"I just couldn't resist."
"Only sacred things deserve to be messed with."
It all ended with a dead kid near the train tracks.
Six years later, the story repeats itself and two long-forgotten friends might find out that when death tries to play match...
- Through the ghost of fire we flow, over hills and highs we know -
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It's too chilly to be outside yet the four of us are here, freezing our asses on the cold grass as we sit on the hill adjacent to the school buildings. Lunchtime is almost over yet none of us is ready to leave yet. Here, no one can see us from the parking lot, and we can finally have a little peace and quiet.
The sky is gloomy, and the air is frigid; this is the atrocious time of the year when everything is grey and bleak before snow starts falling and the entire scenery turns white and pure. In the meantime, we have approximately 6 hours of murky sunlight a day and everyone is crushed by seasonal depression.
My eyes unfocus from the background of dead plants and I watch with a certain fascination the smoke of my lit cigarette twirl in the breeze. It tastes like mint and sugar, so much smoother on my tongue than my usual cheap packs. It tastes expensive.
Of course it does, Jungkook gave you these.
"Here, take this! Make a wish," says Jimin
"Thanks a lot, guys," I tell them, feeling the rocks in my chest lighten for just a second when my friend gives me a cupcake with a lit candle on it.
The icing is bright pink, and the candle is melting on it, the white wax mixing with the fuchsia. However, just when I'm about to blow the small flame, the breeze picks up and I watch it flicker, then disappear into the wind.
How ironic.
It's like the whole damn universe is telling me none of the things I wish for are ever going to come true.
Jimin brings his lighter back to the wick and I watch him struggle as he tries to light it up while the winds keep messing with him. After a few seconds I just can't bear the sight of his struggle anymore.
"It's okay, I'll just eat it like that," I tell him, taking the desert from his hands.
I dip my finger into the frosting, licking the pink off.
"Is it good?" Yoongi asks.
"Tastes like wax," I tease, and he shoves my shoulder while I let out a snort, "I love it. You're now the official pastry chef of the group."
"I agree, those are pretty damn good," says Jimin and I watch him engulf half a cupcake in one bite.
The dough is chewy chocolate, maybe just a tinge too salty.
"Happy birthday, man," declares Jungkook.
He's half asleep behind me, his long body extended like a cat into the cold grass.
"Thank you."
I hate my birthday. Hate it with all of my soul, body, and mind. Still, my friends are nice for even remembering. The last thing I expected was to receive gifts. I look down at my little pile of treasures; packs of expensive Camel Turkish royals from Jungkook, pink cupcakes from Yoongi, shiny Swiss knife from Jimin and I let out a sigh, followed by a crooked smile.
