GUNS and POETRY

preamble

a/n: IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

THIS IS A NEW CHAPTER, despite the same name.

i skipped this one in between (i know, screw my muddle headed brain) and it was only later that i realized that i've missed this one and have already published the subsequent two.

Apologies for the inconvenience.

the story is starting to untangle slowly. hope you all enjoy this chapter and the next that comes along with it.

tbh this was supposed to be a writing experimentation. i've taken liberties with the narration technique. so it's gonna be quite a flippity-flippity ride with a lot of dreams and memories and reality and wishful thinking entangling together. i wanted to try writing new things, and i've decided that if i'm gonna fuck this up, it better burn down to hell and back.

so, here we go. thank you so much for your patience <3

okay. that's it for today's rant.

don't forget to VOTE & COMMENT <3

happy reading!

~

05   |   preamble

He has woken up in a dream.

The realisation settles within him like the slow drip of poison, the overpowering malady of a toothache. He has been dreaming, yes. The dreams were pleasant; they made him happy. They made him want to continue- continue living. Tangible happiness he could breathe in with the air, taste like the salt of sweat, feel like the beat of his heart inside his ribs. They made him want to go back to the time he had spent there. Staying for as long as time would remain still in his hands. It made him want to find out more about him, about her. About the life they had made together, sugar spun and sweet. The dreams he had woken up from made him want to find her so he can be with her.

They gave him hope.

But his reality has been an illusion, a carefully fabricated disguise gold on guilt and regret. Sugar spun and sweet, but empty. Devoid of material and meaning. This illusion he had conjured up himself, with parted lids that never amounted to enough light nor truth. The light he saw in the room that day had only been a spark of a dying star before it obliterated from the universe. Her creation, his existence- tied so intricately together with the life he had gathered in its shell.

Her absence.

And now he is awake. To the light, or the lack of it. How is one to know? How is he to know that it was morning when it was still dark all around? His dreams had light in them, but it was only upon his awakening did he realise he was blind. He had been all his life, it seems, because the darkness that radiated from him turned everything to cinders and ash.

Even her.

Especially her.

*

"You were supposed to be dead."

He remains silent at those words, waiting.

Youngkun's eyes flash at the words, sending Jaeyoon a pointed glare and he scowls. "Don't talk shit like that."

The latter scoffs. "You know I'm right." But the humour lasts only a second, maybe two. And he sighs, "We all have things in our past we wish we could change, kid. Regret never got anyone anywhere. It is what it is." Then, to him, "She was driving to the airport when it happened. There was nothing left when we got there."