march 21st, 2014 - 8:55pm.
kang seulgi is running through the rain, hugging her black coat around herself as she maneuvers around the faceless bodies of people to avoid her guards' pursuit. the moon is high in the sky, waning amongst dying stars as they drown in the rainclouds that surround them.
lights- lights, lights, lights. they shine down all over her as she passes by each lamppost, sheets of yellow LED rays splayed all over her head, silken strands and boney shoulders. they travel on the surface of her skin, barely grazing her veins and painting them in a warm sunny color rather than the dead green hues.
her heels clack against the pavements, but no one would take notice, since the downpour of the rain and the screams of downtown silence is all that could be heard. the raindrops look like falling stars under the lights of the lampposts, glimmering yellow sparks that rain on her like the embers around a phoenix.
her withered skin and bloodshot eyes are well hidden under the neon lights, fluorescent cerulean and magenta rays that blind the eyes and scorch the skin. seulgi decides that it's alright, letting the neon burn all her sins and suicidalities away into mere ash that glitters on the alabaster of her skin. it will always come back to her anyway, reborn from the happy pills she shoves down her throat back in her mansion.
she slides on slippery concrete when she stumbles into a dark alleyway, illuminated only by the flickering neon signs that hang on dilapidating brick walls. she sees candles and rose petals scattered along the wet walkways, fascinated by each petal's sheer red brilliance.
there are puddles of blood on the ground amongst all the pretty petals, growing bigger and bigger as the rain falls, painting the alleyway a stunning vermeil. she steps on each one with absolute excitement, adrenaline pumping through half-dead veins, almost too much for the blood vessels to take as she twirls around with reckless subtlety, dirtying those swarovski pumps her maids shoved on for her (her poor toes suffocate whenever she walks, but at least one part of her is dying). taking in the sight, her eyes are alight with piqued interest, airily walking down the alleyway.
the guards would never think to come here- seulgi usually drags her rotting legs much farther than this, letting them scrape against rough concrete and leaving trails of colorful red she could only dream of drowning in, running amongst the more uncaring crowd (the ones suffering in terrible neighborhoods, choking on cheap liquor and toxic cigarette smoke with sins lurking around every corner). a bleeding woman is nothing new to the wayward citizens of a dysfunctional community, and they only direct their glazed eyes up to the sky as they chug down bottles after bottles of fifty-cent beer bottles, the dead moon appearing in their eyes.
at least, that is what happens on most days whenever she goes out, thoughts wandering to the deathbed she'll never get to sleep on.
the farther she goes into the alleyway, the more exquisite the details become. puddles of blood slowly become artistic and swift strokes, surfing through the pavements like a shark through saltwater. the candles, beginning with small flames that flicker and dwindle, slowly transcend into roaring infernos, crackling and swallowing the air whole. smoke billows into the air and blends with the rainclouds perfectly, creating the illusion of thunderclouds spilling through the (too far gone) sky, polluting an already oil-spilled ocean.
seulgi dances through the flames with growing anticipation, each step light and fleeting. her heels are discarded as she quickly throws them into the nearest fire, diamonds still sparkling in the heat of the firestorm as she goes ahead and burns her black coat along with it.
when she reaches the dead end of the alleyway, she sees a spotlight shining down on two dark shadows- two masculine figures of men. seulgi hides behind a wall of withering brick and peeks her sharp eyes subtly at the sight.
YOU ARE READING
curtain call • seulmin
Short Storypark jimin is an artist, in his own morbidly twisted kind of way, a virtuoso in the art of ending lives. ©jjk-kyr