spam. | me

✎ - ❛the thing❜

This is the thing i talked about last time (the preview) if you read this on my one-shot book then ignore this chap :)) the book's called black sheep,, and idk this is like a segment of chap 1 i guess

Idk about it

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Jimin really liked Winter.

The smells. He loves basking in the diverse amalgam of scents, the gentle drift of glacial winds as it whips and nips at his cheeks that are dusted with a blood red blush due to the unforgiving frosty cold that mercilessly bites at the exposed warm flesh, said air containing a combination of sundry, pungent perfumes that flow into his nostrils. The smells of fresh, dampened pine and soggy evergreens with undertones of mint and something purely of the earth and mother nature; an uncanny lethargic and blissful inducing concoction of merely fresh mud, cold, ice slush and petrichor at it's ripest. Jimin couldn't put a name to the unique smell, something sharp and full of frosty bite with hints of citrus accompanied by it's raw ability of providing an unadulterated sense of peace and calm to the mind and soul. It was the smell of Winter.

The sounds. He currently stands by the bank of a flowing, bubbling and frothing river that gushes and sprays water onto the charcoal jagged rocks that border the sides, a few flecks of water landing on the tip of his reddened nose, causing him to occasionally wrinkle his face or contort his facial expressions into the form of a flinch. The river would usually be roaring with noise, the deafeningly thundering sounds of splashes and crashes flowing into his ears and drowning out any other noise so all he hears is the screaming of water. Except it's winter now, and segments of the river are slightly frozen, not too much due to it just being the very blossoming of winter, the unfurling of a rosebud's petals that eventually bloom into a beautiful, divine rose.

This causes the river's frantic shouting and screaming to deduce into a gentle lullaby, a chorus of hushed whispers that send you into a sort of hypnotic and dazed trance, the tender and light sounds of the liquid rippling and softly swirling in their now melodious element as they lap against the base of the rocks causing your eyelids to undergo an eerie sensation in which they begin to feel like lead, heavy and threatening to close and sweep you off your cloud of consciousness into a deep slumber.

The visuals and atmosphere. Soft, quiet and of melancholy and peace. A landscape painting decorated elegantly with seas of gray, strokes of onyx black, wisps of midnight blues and oceans of snowflake white, dotted with the occasional appearance of bluish dark green. It snowed the previous night, the official call of Winter, the powdery puffs of snow that drizzled from the angry clouds that littered the dark, starless sky coating the dark streets of Busan in sparkly white that would eventually within time morph into a depressing icy slush, a fusion of minuscule shards of ice with sides tinted gray with dirt due to the abundance of boots that would eventually walk over.

Jimin really liked Winter.
The twelve year old boy thought it suited him.
Cold, gloomy and dull. Sad.

A cloud of air seeps out his lips in the form of a sigh. His fingers fiddle with the lining on the inside of his brown coat.

He didn't want to go to the Orphanage.

...

um? Is it good? Idk man
lotta love 🕊