PARA: God’s Lonely Man || Chen & Minjun.
The night was young and still ready to live on for many more hours. Only stars and the moon could be seen in the sky, fighting for attention of those below. A few crickets would, occasionally, let out their cries in an attempt to be heard, only to be swept away by the loud roaring of the few old cars that were still being used. It was the same as every city night during the after apocalypse, and, that wasn’t a bad thing compared to any misfortune which could be happening the next day.
Minjun hadn’t gone back on keeping his research about his parents’ whereabouts yet and was, stupidly, dangling his feet off the side of a building while Hope, his puppy, was laying down next to him, staring into space absently. How many stories it was, he didn’t know. He didn’t care, and instead preoccupied himself with stinging the exposed skin of his arms by draping them on the rails there. They were meant for protection, to make sure no one fell off, but anyone could simply slide right underneath. Off the concrete edge and past the rust that looked too much like blood.
Before stumbling up the filthy stairs leading to the roof with his little companion, the boy had snatched up a pack of cigarettes from some equally filthy convenience store. To tell the truth, Minjun had never smoked before. He was highly against the idea of dirtying his lungs such an unhealthy habit. Nevertheless, things had changed now, including himself. The only regret he had for abandoning his past determination was to have his deceased grandmother looking at him from the sky with a sad and disapproval look.
Minjun shook his head to get rid of the thoughts that could bring his mood lower than it already was, only to pay attention to what he could notice in his sight. The entire city seemed to have the stench of embalming fluid permeating each and every crevice. Stains and dirt didn’t even smear when he dragged his heel over them. Lights were harsh, and each passing figure didn’t have a face or a name attached.
He distinguished types of people by their clothes, giving him only a shallow understanding of the humans around him, but it was enough. The girl with low-cut top, red mouth, and six-inch heels swaying on the corner was a harlot. A man who pulled up to the curb a few minutes later in a starched suit, hands on the steering wheel of his Bugatti Veyron, was rich - the only few rich people who still earn powers in this whole mess. And the kid who had his face covered by the hood of his jacket, fingers on a small box cutter, would be going to be chased by angry men shortly . It was an unknown city, defined as one only by the characteristic rush and vulgarity. Minjun didn’t know what its name was. Again, he didn’t care. He just get along with it by passing by.
But something had possessed him that night— he was tired of bumping into strangers, and going back his ‘occupation’ wasn’t an option he wanted to pick for now. That’s how he ended up where he was.
Taking a cigarette from his pocket for the first time that night, he slid it between bony fingers, lit it, and placed it past his lips. The first take-in of smoke was slow. Eyes all glass, they reflected the tiny dots of florescent light which came from the nearby clusters of cars and street-posts. The boy held his breath before sighing, grey wisps leaving through his lips and nose like ghosts. There was a fleeting moment of bewilderment in which he lifted an unoccupied hand to rub the curls of smoke between the pads of his index finger and thumb. He imagined that they actually had a texture: that it felt warm and seeped into his skin.
A quiet laugh broke the silence. Minjun kicked his legs out again, swinging them like a child and then brought the thin cancer stick back up to his mouth.
“I am God’s lonely man.” The line was something he had heard a few days ago. They were not his own, but the words, he felt, rolled off the tip of his tongue perfectly.Giddy, and quite obviously out of it, the boy grinned to himself. He ignored Hope who was now staring at him with a worried look, but didn’t dare asking him what was going on into his mind - Thus, respecting his silence.
Cars honked and people hurried off down below. Hunched over the rails, arms underneath him, and cheek pressed to his forearm while his legs continued to dangle, Minjun watched them all. He flicked the ashes of his Marlboro onto the concentration on life just a couple hundred feet beneath the soles of his shoes. Needing no one, wanting no one, he wouldn’t have felt a tinge of guilt for squashing a population under his foot.
He could die like this, yes. Again, again, again. And if only for a while, he was separate from the world.
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