Don't Forget | Jaeyong

1. soul replenishment.

不忘
Don't Forget

*

Slogging through an unfamiliar, slimy landscape with the abuse of malicious, pounding rain which smacked him in the face was one thing, but being severely injured was a whole other issue. The man's arm had been dislocated and broken, his jaw trickling with thick slobbers of blood which eventually travelled to his chin, there was likewise a very visible wound punctured right through his waist.

He was confident he would fall to his death at any given moment from now.

The young injured male had been dragging his feet for several hours, trying to escape the society in which he had derived from - it was no longer safe in that place. It was no longer safe anywhere for him. Yet, he had the feeling that he should stay persistent and carry on his path wherever it might lead him to.

As his feet came to be weaker and weaker, he believed that he would not be able to walk very far from this point onwards - he needed to rest, but resting would be an opportunity for any enemy nearby to finish him off entirely.

The young male's eyes grew heavy, and even though he wanted to feel the anxiety of his probable death in the middle of nowhere seep in; he felt nothing but the exhaust of his inner engines obliterating. His head happened to be too occupied with spinning thoughts and sights to process the fact that he was sinking into the earth after his knees lurched forward.

The last thing to viciously smack the mud was the side of his skull.

An exceedingly dreadful scent of manure slithered into his nostrils, but he lacked the energy to respond at what he would typically be particularly disgusted by.

"Goodnight," His mother's voice was the only soothing and powerful reminder of his existence, while he sat on the verge of his life, "Jaehyun." It was the last thing she had told him while she was alive. The next he saw of her, was the sight of her limp body floating down their river - face down. There was no sign of life within her, no bubbles of oxygen floating to the surface, no ripples in the water. There was nothing he could do. It was too late for him to become the hero he so desperately wanted to be.

Across the fog and vapour that the rain had attracted, there he was, lying unconscious in a pathway of soaked dirt.

There, it seemed that the same slimy substance was now coating his clothes, face and hair. His clothing once brought honour to him and his family, they were colours of authority; turquoise, white and lavender... now this gradient of magnificence had been overthrown and contaminated. His hair had been finely combed several hours prior, but now those curls were knotted up and soggy and so was the ribbon clasping a tangle together. His face was battered and beaten, a bloodstained mess. It seemed, the blood running from his mouth was now creating a miniature puddle in the crevices of the wet ground.

The final movement his body could put together was a tangible twitch brought to his right hand.

Deeming he still was laying on the ground unconscious with little life left to run off of, most would assume his chances of survival were extremely low. However, the only ounce of fortune that he seemed to have was, undoubtedly, fortunate. Minutes after his fall, a passerby managed to glide their eyes over the expanse of the field enough to catch the scenery of a body in the mud.

The stranger, as any stranger would do; became overwhelmed and shocked at the scene being displayed immediately. It took a few valuable seconds before they fled to the man and shouted for their squadron of 2 other companions to do something.