Something Terrible

Empty Boxes: Lost

(A/N: PLAY THE SONG)
(Song: WINGS Comeback Trailer - J-Hope [BTS])

That's what monsters are outside the empty boxes...

When you think of it a little more, it makes sense. Monsters are turned off. They steal away the wretched and hide them in the dark shadows of emptiness. Said things are soon forgotten, never remembered and never to be found again. However, a cardboard box entices curiosity just like that damned tree with Adam and Eve. Curiosity can lead to things you feel you haven't seen before, yet know all too well. Things of the past are forced to be forgotten once again, as fear consumes those who are unconscious.

The unconscious is the complete mockery of the conscious. Beautiful things stay awake and decide to obscure the true vision they've had all this time for the sake of false happiness. They know of nothing inside those infamous cardboard walls that would make them feel oh, so small.

Yet they deemed themselves worthy of obtaining the balanced hand of both knowledge and stupidity!

...ignorance...

But...what are really those "monsters" I have spoken of? Don't they have feelings to misuse on the morbid battlefield of a place they call home? Can't they adapt and really perscribe their zones some "common time"?

Of course the answer is "yes"! But you know these creatures all too well...They go to school with you, love you, rip your tiny heart to shreds, stick to you, stay away from you, judge you, uphold you, agree with you and oppose you...

A human thought...is a monster of judgement that can adapt to their fragile cage once it thinks it's more conscious than ever, but continues at a constant rate, called life, in the world of unconscious...

...the world of playing pretend until the fear that's built beats you into the next life...

...the world outside that wise, little, "empty" box...

3rd P.O.V

A not so typical person. Someone from both point of views. Unconscious and conscious with no thoughts. He doesn't know...

'Where...where am I?' His natural, onyx hair was coated with bleach; huddled on his head in thick strands and kinks. No feelings at first, but the soft touch of cold air caressing his thighs and porcelain calves. A crew shirt, a few sizes too big, loosely hugged the forbidden figure with the warmth it barely gripped. Tired eyes blinked open, lower in fervor. 'T-Tattoos?! How...?'

Flowers and waterdroplets made of pure ink. Hues of crimson red, soft pink and shining silver were embedded into his skin. His hair fell into his eyes as he rose to sitting posture. The ground was cold, rough and decorated with yellow & white lines. 'Am I...in a street?' His stiff neck craned up to the clouded, dingy skies. "Rain..." The corners of his pink lips slightly raised as he closed his eyes in content, enjoying the scent of humidity. Before he recollected himself, a sharp blare of a horn ripped his moment away. Two blinding lights came rushing his way, following the loud murmuring of a traveling crowd.

Everything was apparent within the smallest unit of time. Layers of sound in the atmosphere, too much to bear. A brain senses danger, but doesn't register the image. A helpless body, stranded on pavement, will leave a reasoned soul behind.

Sprung on adrenaline, his nimble legs carried him out of the way like a broken toy. He stumbled before piecing his spirit together. Once again, another blare. Louder than the rest, his hearing was slightly compromised. Yet, the shell and makeup of the car was recalled.

1990, Forde Mustang.

This intelligent man was not dumb, but dumber; caught in memories that slithered, then rushed, through a crack in his dam. He realized the attention and wondered within milliseconds...

'Why are they watching...?'

But bystanders refuse to admit they've seen the damage, for they only watch the survivors. Survivors are heroes and victims cuddled together under the same shell. He was neither one. He could feel the resistance of a horn that called for him to care. Oh, he cares...his body just can't catch up. Another horn shook his ears, and so he recalled.

2004, Loading Truck.

His thoughts shoved his vision ahead of him to quiet his demise, but it failed.

"NO!"

Warmth. One thing he loved and hated. Warmth. The savior of this night. Arms wrapped tightly around the doll. His eyes saw a brown trench coat covering a black T-shirt. Modern jeans that fit and a necklace gleamed a number.

7...

He's in air with him for a stretch of eternity, called a moment, before riding his cushion as they skid across the street. An angel is buried inside his knight and he peers. Said truck sat still with those lines all too crossed at least a few meters away.

"Hey..." A voice heard above all else. A turn of the head. And there he was. His eyes were as dark as night, but care and worry lingered inside. Jawline was flawless, hair was so soft and perfect, he found clutching to it in fear. His lips, however, were God sent and the angel could tell. Plump, pink and...soft maybe? He doesn't know how those lips could capture and swallow him in a rush. But he knows the beauty of them in how his thoughts are emitted through speech. Unearthly his knight was, to a point of curiosity. "Are you okay?! What were you doing in the street?" His breath tickled the other as he panted, proposing a wonderful sensation, and the angel soon notices that he's panting, too. In rhythm, their hearts beat the same. He wants his answer and a name. "Yes. I'm fine."

"I'm Jaebum. There's no need for that. I don't need you lying to me." Jaebum shook his head mid-response. Roughly he spoke, but he handled the doll with care; carrying his beloved like a groom and his bride.

"Oh...Okay, Jaebum." That small smile appeared again; he was pressed in between a 'Jaebum' and a hard place.

"What's your name?"

"Kim Joonmyun. I prefer Suho..."

"I'll take you over to the SRU, and we'll work from there..." That voice of a thousand chimes reached Suho's ears and it clicked.

'I'm falling...just falling...only for him...Jaebum.'