he had a longer sofa for him, and took a woolen blanket from a cabinet in his laundry room to cover him up. He washed his hands thoroughly and locked his bedroom door as a safety measure. He fell onto his bed, his eyes fluttering into a deep slumber, the result of exhaustion, with Bolero at his feet.