"T-t-trust me?" Minho stuttered. Those words were ones that made him flinch.Why? So many people he once knew and are now non-existent asked him that. It’s something that stuck around with him until now. Licking his lips, he took a deep breath. He didn’t know how to answer this. He could say yes, because he was capable of doing it. But he could also say no, because he would also put her in danger.
Sitting on the edge of the building’s rooftop with his feet dangling over, he looked over the city. It had been a while since he was here, with her. Or anyone for that matter. After a long moment of silence, he finally gathered his thoughts and answered her.
"You can trust me with anything." He finally responded wholeheartedly.
▶ Crystal, porcelain dolls; divinity is so far away, earned through milleniums that we’re aloof to achieve and knowings beyond our comprehension. Immersed in banality, we’re lacking something, in the flesh and in spirit.
Meat and bones, if one could resign to the fragility in our structures the sensation of inmense weakness would finally leave us rest. Humanity, however, is a dangerous thing to give up to the universe, not for oneself but for those who surround us. If we’re crafters of our destiny is a subjective theory, Sen, on his own, decided to create and not transform. Not himself, at least.
"You know, they say happiness sometimes is an omen of misfortune. A temporary state" Sen whispered in her ear, covered with a curtain of jet black hair. His eyes, disposed in serene factions, travel through the lines of her profile while in the tip of her nose dies the last sparks of the Sun. The nightsky slowly takes reign of Sen and Iseul.
"Those who said that were ever happy?" She replied with a small grin decorating her lips, Sen’s growing beard tickles her shoulder as he rests his head on it. "Are you happy?”
The grass under their bodies sways with the breeze of evening, Sen can’t help but laugh with melodius notes as his hands caress the girl’s arm up and down, he feels at the edge of the world, his breath becomes heavier beholding a question rarely asked in the chambers of Hell. Eyebrows raising in amusement, Iseul turns her gaze right into Sen’s, and his eyes suddenly reflect her in a deep state of hypnosis, his fingers stop their trail just over her hand.
Iseul can perceive Sen’s breath mixing with her own, the closeness is overwhelming and she’s eager, a shiver tests her forbearance. She is the virtuous of patience, but the sudden emptiness in Sen’s eyes make her heart gasp.
"No fucking way…" Cursing at the wind Sen loses his glance into the woods, were their predators run, crazed, to ambush the lovers frolicking their spirits in the meadow. Iseul turns to see the danger but Sen doesn’t lose time in double-checking, escaping, like the mouse running from the cat, they’re quickly approaching the empty highway with Stalkers following close behind. He holds her hand with paranoic strenght.
Stalkers don’t offer truces, the light in their eyes are long gone by the time fungal putrefaction intoxicate what’s left of a human body, the living can’t find a break. Sen’s chest burns but he doesn’t stop, the girl, quick in her reckons, can guess a sickly rasp in his breath. His heart, in a second, almost paralyzes its throb.
There are more of them.
A horde of Stalkers jump from a side street darkened by shadows and seizes the possibility to catch Iseul in a blink of an eye. A chill pierces his heart and suddenly, the time stops. Zero gravity injects a dose of adrenaline in Sen’s blood bringing fire to his system. Dust, and a fist flying to impact in the closest Stalker’s face mark the beginning and end of his unexpected boldness. They keep running.
Heavens pay Sen with disregard, his pleedings aren’t being heard. Pessimism grows in him, but the only sign of inner resistance is his hand wrapped around Iseul’s, immovable despite the sweat that threaths to tear them apart.
Satan is his last choice, - Just to make this more fun for you, give us a break - he begs.
And then, a gasoline station appears with chores of demons in front of them. Sen finds force in the coincidence, the croaking sound at his back, and in the enlightened expression of Iseul. Inside, nothing but more destruction is found midst every step they take, the Stalkers didn’t notice their salvatage.
Weak light beams penetrate the place between cracks and holes, the windows are closed by massive wooden planks and gallons of gasoline stored in the corners show signs of life before them, who just escaped death. A whistling interrupts the impending tension trapped in the place, and Sen collapses on the floor, it is useless to try to find an escape. “We must… wait”, reaching the inner pocket of his jacket, Sen takes a cigarette and holds it between his lips, his lungs still whistle, hand tremors turn the task of lighting the cigarette an impossible accomplishment. Iseul is unbelieving.
"What are you doing?! We barely got out of that and you’re already seeking death?!" Kneening in front of him she hisses. "It’s not going to make it any better you kno-"
"Goddamn Iseul, I almost lost you!" Sen’s eyes are wide open, the phrase becomes shaky while it leaves his vocal cords and bounces off the walls, as if to form a precedent, as if to shorten the distance. He takes her hands and pulls Iseul closer to him, she wraps her arms around Sen’s neck, and they enjoy of heartbeatings and the after-silence, the dimension generated by a confession in the end of the world. Their world.
But that universe is different from where they’re standing, lands of fatality and corruption of the body and the mind. His interiors crumble at the intromission of warmth and a whooping cough crosses him from medium to medium; the lighted cigarette falls to the ground and the familiar croaking noise mortify their shelter. Sooner than later the Stalkers slap and tear the entries until they get in, Sen and Iseul, hidden in the rear warehouse, take action. Or at least the girl does.
Switchblade at hand, she destroys the weakest parts of the planks nailed against the windows and creates a clear getaway for both, Sen’s is tempted to laugh despite the sore in his lungs. “Gorgeous…” He murmurs before stepping in his feet and taking one of the gallons of gasoline, spreading the liquid all over the place and specially where the cigarette was left. Red, heat, flames are created.
Wildfire eats the station in a peaceful motion; they run away, but the Stalkers don’t.
Iseul pushes Sen through the streets further and further away from the blaze, her hand squeezes his in satisfaction, a certain sense of triumph condecoring both of them. They won. They can rest.
At the end of the tale Sen and Iseul contemplate the infernal condemnation up on the roof of a nearby building, close to the constellations. Her face shines in stardust, his lungs are blessed with clean air.
"What an amazing spectacle…" Limbs feeling summerged in hot water after the exertion, her voice has playful shades and a slight purring that penetrates to the bottom of his soul. He then calls for her. “Yes?” She replies, starlight reflected in her pupils.
