TARGET

醒来

- May 26, 2015 -

The repugnant smell of cigarette smoke that he had grown accustomed to wafted through the air. He could hear the soft hum of the television playing from the living room, where his stepdad lazed and smoked- filling the apartment to the brim with the airborne toxin.

He finally decided to pop open a few windows, pulling back the curtains to do so. The light of the young dusk spilled in, leaving the rather-plain room with a rich honey-lavender hue- the mere sight of it was as sweet as its adjectives. It was odd for the bustling city of Seoul, in which the sky's canvas was usually murky with angry weather, but the scenery had no complaints from him.

He watched as the smoke floated out the window taking his abhorrent spirits, and in return it gifting him with mellow currents that tickled the fabric of his clothes.

The aforementioned enjoyed the ambiance, thinking about it, he-

"Mingyu!" A gruff voice echoed through the coexisting condensed and hollow halls of his house.

And like that, his state of tranquility shattered. It was naive of him to think he could get 20 minutes max of rest in his house.

His bare feet tapped on the creaky wood floors of his home, straightening his shirt and fixing his hair, he stood before his father:

"Yes sir."

Never look him in the eye.

He felt hawk-like eyes burn down on his frame, sturdy as always-

"Go buy some Chinese food. Also, I'm out of cash"

Mingyu held back a grimace, he barely had any money left.

But still:

"Yes sir."

A retired veteran, who had a patriotic upbringing, which he upheld in his many years of service.

A hero...

hero...

"But hey, PTSD does it to ya doesn't it?"

Every moral, ethical thought had fleeted the picture, the vibrant color of life washing away with the years of war. In the stead of its barren frame- left a broken, lazy, bum that relied on his only son for virtually everything. His wife left and took their twin daughters with her, and lived a lavish life in Japan. They cut ties with Mingyu, who insisted they didn't leave their father- and the old him was still in there:

But he was left alone.

alone...

In his sweater, he trudged down the rotting stairs of his apartment complex, which due to its state, would have debris fall off some of the eroded stairs.

But hey, it was home.

He was met with the dying sun at the west most corner of the sky, radiating its last beams of the day to kiss his tanned melanin. Per usual, downtown Seoul buzzed with life. Pedestrians paced wherever Mingyu could look, cars weaved through the endless sea of traffic, street vendors hollered out the deals of the day before it was done,

it was lively- one of the things Mingyu adored.

Swerving through the expanse of civilians, after a few blocks he had reached a bright sign that read- plainly- "Chinese Cuisine."

It was routine for the most part:

Attend his morning college classes (all he could afford to spend time on); work the rest of the hours of the day, and if cash was tight, he would call in during the night shift as the corner cafe he worked at; come home to his father, who rotted away with the decaying, moldy, couch he spent nearly all hours on. He didn't have time for friends besides his acquainted classmates and coworkers.