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SEND A SYMBOL FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS: [ accepting ]
☠ poisoning them
Imagination. Tell him of sweet dreams and nightmares, the desired reality. Some were beautiful, exquisite. Others, like a trip down to the pits of suffering itself. It tasted like affliction yet it was tainted with the smell of remorse. Taehyung tried to breathe — his lungs burned with a desperation for air, no doubt was it on the verge of collapsing. Trembling fingers he clutched violently at the cloth around his chest, ragged clawing in a want to remove the pain that was gripping his heart. Hazel eyes once dilated with panic were now screaming disbelief and betrayal ; increasingly blurry vision scanned the room for sight of the culprit, it was spinning — he was dizzy. He saw black.
The boy lifted weighted lids, a vague realisation that he was sprawled across the parquet flooring, a pair of shoes obscuring his vision. Even as his heartbeat dulled and mind slipped into a mess of fogged memories, he’d recognise those shoes. Hyung Seop? He doesn’t know why, but it saddens him greatly that his last thoughts are not of his family. What happened to the flashbacks of life that the movies promised you of? Were they nothing but imaginations of the people instead? A romanticised version of death, a hypothesis of the comfort it could bring? Lies. They were all false. But a flicker of hope remained — could an absence of flashbacks signal a postponement of death? Despite the suffering flowing through the boy’s veins, perhaps this was merely one’s imagination turned reality, a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. Taehyung mustered whatever minuscule energy was left in him, hand he raised to tug on the hem of his friend’s jeans, quivering lips mouthing words he knew the other could read. “ What d-did you do? ”
