Present time
The sky is an angry shade of red; at least the parts that are visible. Most of it is covered by sickly translucent brown clouds, seeming to be shielding something threatening. Below the threatening clouds, a young man steps haphazardly over bits of trash and debris, things he's grown accustomed to. A red jacket with more buttons missing than present sticks to his frame as though holding on for dear life. He sighs, knowing that his jacket won't last much longer as he looks at the never-ending tears in the seams of his sleeve.
Something breaks in the distance, the entropic sound breaking his concentration at his jacket. The young man hurries, his footsteps mixing with the long-faded footsteps on the dirt road, now only unrecognizable depressions on the terrain. How many people had crossed through this very same path? Where were they trying to go to? And the most important question of all - did they make it to the end of the path, to their destination?
The man didn't know, and he didn't know whether he would be one of the lucky ones, one of the ones who didn't join the countless others whose names were etched into misshapen stones by loved ones as poor substitutes for headstones.
It didn't matter, however. He was on this abandoned path for a very important reason - to fulfill a promise he should've seen through years ago.
Sometimes, he wonders how his life would've been different, if the situation that he is in now would have not ever ocurred had he kept his promise when he made it.
He coughs. The air is uncomfortably thick, and lethal if inhaled for too long without a gas mask. Cursing, he pulls out a ratty white scarf that was now more gray from the small canvas bag slung over his shoulder He has a few seconds of peace before he starts coughing heavily, his eyes widening from the severity as he nearly crumples to the ground. Before completely losing his balance and falling to the ground, he manages to balance himself and plops onto the ground.
He glances at the layer of mud coating the ground, and has to force himself to not think about the stains on the back of his pants that are now, for sure there. He expertly wraps the scarf around his his neck, carefully making sure that his nose and mouth are covered.
Once he is sure his coughing fit is over, he stands up and brushes his scraggly brown hair away from his eyes, and frowns when he sees that it has grown far longer than he wants. Cutting his hair is the least of his worries. He makes a promise to himself that he will get a hair cut, to get his hair to how it was before the Event happened.
All he needs to do is make it to the end of this road, alive. Seungmin didn't think a dead body, after all, would have the ability to cut hair.
A/N:
hello!! i hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it! please look forward to the rest of the story!
good night <33
YOU ARE READING
The World Through Your Eyes || SeungJin
FanfictionA bit sad, a bit sweet, the flavor of most memories that Seungmin holds dear. Living means making decisions, some good and some bad. And some that feel like a mistake no matter what you choose. In a world where morals take a backseat to the far more...
