KimChay short stories collection. Too many KimChay ideas to turn them all into a full length AUs so here you have all the drabbles and one shots I have written so far <3
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There's a story, a legend, a cautionary tale, if you will, about a young boy and his love that went beyond life and beyond death.
In a village whose name is long forgotten, in a year that no one remembers, lived a boy; Porchay his name was. He was kind, smart and gentle. The pride of the village...that all he truly was. But there was something, staining his pristine soul...his lover—a witch's boy. Kimhan's mother the old witch of the village was. Dark magic, the evil thing, that was what she lived by.
At least that is what the tale says; it's been a long time, very long time. Who knows what the truth is? Only the wind or the thousands of years old river may whisper to you what they saw...the love, the horror, and what remained afterwards.
The night was dark, the air was cold and two lovers held each other close. Fingers chasing one another, quiet giggles escaping their rosy lips, in a hue of crackling fire...they were waiting.
"P'Kim?"
"Yes, my love?"
"What is your mother planning to do here?"
"I don't know, Porchay...I don't know."
Not far away, there stood an old well. Its stones too cold to touch, the water in it crystal clear but hardly ever someone came near. It was said that the witch cursed the well and cursed its water too. No one ever realised that it wasn't true. At least not yet...not till both lovers lived, not till both lovers breathe. The steps were fast, the steps were loud and then everything crashed down. There was coldness all around Porchay. The fire was out. And his love was gone. There in front of the well, Kimhan stood, face white and neck bloody red. The witch, his own mother, laughing there. Eyes white as ghost and cold as ice, she grabbed her son's neck and squeezed hard, digging her sharp nails deep into his skin, digging, digging, digging, down to the bones. The blood drip drip down on the cold white snow; its pristine innocence stained with the blood of the dark, of the sinner, of the unwanted.
Despite what people in the village were saying, Kimhan's blood was just like their own; red and warm. He wasn't evil. He wasn't his mother. All he was a beautiful young boy who loved Porchay in a way no one could ever understand, in a way Porchay himself was still learning about. But now, Kimhan was dead, killed by the hand of his own mother. And Porchay? Porchay couldn't do anything, he couldn't even scream. The witch, she made sure of it. She squeezed her son's neck one more time, his blood dripping down her fingers and then with one swift move Kimhan was forever gone.
She listened closely as his body splashed into the water and coloured it in carmine and she smiled, listening to Porchay's heart dying too. "My son doesn't belong to boys like you. He didn't listen. He said he'd rather die than leave you. So, I granted his wish. What kind of mother I would be if I didn't do it? Now live Porchay Kittisawasd, live with the knowledge that you were the one who killed my son. Live with this moment forever and may you never die."
The witch was gone, the snow was falling and Porchay screamed for he finally could. His trembling body touched the well and he whispered..."p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim...
Weeks went by and then months. Once a kind and bright boy just a ghost of himself became. He barely talked...only his p'Kim on his lips stayed.
Autumn fell upon the village and Porchay had a bride to wed. The bride waited, waited, waited... But the groom never came.
The groom at the well stood, his hands bloody from engraving into the cold stones their names as they should be on the day of their wedding.
Here lay wedded husbands KIMHAN THEERAPANYAKUL & PORCHAY THEERAPANYAKUL
"P'Kim, I'm here. I'm here to stay." Porchay sat on the edge of the well, looking down, he smiled. His suffering was over.
On that day, Porchay did have a wedding. Wedding with death. It is said that even nowadays if you listen closely you can hear Porchay repeating "p'Kim" over and over again. P'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim, p'Kim....p'Kim...p'Kim...p'Kim..
"Uh... excuse me."
"Oh, yes, young gentleman over there?"
"Is that it? I'm sorry but I'm familiar with a slightly different version. In my version, there is one more sentence that says that the lovers didn't die but they ran away so they could live a happy life. And apparently, they still live even now, centuries later."
The tour guide laughed, "that's the version for kids. The one I told you is for adults."
"Hmmm, p'Kim," Porchay leaned to Kimhan's ear, "apparently our true story is the kids' version."
Kimhan chuckled, wrapping his arms around Prochay, hugging him tightly as the rest of the excursion moved away from them. "I like the kids' version better."
