Let You Down - NF
"All these voices in my head get loud, I wish that I could shut them out, I'm sorry that I let you down."
December 30, 2017Recap:
"You are right father, I have changed."
Angels and Demons; saints and sinners.
There will never be a good guy. There will never be one more deserving than the other. In the end we will all die the same, or so he thought.————————————————————————
Panting echoes along with the footsteps which fall silent as he bolts down the street, hair flopping down into his face sticking to his brows and fluttering across his eyelashes. Throat painfully dry and voice raspy, every swallow feels like sandpaper grating against his vocal chords.
He yearns to look back and encounter his demons, yet he can only feel the instinct which fights against the thought of doing so. Fear being the only thing stopping him from making the mistake, as it tugs at his chest, limiting his breathing and his movement.
He feels himself falling in sync with his very own heartbeat. His head spinning as he clambers back to his knees just to receive a sharp pain encasing his spine as he's kicked down onto his front. Body heaving in exhaust and the power of him greeting the ground.
"I'm not finished yet."
He looks back.
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Jin-
A call flew throughout the town, audible only to the ones who knew what was coming. Fear taking hostage of the hearts of men, women and children alike. Toddlers shrieking in the streets, falling to the ground, scraping their knees for the last time. Mothers calling out to their babies, while fathers desperately crawl to say goodbye to the ones they never really cared for enough.
"I'm sorry- god, I'm so sorry." Chanting apologies like a mantra, on his knees gasping and bowing to the weary sky around him, tucking his face in between the crook of his jean-clad knees, feeling every bruise- every death, run over his shoulders; dragging shredded and choppy nails down his spine while piercing through his collapsing heart.
"I promised- "He starts out screaming, slipping into a harsh whisper, "I promised you." His teeth chatter in a grating series of clicks, trying to transcribe a message in his agony. Hands clawing at the lonely bracelet in his clutch as well as the rubble beneathe him, in search for nothing- yet everything all at once. Vision going blurry from the inside out as he collapses on his side, curling in on himself while bones and pebbles embed in his side.
Lying there,
Surrounded by empty corpses.
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"It's crazy. You ask me for one thing I could change in this world; and you- you expect me to be able to answer? I'm surrounded by sociopaths and insomniacs. Schizophrenics and the insane. The world is clearly in need of much more than one little wish of sanity. Even then, you ask me what I would change, ask your fucking self." He exhales through his nose, clenching his eyes shut and grasping at the creases in his pants.
This is more of an interrogation than a therapy session, but hey, what can you expect when you are in a cell.
This is bullshit.
"You never answered my question, Mr. Kim." Said the woman clad in blue scrubs sitting before him.
Yes lady, he knows he didn't answer your dumbass question, just like he hasn't answered your questions for the past three months. There are endless possibilities, trillions of escapes, many of which would make half of the world fade away.
"Well, why would I answer a question that you can not truly answer either?" Only to be answered with the words, "amuse me."
He scoffed, a guttural sound emerging from the back of his throat. Sweeping his aching feet off the table in front of him casually, digging his elbows into his lower thighs while leaning forward; most likely leaving red and blue indents for him to regret later. Looking deep into her eyes, while tilting his head to the side, hair falling with the movement irritating his eyes.
"If I could change one thing- just one thing, it would be me being in this bloody session, ma'am."
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Kim Seokjin stopped screaming at the universe years ago. He stopped asking, "why him" long before that as well. He learned that self-pity will only further drive him into insanity's arms, and self obsession will only steer him to the pretty havoc in his own mind. Even with the attributes of paranoia and fear, one could still dare compare him to a cherry blossom; representing the fragility and the beauty of life. A constant stinging reminder that life can be overwhelmingly beautiful, all the while it is tragically short.
The town of Altair proving this.
The silent town, where even the guards wearing hazmat suits, barely risk a breath. The whispers of the dead bodies, which are crumbled along the streets, trickling up their spine, the hairs on their neck becoming defensive spikes to ward off any inaudible lullaby. Invading their mind, telling secrets of the one who caused the city to drown in calamity, they have finally tracked the male banshee. They say it is a myth, yet the books say he's a legend, a campfire tale which can only be told for so long; but his story will continue through it all. Even through the beautiful monstrosities which become illuminated from the glares of the moon, who's hunters are bound to the goal of destroying every piece of history his name leaves.
Only problem is, how can you destroy a man who no one ever sees?
Do you ruin him with delicately placed hints? Illuminating them around the world, bolded words on billboard signs, that nobody ever really stops to look at. Engraved sentences in speeches that never quite meant enough to become a written piece of history.
Not like any of it would ever reach him, the lack of internet along with the lack of outside contact making sure of it.
Perhaps you would break past security codes and firewalls to track him down. Meeting every patient, just to make sure nobody would question your involvement with him. Learning staffs shifts and patient schedules until you find the opportune time to ruin him.
None of it would matter either way, if someone gets there first.
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