one shot - TAEKOOK

Roses & Gold

Under the ocean of ink, he’s a mere shadow cast against the jagged stone steps of the castle turret, edging out in endless myriads, his eyes constrain with indignant urgency, behind him, footsteps recede, and the amber tint of torch flames lick the walls, avid to catch prey with their voracious burn,

Jeongguk is a shadow, his body morphs to the face of a door,he wrings the lock in his sleeve and pops it under the deft cage of his fingers with a short jolt upwards, his torso twists through the doorway and the door clicks shut under the base of his spine as he exudes a long sweltering breath of air that’s he’s held in for what seems like a millennia,

the air lacerates his lungs as he exhales out one large breath, his vision is obstructed by his fringe, damp by ceaseless running and the torment of the muggy air,

his hands sport cuts and his knuckles are painted mauve, under his weathered shirt, he carries a leather satchel, heaving with the gold sought from the prospering sovereignty, gods over the mundane, the incompetent, the destitute and those in famine,

He takes the gold for him and for the means of surviving in the blatancy of the world; for those who live less-exuberant lives, for the townspeople, those buried to their necks in debts and arrears. For those who were seen as the bane of existence.

With the gold hugged to his ribs, all that was left to do was make his extravagant escape, defiling the wits of the royal knights and scaling the walls of this turret using a make-shift rope from knotting linen sheets from within the linen closet situated against the far wall,

With adroit hands, he ties one end to the handle of the closet, and the rest cascades from beyond a window, agape after a short nudge of his elbow. A thin graze is apparent from the gossamer white of his sleeves, his forehead beads with sweat, trickling down his nape as he peers down and out of the window to face the imminence of death, jeering up at his face, the shadow of the ground is a boundless stretch, but what apprehends him the most is the time, eating away the minutes he’s able to execute an escape if any, and the fact that he’s prey, the end is nearly inescapable. His fate could be sealed on either end.

Foot secured on the flat-ledge of the windowsill, Jeongguk executes a long, heavy breath, to ease out the numbness ravelling around his bones. The median of his time is left, and with careful arms, he lowers to his knees, his back exposed to the expanse of the world, biceps straining to hold his weight as he jumps back. He plants his feet firmly among the jagged bricks, and exhales, a sentiment of pride flutters through his stomach and swells through his being as he looks back at the window, ajar, marking his existence and his defilement of a handful of humanity’s best

His shirt clings to his back, slick with sweat and as his feet dangle several metres from the ground and the end of the ‘rope’ bequeaths his hands, he lets himself drop, legs buckling to the ground, numb in relief,

Jeongguk gasps, swallowing the humid summer air, knees propped up, back slouched against the bricks of the castle walls. With adept hands, he takes the satchel, and estimates it’s weight,

With a smug, contented smile gracing his lips, he staggers to his feet, fatigue consuming him, dizzying within his legs,

Yet as time dwindles on, he begins to feel complacent with himself, breaking into a languid jog, aimlessly adrift through the castle grounds,  astray from the path he’d taken upon his arrival.

The surroundings grow into a bricked path, he finds himself stranded among a sea of shrubbery, blades of grass ghost over his ankles and scents of petrichor and dirt embrace his clothes. His feet drag against the ground, they’re devised of lead, joint to his bones as he saunters his way through the grounds; he hesitates to wipe a sheen of sweat from upon his brow, scintillating in the luminescence