Dead Heart Serendipity

Première

première: finding celcius

The cold weather froze the city's breath, underlying in the fog of tones of crimson blue, white and pitch black. The pre-snow were little specks of white dust falling from the skies, and the tall lamp post gives light as it stands alone in the empty street.

They could almost hear the voices of the vehicles from the other road, reversed words from the people in normal motions. But there was something else than the sound of flipping boxes and plastic rolling on the cement, that greatly surrounds the isolation. It was breathing in closed fists, wool rubbing against leather, toes dancing and hair moving with the wind of destitute.

Kyungsoo wasn't thinking of walking in the abandoned road, but it was the fastest way to avoid the crowd abound. He rigidly tackled the space, with small steps to have more time on warming himself up. It wasn't an easy choice but he wanted to go home badly, working a whole clock at his office; a fully air-conditioned one. And his legs hurt because of the temperature. They were like knives burying deep in to his skin, locking his veins and red flesh; to that he can't walk properly.

He was in the midst of getting lost, and the purblind lights were his only guide out of the maze. But the still of life and the blazing tot at the end tend to be so redundant within his each step closer; the distance never changes in to shorter notes that he almost couldn't understand. His friends mentioned about this abandoned street before, and it says no one enters this place unless they would like to take a shortcut. Indeed it was scary, with empty buildings, broken glass panes, and squeezed cars like lemons on mid-summer afternoons.

The passages were contracting tighter as the light scornfully gets brighter from the other side. The uneasy male urges to look down and get through it without anything on his mind, whistling a tune that he hoped to calm him down. He took faster steps forward, the sound of his husky footsteps clearly echoes at the entire lot.

The little man started fitting through little pathways, the ominous silence and putrid smell of terror was eating him slowly one by one; lower lips receiving much pain from the upper teeth. His body flinched, his legs uncontrollably stopped, his heart froze for a moment. The soundlessness was like a long line of nonexistence, raucous and terrifyingly inevitable for the passenger to sense something else rather than his own presence; he heard a loud clank behind him. Not too loud, but it was strange and it makes his heart beat faster. Kyungsoo fingers started feeling longer and heavier, his eyes drafting clogged in the icy air.

He looks worriedly at his feet, slowly going lower to the space between his legs. He had his breath held closely to his chest, as he ridiculously peeks on what was behind him. There was nothing but mess, a faint light and the grey road he was standing on. He closes his eyes and lets an airy sigh, and as he opens his eyes again there was someone already standing in front of him.

The dark figure pulled him by his shoulder and twisted him around; in a sharp second he felt a tight arm around his neck. His other hand was locked by another arm, fingers pressed harshly on different parts of him, his body lying flat on the man in black. He couldn't speak as his body completely turned steel and wanly; his eyes were gaping wide. His knees were bent halfway, and his chin was raised painfully. He couldn't move or fight back, as all of his weak points were paralyzed.

Kyungsoo never imagined that the world would stop, in two breaths close to each other in the darkest alleys. "Do Kyungsoo?" The stranger whispers his name in a clang question—who appears to be man—in a voice that was grating through the cover in his face.

Kyungsoo hummed, closing and opening his eyes, enduring the rough surface rubbing at him. He thought about screaming, but he figured that the streets were too busy at ten o' clock in the evening; it would be better to save his voice in to desperate breaths. He started praying for himself, hoping that it would end immediately; expectedly dead or not.