Junhong always seemed to be up much earlier than the test of his neighborhood. He always awoke at 3:30 in the morning, even on weekends, especially on holidays, to the sound of his alarm calling for him to wake. He hated the way that the public judged him. The way they judged what he wore, how his hair fell into his eyes in just the slightest sense, how the words fell from his lips, much too quiet for many's taste. He hated the way that he was never able to dress how he liked, how he had to create another side to himself called Zelo just to fit into the outside world, just to appease others.
Moreover, he hated himself: the way his ears were either hanging too low, or the way he had to force them into a beanie and be in discomfort the whole day. He especially hated how his mind was. He hated that he could never keep someone. He always screwed things over in any way he could. He fell for the wrong person, he confessed when he should've kept quiet. He always managed to lose everyone around him somehow.
But he never was surprised anymore. He was accustomed to being alone. Being left by himself to his own devices, to being forced to hold everything in by himself.
His mind wasn't in the right sense these days, filled with worries, hurt, and mostly, he was confused.
It shown today as he took the wrong road. He was terrified of vehicles, more of anything larger than himself. He hated that too. He knew he was going the wrong way, doing the wrong thing by not turning around. He was already running late to open his store and fill the display cases.
He knew he had made a terrible mistake when he felt his back hunch, drawing himself inward at another presence, and he knew it wasn't going to be good.
He was right as he was thrown into a wall, his head cracking at the force, already soaking the back of his beanie in blood. There was four of them. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle them all, but maybe he could escape. Maybe.
He waited, let them throw their fists at his face and stomach, his skin throbbing at the pain, and he knew he had a split lip, a couple of his teeth were knocked loose, and he found himself holding his stomach, doubled over. But he had to wait.
When the strangers turned away, teasing and boasting about finding someone 'pretty', he took his chance. He darted, ignoring the pain in his stomach and face long enough to run, thinking he had hidden from the strangers.
He had stopped on the sidewalk, looking around, trying to find his bearings and where exactly he was when it hit him.
The impact knocked the breath out of him, tearing the skin on his left side as he was dragged by the vehicle's tires. The pain was excruciating, but he was too far in shock, and as soon as he was hit, the vehicle left.
That's when everything went black.
He awoke a short time later. His vision was cloudy at best, unable to concentrate. The room was so cold, so uninviting, and there was something sharp poking at his skin. He couldn't tell where.
Judging by the clock, it's been hours since the incident. His head was pounding, locked in a neck brace and tube forced down his throat. He could faintly hear the beeps of at least four machines, but the way they filled his peripheral, there was many more.
His legs were raised in the air, hooked to their own machines and wrapped in bandages. He faintly remembers the words 'amputate' before he was gone again.
He couldn't seem to feel anything, but it hurt. Everything hurt so much, and he just wanted to sleep again.
A faint ringing sounded through the room, but he couldn't reach his own cell phone, it laying on the table beside him. He wondered if anyone had been trying to contact him, but it was a stupid question.