Challenge #2 -- Entry 3
Title: Nighttime Rooftop
Pairing: None. Sunmi-centric.
Rating: G
Summary: One day her laugh will be carefree again.
Song(s) used for inspiration: 어느 날 Pt. 2 - Casker
Nighttime Rooftop
Some days she likes to climb onto the roof of her house and just let the perspective overwhelm her until her thoughts are carried away. But today, she drifts from her usual routine of allowing her mind to wander aimlessly.
Instead, she focuses on the tangerine in her hand. She clasps it tightly in her palm for several moments before noticing the strained, white knuckles of her dry, lined hand. Relaxing her grip, she exhales and begins to turn it over in her hands. The texture of the tangerine skin curiously induces both memories and unfamiliarity to wash over her. It's been years since she last touched a tangerine, much less ate one. She begins to feel overwhelmed by the rising emotions stirring at the thought of the distant past and sets it down carefully by her side, making sure it won't roll off the roof.
As she looks at the small, cramped streets, she sees the hurried steps she used to take on her way back and forth from school. Her hand absentmindedly begins to rub the soles of her feet, remembering when she used to hold ice packs to them after grueling hours of practice. They're no longer callused or sore, but the hard shape of her pinched feet will never go away.
The lack of surrounding colour depresses her, even though it was at first a welcome change from the bustle of neverending unfamiliar places at the other end of the world. Once soothing, the grayness of the buildings and the pavement and the people and the sky now seem to scratch at her persistently, reminding her that she does not belong here. Once so vibrant and full of life, even if occasionally forced, she feels like a gray shade of her younger self.
When evening falls, the neighbourhood is oddly quiet. Sometimes, when she knows she should go back down to the real world but opts to looks for distractions instead, she makes up stories about the residents of the buildings based on the exteriors. She imagines the owners of the house to the left with one light always turned on throughout the night to be a strict couple wishing the best for their overachieving teenaged son. She imagines he lives on less than three hours of sleep a day and is frequently ill, but maintains a content face in front of his parents and friends so as not to worry them. She wants to tell him that he'll regret the way he lives now when he's older.
The moonlight illuminates the clouds in the still-gray night sky, and she wonders when she stopped noticing the changes in the chemical makeup of the atmosphere. She vaguely recalls numerous ambitions when she was younger; environmentalist, first lady, world star... one by one, her passions have faded and she now drifts aimlessly.
Closing her eyes, she wills herself to let her mind wash free of these troubling thoughts. It proves to be difficult; the floodgates, sealed so tight for so many years, have now burst wide open and refuse to be closed again. memories of her childhood, of her youth, of her budding adulthood... they rush through her without any intention of being restrained. As the memories flash by, she recalls the wide range of emotions she used to feel, from lethargy to joy to anger to depression. Like everything else in her life, they are now ghosts of their former selves.
She lifts a hand to press it to her forehead. In doing so, her hand nudges the tangerine and prompts it to begin rolling away from her. With more energy than she has expended in a very long time, she makes a grab for it.
She barely catches it with the tips of her fingertips. She lifts it closer to her face, examining it and wondering why she felt compelled to purchase it on a whim from a grocer she'd never purchased from before. Since that one turning point, that one drastic change in her life, the thought of consuming a tangerine had lost all appeal to her.
Her roughly worn-down nail gently scratches at the skin. Burdened by the past, her resolve to eat the tangerine is rapidly fading the longer she deliberates over breaking the skin to get to the flesh beneath. She sets it aside again, then picks it up not two seconds later.
Her brow furrows and she wonders whether or not she's ready to embrace what was such an iconic part of her past yet. To others, it seems insignificant, but to her, it used to once represent an inside joke, a symbol of her lovable peculiarity, a favourite snack, a reminder that no matter how far away from home she was, some things were always the same.
She sighs and sets it down again. Tilting her face up to the sky, she notes that the night is still young.
Pairing: None. Sunmi-centric.
Rating: G
Summary: One day her laugh will be carefree again.
Song(s) used for inspiration: 어느 날 Pt. 2 - Casker
Nighttime Rooftop
Some days she likes to climb onto the roof of her house and just let the perspective overwhelm her until her thoughts are carried away. But today, she drifts from her usual routine of allowing her mind to wander aimlessly.
Instead, she focuses on the tangerine in her hand. She clasps it tightly in her palm for several moments before noticing the strained, white knuckles of her dry, lined hand. Relaxing her grip, she exhales and begins to turn it over in her hands. The texture of the tangerine skin curiously induces both memories and unfamiliarity to wash over her. It's been years since she last touched a tangerine, much less ate one. She begins to feel overwhelmed by the rising emotions stirring at the thought of the distant past and sets it down carefully by her side, making sure it won't roll off the roof.
As she looks at the small, cramped streets, she sees the hurried steps she used to take on her way back and forth from school. Her hand absentmindedly begins to rub the soles of her feet, remembering when she used to hold ice packs to them after grueling hours of practice. They're no longer callused or sore, but the hard shape of her pinched feet will never go away.
The lack of surrounding colour depresses her, even though it was at first a welcome change from the bustle of neverending unfamiliar places at the other end of the world. Once soothing, the grayness of the buildings and the pavement and the people and the sky now seem to scratch at her persistently, reminding her that she does not belong here. Once so vibrant and full of life, even if occasionally forced, she feels like a gray shade of her younger self.
When evening falls, the neighbourhood is oddly quiet. Sometimes, when she knows she should go back down to the real world but opts to looks for distractions instead, she makes up stories about the residents of the buildings based on the exteriors. She imagines the owners of the house to the left with one light always turned on throughout the night to be a strict couple wishing the best for their overachieving teenaged son. She imagines he lives on less than three hours of sleep a day and is frequently ill, but maintains a content face in front of his parents and friends so as not to worry them. She wants to tell him that he'll regret the way he lives now when he's older.
The moonlight illuminates the clouds in the still-gray night sky, and she wonders when she stopped noticing the changes in the chemical makeup of the atmosphere. She vaguely recalls numerous ambitions when she was younger; environmentalist, first lady, world star... one by one, her passions have faded and she now drifts aimlessly.
Closing her eyes, she wills herself to let her mind wash free of these troubling thoughts. It proves to be difficult; the floodgates, sealed so tight for so many years, have now burst wide open and refuse to be closed again. memories of her childhood, of her youth, of her budding adulthood... they rush through her without any intention of being restrained. As the memories flash by, she recalls the wide range of emotions she used to feel, from lethargy to joy to anger to depression. Like everything else in her life, they are now ghosts of their former selves.
She lifts a hand to press it to her forehead. In doing so, her hand nudges the tangerine and prompts it to begin rolling away from her. With more energy than she has expended in a very long time, she makes a grab for it.
She barely catches it with the tips of her fingertips. She lifts it closer to her face, examining it and wondering why she felt compelled to purchase it on a whim from a grocer she'd never purchased from before. Since that one turning point, that one drastic change in her life, the thought of consuming a tangerine had lost all appeal to her.
Her roughly worn-down nail gently scratches at the skin. Burdened by the past, her resolve to eat the tangerine is rapidly fading the longer she deliberates over breaking the skin to get to the flesh beneath. She sets it aside again, then picks it up not two seconds later.
Her brow furrows and she wonders whether or not she's ready to embrace what was such an iconic part of her past yet. To others, it seems insignificant, but to her, it used to once represent an inside joke, a symbol of her lovable peculiarity, a favourite snack, a reminder that no matter how far away from home she was, some things were always the same.
She sighs and sets it down again. Tilting her face up to the sky, she notes that the night is still young.