Living ĐɆ₳Đ Roses || SeongJoong

CHAPTER 1: Roses

   The expansive fields were a sight to behold, a canvas of nature's splendor that captivated all who laid eyes upon them. The sunlight played across the blades of grass, each shimmering and dancing in its golden embrace. From dawn till dusk, the beauty remained undiminished, drawing people in with its tragic allure. People often search for photographs of these fields, capturing their essence in snapshots, eager to share their vision of being 'unique' and 'liberated.'

Yet, for them, these sentiments were hollow.

They felt a deep-seated resentment toward those who exploited the fields' beauty to enhance their image. Many wore a facade, a mask of authenticity, and it irked them to no end. Yet, here they were, a living contradiction, drawn to the place they claimed to despise.

Seated amidst the tall grass, its sharp blades grazed their pale skin, the subtle sting accompanied by the pungent aroma of the poisonous plants. Their gaze wandered, tracing the gentle sway of the grass under the setting sun, casting a golden hue over the distant mountains. Though the day was winding down for the world, it was just beginning for them. The radiant glow of the setting sun invigorated them, the earthy scent of vegetation and soil enveloping their senses.

A scent they loathed.

It was a smell of decay, manure, and persistent weeds. Yet, despite their aversion, they returned to this spot repeatedly, willingly surrendering to its overpowering presence. They would rather be engulfed by the earthy aroma than be surrounded by the acrid stench of cigarettes and bleach. The mere thought of bleach made their stomach churn, yet it was their go-to for cleaning. Cleaning the house, the rooms, the bathrooms, the floors, the kitchen, hands, hair, body, eyes, mouth, wounds.

Bleach was their sanctuary.

They reveled in its chemical scent.

They despised it.

They abhorred its corrosive touch.

Yet, at this moment, amidst the fields' natural splendor, the scent of bleach lingered, tainting their olfactory experience.

The wind picked up, the grass caressing their skin like the soft touch of a cat's claw. They reclined, letting the dwindling sunlight warm their cold skin, the contrast between the heat and their chilled flesh palpable.

Closing their eyes, they lay back in the grass, imagining themselves merging with the very soil beneath them. Crossing their arms over their chest, a wry smile formed on their lips as they contemplated the efficiency of their posture, already assuming the position for their eventual grave. The notion of mortality weighed heavily on them; they cherished life's moments yet found solace in the idea of its end in times like these.

As they slowly peeled back the veil of darkness, the world around them emerged in muted shades of grey, like a monochrome painting devoid of vibrancy. A heavy sigh escaped their lips as they surveyed the familiar confines of their room, a sanctuary that had become both a haven and prison. Each corner held a memory; each shadow whispered a tale of solitude.

Outside, the world lay dormant, hidden from their view like a secret guarded by nature herself. The verdant fields that once stretched endlessly before them were now but a distant memory, their emerald expanse replaced by the sterile confines of their solitary existence.

The wind, a once constant companion, now whispered faintly through the recesses of their mind, a mere echo of its former self. And the sun, that radiant orb of light and warmth, had become a fleeting apparition, its rays unable to penetrate the thick veil of melancholy that shrouded their days.