Living ĐɆ₳Đ Roses || SeongJoong

CHAPTER 5: nightMARES

Nightmares held a peculiar fascination for Seonghwa.

As they drifted into sleep each night, they welcomed the unsettling visions that came to them. These nocturnal phantasms served as a poignant reminder that even within the seemingly serene sanctuary of their own minds, there existed a tumultuous world—a habromania reality—where anything could happen.

Often, Seonghwa's dreams were a chaotic blend of disjointed images, fleeting scenes, fragmented words, and erratic actions. A phantasmagoria of jumbled nonsense left them feeling drained and disoriented upon waking. Yet, amid this tangled web of subconscious musings, there were moments of clarity, instances when they were granted a rare and vivid nightmare that felt eerily tangible, almost like a memory etched into their psyche.

What made these nightmares particularly haunting was their repetitive nature. It was as though Seonghwa was ensnared in a relentless time loop, condemned to relive the same harrowing experiences repeatedly. The true horror lay not in the content of the nightmares themselves but in the endless repetition, the feeling of being trapped in a cycle from which there seemed to be no escape.

It was always the same.

Always.

Screams reverberated through the dimly lit room, a cacophony of rage and desperation that filled the air. Each punch and kick against the walls sent tremors through the space, the sound of breaking glass echoing ominously at Seonghwa's feet. Despite the darkness that enveloped them, Seonghwa could discern the familiar contours of their kitchen. The acrid scent of cigarettes mingled with the harsh aroma of bleach, assaulting their nostrils as if they had inhaled the burning fumes directly.

As the chaos intensified, Seonghwa felt themselves sinking, the black and white tiles beneath their feet becoming treacherous quicksand. The tiles fractured into sharp, jagged chunks that sliced into their skin, each shard a painful reminder of their growing peril. Desperately, they reached out, their hands clawing at the air as they cried out for help.

Above them loomed the figure of their mother, her stance imposing with her hands planted firmly on her hips. Her eyebrows were knitted together in a scowl of anger, and her lips were painted with a vivid shade of blood-red lipstick she always wore.

She always wore red.

"Mom! Mom, please!" Seonghwa's voice trembled, sounding as fragile and small as the vulnerable body they inhabited. "Help!"

Her response was a venomous spit that landed on Seonghwa's face, adding to their enduring torment. The tiles continued to cut into their skin as they sank further, the weight of their mother's words and actions pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket.

"Do you know how beautiful I was before I had you?" Her voice dripped with contempt. "I could have been a model! But instead, I'm stuck with you and that deadbeat father of yours!"

With a cruel motion, she raised her leg, the pointed heel of her red shoe descending like a weapon. It drove into Seonghwa's face, pushing them deeper into the unforgiving tile quicksand, each moment amplifying their sense of helplessness and despair.

Seonghwa's senses were engulfed by suffocating darkness as they navigated the shifting sands beneath them. It was reminiscent of the unsettling obscurity they had experienced in that foreboding room. The next moment, they found themselves sprawled on the unforgiving floor of a dilapidated bathroom, its walls stained with age and neglect.

Their frail form quivered with fear and exhaustion, struggling to rise from the cold, grimy tiles. Their once vibrant face was now gaunt, their body showing the unmistakable signs of malnourishment and neglect. Blood, both fresh and drying, smeared their lips and trickled from their nose, evidence of a recent assault.