The Wolf's Diary | M.yg × P.jm

08

The next morning, Yoongi woke up early. The sun is merely out and the owl was still asleep on the branch. The early morning fog had curled around the stone and the chilly wafts caressed against the frozen leaves.

Yoongi peered out the window. The snow had completely painted the roads a tintless white, but the trees stood there stolidly with their bare arms outstretched, and eyes kept on the ground, a constant unmoving sentinel.

He sat casually on the chair in the kitchen, waiting for his mother to be awake. The young man grinned white and huge and expansively, feeling proud of himself. It was the first time in twenty years that Yoongi had woken up first before his mother, and the wet cloud must have been ashamed of him now. They should be.

Yoongi's mother finally came down to the kitchen and starts making breakfast. She was bustling between the pans and the fridge, walking back and forth in front of Yoongi like he was never there. She took the eggs and cracked them into the bowl, stirred them thoroughly, and poured it into the pan. Carefully, she folded it in half, making a perfect omelet. The egg is the least perfect thing his mother can cook. It isn't salty or burned, and Yoongi loves it.

"Hey, mom... Are you not noticing something?" He asked hopefully. Mrs. Min hummed and transferred the omelet into the plate and slid it in front of Yoongi.

"No... Why?"

"...are you sure?" Yoongi asked again expectantly.

"No, really, dear, I don't notice anything. Would you mind telling me what it is I missed?" Mrs. Min said, smiling tenderly at her son.

The muscles on his face relax and his expression rests on a frown. Yoongi was hurt, but not as much as he was disappointed. "It's nothing, forget it," he mumbled sullenly as he pitched his fork onto the egg.

Mrs. Min beamed and stroked his head gently. "Okay, if you say so. Please, finish your breakfast."

After a while, the heavy footsteps of big winter boots thudded against the red polished floor and a hunky figure emerged at the kitchen's doorway. It was his father, all dressed up warmly and he carried an empty bag. He didn't join them at the table. Mr. Min told them he had to leave to get the weapons he bought from the gunsmith. And after his father was gone down the road, his mother left to go to the shopping mall across the town to buy Yoongi's school supplies even though he insisted to do them on his own.

So there he is, sprawled on the couch staring at the yoyo painting. Yoongi wondered why someone would paint such a boring object and why would a person in his right mind would hang an incredibly futile painting on the wall of his musty house. It doesn't make sense. Neither the painting nor the painter.

His leg swung above the floor like the steady movement of a pendulum in a grandfather clock. Yoongi grumbles. There is nothing interesting in the house, no colorful thing to keep him from falling into the wide maw of a well of boredom. He didn't want to touch his books. They're a bunch of papers about politics, laws, civil rights, prejudice, and lots of painfully boring sentences. His mother made him read those, but Yoongi didn't like them. He despises them like the pestering rats under his bed. Mrs. Min wants him to be a lawyer. Yoongi didn't want to be a lawyer. He didn't want to defend people and argue in court. He wants to become a raccoon under a tree, waiting for the snow to come down and flick them with his sharp nails. And do it again another day.

After a while, Yoongi finally made up his mind to go outside. He wore his jacket and took his notebook and a pen. He stepped into the nerve-biting breeze and wandered off into the woods.

***

The clean page was spread wide, waiting for the tickling poke of a pen. Yoongi couldn't think of something to write in the list of reasons to love the place he was bound into. He looked around him. His eyes were pricked with the same old things; the trees, the snow, the frosty leaves. They stared at him with their invisible droopy eyes. He sighed and continued walking to the path leading to a direction he doesn't know.

The gray clouds had pressed themselves upon the frozen ground, stroking the land with their spiky icy tips. Just as Yoongi made it outside the suffocating woods. He was standing on the deserted ground, under the thirsty lips of dull clouds.

Yoongi thought he couldn't come back with an empty book again, so he thought hard of something to write. Perhaps, the thing he was looking for, was not in the woods. It could just be somewhere-somewhere he couldn't discover. Buried deep in the ground or high above the sky.

Yoongi finally gave up and sat on the icy stone. His mind came back to the night before. A ghost of a smile touches his lips as the image of the hunky man springs into his mind.

His hand-picked up the pen and scrapes the pointy tip on the rough white sheet ever so lightly. Carving the bumpy letters of a name that was once stomped on his brain like an inedible fingerprint.

𝖫𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖢𝖺𝗇𝖺𝖽𝖺:

1. 𝓙𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷

Yoongi stared at the paper, and his eyes widened as a loud gasp emits from his throat and passed his lips.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, what am I thinking?" He said and scratches the dirty ink upon the word aggressively until they were blotted and can no longer be seen. He closed the book and stared ahead of him. The damp fog floated through the thin air and they seemed to form a face. Yoongi gazed at them and the image of the young man stared back at him.

Yoongi bit his lip with his upper teeth and he grunted under his steamy breath as he hid his face in his small cold hands. He doesn't know why he was suddenly getting flashes of that whimsical man. It annoys and confuses him. He'd only met him for one night but the thoughts of him keep chasing his mind, like an oxbird that clings to an ox. And it seemed to him like they were impossible to elude in the tangled forest of his thoughts.

A sudden voice broke into the frigid stillness and caught in his defenseless ears.

"Huh?" Yoongi craned his neck to his side, looking around vaguely like a curious cat. The voice came from a distance. It was disturbing and loud, as though a stranded puppy begging to be heard. Yoongi stood up and he felt himself following the distinct noise. And his feet had dragged him to an old cabin.

Yoongi squeezed his hands into fists. He could hear the slow, dragging beat of his heart. And the sickening feeling inside him as if someone had lighted a candle in his stomach and the wax was melting all over the place, every nerve-ending tingling with an instinct he didn't know he had.

The disturbing screams of the man scrape behind his head like a distorted audio cassette. His voice was choked in pain and cries of mercy. Yoongi's legs were trembling, reluctant to approach the door that leads to the end of the line. He crept inside with barely enough time to prepare for the nightmare that awaits behind the snow-covered wall.

Yoongi froze in horror. His throat tightened with a smothered scream. There was a faint note of hysteria in his eyes. His lips quivered as he stared in shock at the sight before him. Yoongi felt the familiar pinched behind his eyes and a tear fell from his eyes almost solidly like spiky sandburs.

***
Our class was suspended due to the typhoon so I thought why not write a chapter?

Ps. Next chapter will be out next year;)