Taekook Oneshots

Birds

Of course, life didn't quite work out that way. 

I still remember the moment when everything went to shit. I was eight and a half years old, as I was so fond of telling my older peers, nearly nine. I felt like I was practically an adult already, that I would soon be perfectly safe. I'd get some well-paying job in the middle of a big city, and I'd pay off my mother's debts for her. I could already imagine her grateful expression, the joy in her eyes that never seemed present in my everyday life. 

I was playing in the garden, and my grandmother decided that it would be fine to leave for a moment. She called out to me, reminded me to keep my wits about me, and left to use the bathroom. The moment her back turned, the world around me shifted, spun in a dizzying circle, and the next thing I knew, I was somewhere else. 

I was another lost child.

Terrified, upset, confused, I glanced around at my new surroundings, already trying to find a way home. I was in the middle of a grassy plain that seemed to stretch for miles in every direction, sat cross-legged, my hands still clenched as if I was holding my toys in front of me. As my grip slowly relaxed, I rolled my shoulders back and stood up, squinting into the sun. 

"Oi!" I yelled into the nothingness. "Let me go home, you fucking wanker!" 

Now would be a good time to explain my language. As an eight, nearly nine year old, it may seem odd that I already had the vocabulary of an adult. And indeed, I doubt that my mother was aware of this, or of my knowledge of the disappearances of other children. She wanted me to have a real childhood, and I always appreciated that. 

I can say, with full confidence, that the credit for this particular phrase came from my grandfather. A gruff, middle aged man whose dark hair and beard was beginning to turn silvery grey, he often took care of me in my early years. He was prone to frustration, but eager to give me the most positive start in life possible. 

He taught me how to track, how to tell what was edible and what was deadly. He made sure I was well versed in basic survival skills, understood how money worked. He was the reason I knew how to fight, knew what to say if I was stopped in the street for any reason. And he didn't do it because he wanted me to 'be a man'. He just knew that, regardless of my gender, I'd need the skills if I ended up being one of the children to disappear. He wanted me to have an advantage. A way to survive, if that was even possible. 

I owe the fact that I'm able to speak to you today to my grandfather. He never got to know that, but I like to think he had an inkling of how helpful his advice was. He didn't replace my mother. Nothing could. She made me compassionate, taught me to care about the world that was falling to pieces around us. But sometimes she had to work, had to make sure we had enough money to survive. Her parents were our lifeline. And I don't begrudge her for that. She did what she could, and I couldn't ask her to do more. She was only human, after all. 

Of course, in these first few moments, all I could see nothingness, stretching out in every direction. From horizon to horizon, the field of grass I stood on was entirely empty. No trees, no landmarks, nothing at all. I had nothing to work from, except for the wind on my back, which was startlingly cold. 

Sitting back down, I resolved to watch the movement of the sun for a while. The sky was perfectly clear, and since there was nothing to indicate life in any direction, I figured it made sense to see which direction the sun went. Once I had a vague idea of my compass points, I would able to stick to a single direction. That was the plan, anyway.

It took hours. I sat there for what felt like forever, twisting the grass below me into a makeshift rope that fell apart as I practised the knots my grandfather had taught me, plaiting the various strands into a complex formation as I went. The sky began to darken, as the sun dipped to kiss the horizon, and that was when the entire place came to life.