foolish people; an alternate ending
foolish people; an alternate ending
r
450 words
notes ♥ this is not an actual part of the story; it's just a little something I wrote to play with the thought of this potential ending. please mind the rating.
The dorm was silent as a whistle blown out, and it felt as if the air had seeped through the windows and cracks. In the background there was a sob, followed by a blush of shame for having broken the suffocating silence. No one moved. No one.
They found him curled up like a withered leaf, as fragile, as empty, as dead. His right hand laid distortedly above his head, like it was paused mid-way in a spasm. His skin was white and purple and yellow and a faint red-a color spectrum painful to watch, yet breathtaking.
The silence was disquieting.
They couldn’t believe it. They wouldn’t believe it. They turned their backs and everyone tried to convince themselves it was a joke; they lied to themselves because the truth was so harsh they became numb. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He would never breathe again, never feel the wind against his skin, feel the warmth from the oven, feel the satisfaction after a good meal, or the pleasure after a good night’s sleep. He would never feel groggy after he woke up.
No one spoke. The oldest in the group took action, followed by the strongest. They carried him out from the bathtub and put him down on the floor as if he was made of glass. Someone cried out that they should put a blanket over him-for God’s sake, he’ll freeze. Two of them found this too much to handle and left the dorm. Meanwhile the youngest of them was rocking back and forth on the floor next to the body, hysterical crying muted by the pain coursing through his entire being. He was crying so hard no sound came out; tears were racing silently down his cheeks. His eyes were pierced on the face of his beloved before it was covered in cloth, and the picture was frozen solid into his memory, frozen into a mind that would turn into eternal winter-cold and ruthless. He mouthed his name, over and over. He felt as if he would drown in his own tears.
He kicked and he screamed as they dragged him out. The strongest of them carried him on his shoulders and locked him inside his room, ignoring the clawing on his back, the scratches and the punches.
Let me see him! Let me see him!
Three of them had to hold him down. The rest of them stared in shock at the person lying on the floor in the bathroom, covered in white cloth as if covered by snow. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.
Why is it so silent?
They couldn’t believe Sungmin was dead.
r
450 words
notes ♥ this is not an actual part of the story; it's just a little something I wrote to play with the thought of this potential ending. please mind the rating.
The dorm was silent as a whistle blown out, and it felt as if the air had seeped through the windows and cracks. In the background there was a sob, followed by a blush of shame for having broken the suffocating silence. No one moved. No one.
They found him curled up like a withered leaf, as fragile, as empty, as dead. His right hand laid distortedly above his head, like it was paused mid-way in a spasm. His skin was white and purple and yellow and a faint red-a color spectrum painful to watch, yet breathtaking.
The silence was disquieting.
They couldn’t believe it. They wouldn’t believe it. They turned their backs and everyone tried to convince themselves it was a joke; they lied to themselves because the truth was so harsh they became numb. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He would never breathe again, never feel the wind against his skin, feel the warmth from the oven, feel the satisfaction after a good meal, or the pleasure after a good night’s sleep. He would never feel groggy after he woke up.
No one spoke. The oldest in the group took action, followed by the strongest. They carried him out from the bathtub and put him down on the floor as if he was made of glass. Someone cried out that they should put a blanket over him-for God’s sake, he’ll freeze. Two of them found this too much to handle and left the dorm. Meanwhile the youngest of them was rocking back and forth on the floor next to the body, hysterical crying muted by the pain coursing through his entire being. He was crying so hard no sound came out; tears were racing silently down his cheeks. His eyes were pierced on the face of his beloved before it was covered in cloth, and the picture was frozen solid into his memory, frozen into a mind that would turn into eternal winter-cold and ruthless. He mouthed his name, over and over. He felt as if he would drown in his own tears.
He kicked and he screamed as they dragged him out. The strongest of them carried him on his shoulders and locked him inside his room, ignoring the clawing on his back, the scratches and the punches.
Let me see him! Let me see him!
Three of them had to hold him down. The rest of them stared in shock at the person lying on the floor in the bathroom, covered in white cloth as if covered by snow. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.
Why is it so silent?
They couldn’t believe Sungmin was dead.