Jeon Jungkook is not a prodigy. He is just a hard-worker who devoted himself for greatness. Because he only wants one thing; for the world to know his name.
Born in a simple family who can barely manage their everyday necessities, he hardly fits an...
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"Untrue, Untrue, you you..."
Jungkook wished he was one of the stars residing beside the luminous magical dust of the undying nebulae, where he was drunk at the breath-taking image of the obsidian skies. Sprawled on middle of the green field where the breeze of the air would gently caress his jet black locks, the stars flickering like million tiny fireballs, his irises reflecting their lights.
He was casually humming in rhythm of the pulses of the cloud of dust, their lights shifting like bulbs being turned on then off. The strong curves of his jaw and the fine slopes of his nose complemented the mess of his hair which cast shadows over his brown, beautiful eyes.
He closes his eyes momentarily, his chest descending for several seconds as he stopped breathing, then it rose again and the soothing feeling of calmness washing over his lean body. Then as it runs out, his imagination went into frenzies of image.
Jungkook saw himself standing amidst of golden-orange flames as if he was controlling it. His hair was slicked back, emphasizing his facial features and his scratchy, rough smile. His purple jacket were licked by the flames, but he wasn't getting burned. He was on fire. As a song from unknown origins starts coursing through his mind, he lightly bobbed his head by its beat.
As if the image was waiting for the drop, in a sequence of movements that seem like a blur, he started dancing, his hands catching flames but it didn't matter; because the flames turned to smithereens and were completely replaced by the cheers of the crowd.
Jungkook smiled softly. It is the dream, his ultimate goal. He wanted to perform in a stadium, dancing and singing to his heart's content. However, he was still far away from that. He pulled himself up from the grass, straightening into a frame of six feet. His lean, muscle-dusted body and long strong legs resembles a built from a baseball player.
He shuddered momentarily from the breeze slithering through his black cotton shirt and took off. The sound of sneakers corrupted the quiet street, his tall shadow meandering behind as he runs. Once he reached the entrance of the street and his sneakers brushed through the pavements, Jungkook jumped over the fence and find himself at the backyard of a tiny, abandoned house. There was a lonely bench leaning on the brick walls. He settled down there, fishing his hands through his pocket to find a smooth stick of cigarette. Pulling the lighter from back pocket of his jeans, he lit the cigarette with it pinning between his lips.
He took a drag, the smoke streaming through his lips and nostrils like a dragon, filling his head with relief against his pounding head. He leaned back on the cold wall, the cigarette stuck between his index and middle finger. Smoking was never a good idea but bad habits die hard. It has become his temporary pain reliever.
As Jungkook took one last drag before the cherry was gone, his physical form was overwhelmed by the awayness beneath the audience of the solitary cloud of luminous dust. Tossing the snub to the side, he realized he wanted another stick, just one is not enough.
