Yoongi has always spent most of his waking hours searching for the Dome : a vast city, bright and shining on the horizon -- should be easy to spot, no? No. Time is falling short; he and Kookie are growing weaker; resources are dwindling. Yoongi is d...
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Yoongi laid on the sandbank, head slightly elevated, face caked in layers of grime. His lips were chapped and cracked, blistered from the continuous abuse of teeth gnawing incessantly at frozen, raw skin. They lay slightly parted as heavy breaths passed through them, much like gasps of molasses. His chest stuttered visibly with pain as every agonizing gulp of air settled uncomfortably between his ribs; each seeming to last a few seconds too long before the next heave took its place. His mouth dried with sand throughout the night made the never-ending filling of his lungs that much more difficult. Yoongi's eyes remained closed, eyelids fluttering every thirty seconds or so as a new gasp slithered down with more difficulty than the last.
Looking through the dull mud masking the boy's face, a cherry red could be seen dusting his cheeks and chin and forehead as a pale white bloomed on the very tip of his nose. Yoongi's face could almost be described as complimentary as his transparent, sickly green complexion contrasted so well with the scarlet features he held. Taking a step back, a thick sheen of dried sweat glazed over the angry sunburns making up his core and shoulders. His skin had hardly stood a chance against the ever-worsening heat of the ultraviolet sun rays. Despite all this, the snowy white turned slightly blue colour of frostbite enveloped his fingers and toes, a result of leaving the boy's hands and feet merciful to the night's chill. His legs were only spared from the harsh climate by the thick blue jeans belted around his waist.
Along Yoongi's right side a heavy purple tint flourished, decorating his ribs beautifully. The dark purples and blues contrasted so seamlessly with the other injuries; it was near impossible to say they didn't belong. The harsh colours darkened where each rib jutted out from under the skin and lightened considerably where a gap between the bones stood, just like a grid, just like a wave.
Every bone sealed under the boy's damaged skin stood on display. From his cheekbones to his baby toes. Anybody could distinguish where each bone began and ended. Anybody could count the kinks in his broken ribs. Anybody could tell he was starved. Everything about Yoongi's body just seemed so skeletal.
Yoongi's body resembled that of a breathing corpse.
The high temperatures exceeding thirty degrees Celsius of the day had practically cooked the boy alive. However, the negative thirty degrees of the night had frozen him so quickly even the covered skin of his thighs and calves stood no chance in the raging war against frostnip. His nose, fingers and toes rest sheathed by broken skin, the cold putting up too much of a fight.
This was his life now. This was the life in the Desert.
Even before Yoongi was born, the Earth had been facing severe crises. There was never a moment in his life where the world around him was normal. In this apocalyptic universe, nothing had ever been normal.
If Yoongi remembered correctly, long ago, in the very distant past, the land beneath his feet used to be called South Korea. Sure it had its own troubles, but it was a near utopia. Or as close to a utopia as Yoongi could imagine. It was luscious, cultural, thriving, full of talented young men and women. It was so close to perfect the boy could almost feel himself living there in his dreams.
