Tomorrow's sun awaits us | Seongjoong

Death grows near

"This is pure madness, Dreikov!"
Hongjoong takes a step closer to the man.
"They most likely have left the post already like all of us should have done days ago! All we do here is sit and wait for their arrows to rain down on us. If it took the government five days to send ammunition to Malay's base, we are doomed!

"Look at all of them, they barely can stand straight and you wish to lengthen the watch hour? Feed them first for God's sake! Get your head out of your ass and make the order to retreat before we join the rest of our brothers on the other side!"

Wooyoung feels a small wind on his features when the general lifts a hand in the air before slapping Hongjoong across his face.
"Beat him up and throw in the pit. We don't need deserters and traitors here. Let that be a lesson for all of you, lousy good for nothings. Back to the trench!"

The boys rush back to their spots. Worry gnaws at Wooyoung's mind even when the eyes Hongjoong looks at him with are nothing but full of kindness and understanding.

The male gets taken away to the infamous pit.

All the berries Wooyoung has eaten in the forest to compensate for his meals are starting to make an appearance up his throat.
He will have to vomit them out later so the poison doesn't spread.

"Jung, proceed with my order." general Dreikov says before walking back to his tent to enjoy food that no male has seen in the last ten months.
Wooyoung's heart proceeds to panically beat in his chest as it did before Hongjoong tried to stand up for him and the rest of the battalion. As always.

He swallows the feeling and begins a slow run out of the base.
The forest around him sounds dead, the few slowly decomposing bodies surrounded by flies.

They were once healthy men, who got fatigued with inhuman training, long hours guarding useless strategical points and starvation dawning on them like the hot spring sun.
Many didn't survive the cold winter with only their thin uniforms.

The fireplace ban to not alert the enemy with smoke made them sleep pressed together in a pile of limbs, where the one's in the middle basked in warmth while the soldiers on the outer circle froze.
The older boys like Hongjoong were a blessing, giving the heat but not receiving it on their end.

Wooyoung felt the same fate nearing him.
If it won't be a stray arrow to pierce him from an ambush, it will be his body giving up on him.
Mind is not strong alone.

Soon he will be another one of the bodies Hongjoong will drag in the silence of the night to a shallow grave, soon to be dug up by forest animals or officers in need to feed the creatures in order for them not to attack the living.
Now Wooyoung has to hold in his gag reflex at the stench. He knows every corpse's name and location. The scenes of him and others dragging the dead boys in the dark, who were their friends or comrades, keeps entering his mind like he's on a carousel, passing the same sites over and over again.

The young man makes it to the clearing, where one of their guard camps lies. The earth is bare, full with tree roots sticking outside to trip any walker for the murder of their higher halves.
He quietly walks to the tent's entrance, clapping twice and whistling once.

The silence greets him.

Wooyoung tries the signal again, clenching the letter with further orders written inside in his hand.
His breath comes out as a trembling mess.
Squeezing his brown eyes shut, he pushes the entrance open.

Not a soul inside.
The dirty mattress, stolen from an abandoned house nearby, has been made with two blankets over it.
Wooyoung can see the mattress through the holes scattered on the covers.
Empty cans of food lie over the small table.

"Bogeum? Tadrev? Milison!" the male calls out in the clearly empty tent.
Did something happen? Why has no one been left to guard the post?
Have they chosen to run for their lives like a smart man would have done ages ago?
Just in case, Wooyoung looks through their food.
Two more tins of old unknown substance left.

He exits the tent and watches over the woods.
The letter wiggles in his hold due to the wind.
His eyes look at the paper.
Should he see for himself what is their planned destiny?
The thought makes alarms go off inside his head.
A bullet will be stuck in his brain faster than he would count to two if that information would ever see the light of day.

Scanning the area, his eyes land on the trench.
He hates that place with his whole heart. It's a grave for the living, filled with symphonies consisting of screams and wails.

Hearing grown men cry like newborn babies while more blood leaves their bodies is something the man doesn't wish even his worst enemy to experience.
Still, Wooyoung slowly makes his way to the entrenchment, being mindful of the roots.
In all the earth colors he notices a pale mustard.

Wooyoung has the same tone, only more worn out by the weather on him.
He rushes closer, relief overtaking the feeling of anxiety when he sees blond locks of hair.
"Tadrev! Thank God, I thought you all had left, what are you doing there?"
The male that is leaning against the soil falls.

Wooyoung's heart stops.

It is Tadrev's dead body that now lies facing him from the trench.

He sucks in a panicked breath, moving back.
If he looked closer he would be able to see Milison's unmoving body a bit further away but he doesn't want to see that.
The blond man has his throat slit.

Wooyoung feels the berries making an appearance. His legs stumble back.
His own blood runs cold when he replays the view in his mind.

The blood is fresh.

A sudden weight hits his back.
Wooyoung is pushed down, a leg tripping over one of the many roots.
The weight is pressing a hand, no, rather a knee between his shoulder blades.

The weight of death somehow feels lighter than Wooyoung imagined in all of those sleepless nights.