vengeful youths [ongoing]

III ; Flowers and Wavety's Battlefields

Written on February 8, 2018

III ; Flowers and Wavety's Battlefields

⚠️ Trigger Warning — Parental Death

Sorn stood in front of all of it. The majesty and greatness of the screams, the power of the sheath, and the blood, a vivid burgundy cascade of red tears. 

It didn't scare him, per say, to see the bodies of innocent people being ripped apart by the fate of the fight. 

What frightened him was the meaning of what he saw. 

He could have questioned it, he could have grabbed a powerful pistol from a nearby weapon locker and shot down all the victims, ending their sufferings. But he didn't, instead he ran, his bare feet bleeding against the rough edges of the metal grounds. 

Indestructible skyscrapers with their colourful billboards lit up the midnight, but it all still seemed far away and dull for 17-year-old Sorn. The explosions kept coming, the screams kept shattering the glass, and the said boy's breaths kept getting heavier. It all seemed vaguely familiar, but it still burned Sorn with a great passion. 

He wasn't beaten completely, though. 

That is, until he saw his father. 

A good man hung by a string of death and defeat. A cold face and with pale and milky eyes, gazing lifelessly at the commotion of the battle. 

Sorn stood there, his perplexion paling and hands rising to his mouth in order to drown a scream. The only sound he heard was a low groan, then a soft click. The life was undoubtedly drained from his father, and the willing to fight in Sorn's weak body grew increasingly. 

He backed away from the carcass, slowly, making sure not to choke on the thick, polluted air. He wiped a single tear off his eyelid, bit his lip, and choked out a soft goodbye to his father. After this, Sorn ran once again, unaware of where he might go.

He stopped after about thirty minutes time, catching his breath and regaining his composure. He looked around at his surroundings, and something caught his eye, a passageway that seemed to lead to an underground area. His curiosity caught the best of him, leading the young man to step carefully into the sub-ground abyss. 

The walls of the passage were lined with marvellous paintings of lilacs, created by the soft brushing bliss of a painter. Sorn admired their beauty, contemplating the majesty of such common yet rare creations. Coughing under the thick layer of dust, he knocked on the door, making sure he wasn't too vociferous, as perhaps the monster-like people were still rampaging for new prey.

"What's your name, kid?" A smagdarine-haired woman wearing a military-green jumpsuit asked, closing the iron door behind them right after Sorn made his fateful entrance. 

The said boy gulped, unaware if he should give his name to a stranger. He noticed that the woman seemed calm and composed, an attitude that happened to be extremely inappropriate in times of war.

"Sorn Charisma Tayento." The boy muttered, adjusting his red bandana so that his brown hair would fall on his face, obscuring the dried tears around under his eyes. There was no scream from his mouth, no shrieks for his father's state, simply a blank expression on his face, a mask for his broken heart and shattered soul.

The lady gulped.

"I'm Vega. We are gathering youngins who flee the battle and seek refuge. I'm sure you understand the meaning of this though," Vega paused before continuing, "You can't go outside for the next three years—at least."