▶ 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.
▶ Trust is something so fragile, easy to turn into dust to be blown by the wind. In our earth and between the hands, splattered with blood, fear is spread like wildfire as a devastating force that we don’t control but embrace. Proclaimed survivors, protectors of the remainings pieces, the arms of the Devil in our hands and the determination of lost hope implanted deep into our personal abysm, we fall like knocked down dominoes. Surrounding us, a false perception of security raises to the point it covers the sun and moon. Walls, that we must protect.
We don’t dream in our sleep more than we do in the daylight, imagination is the only supply that is abundant. Humans and their constructions. Blocks and lumbers put together as a woman and a man.
Back and forth, aim and shoot, the job of a patroller is worth as much as the one of a scientist, but for one reason they’re loved the most. Perhaps, the vision of an armed uniformed with bloody guns and a short temper is not trustworthy, but it sure has charm. We seek protection in the strongest, after all.
Nothing more lovely than a man reeling through abandonated buildings with a mumbling mouth and a baseball bat; in the picture, Sen uses the bat as a walking stick, then as a baton, and later it transforms into the reminicence of a past that sores in his eyes. Near a patrolling checkpoint, Sulli can’t help but snort at such sight.
"What the fuck, Sen…Where’s your uniform? You promised you’d be here early!" In her chest a laugh is bursting to come out, she’s exploding, but her bearing is still solid and severe towards the one that’s just making a joke of himself and the patrol duty squad.
"Shh… just shh…" Sen puts a finger in her lips with a drunken smile, stumbling with his own feet.
"So, you’re drunk, okay…" Sulli mumbles with Sen’s finger covering her mouth as it slowly slides down her cheeks, Sen reaches her shoulder and places a pat on it, his eyes smiling and a small hiccough interrupting his clumsy whispering.
"Keep on with the good job, soldier!" He shouted in true joy.
▶ Unconsciousness is something he has learned to live with during his passing through the world as a Mitsuji, though he’s running filthier now more than never. Impure, drunken, but never more alive.
No one can deny, however, that death has many forms.
And even worse, many occasions to get you wrapped in spiderweb.
You can find it in a pair of scissors, an innocent-looking mushroom, or even a boy with a particular hair color. Sen Mitsuji will never recognize, nor allow his head to skimp on, the cursed naivety that often gets his head buried deep in flypaper. He has seen bullshit, he is aware of the dangers and the fragility of the flesh, but a furtive optimism can always win the battle against his many evil reminiscences of a despicable planet.
"Drink and enjoy. Cheers, mate." Are always the words that lead him to disaster. Is not altruism, for he is never very much willing to share with his guests, but a desperate call, quietly hidden beneath his drunken smile.
Being not the exception, Sen finds a nice face to talk to in the middle of a silent hill, not to far away from the walls and of course his house. Be polite, be generous. Rules included in every child’s education. Take care of your body, don’t ever talk to strangers. Acting like the bad boy caught Sen in a tormentous living. At the moment Jongin crosses Sen’s path, alcohol already got him happy-go-lucky.
There’s a strange glimpse in the boy’s dark eyes; lust, need, what could it be?.
Sen’s curiosity itches in his skin and mind. Little did he know, so painfully little, that the guy with he platinum hair was thirsty, and blood wasn’t the only thing he craved; company, in the form of an ice-cold corpse.
Isolated soul, lost, whipping its redish tears in the middle of a graveyard filled with treasures, the price of a good hunt. It’s never satisfied, it can’t ignore the black hole that absorbs him into nothingness itself. Jongin is the wolf.
His house’s doors are always open for those ready to the toast, the party is no of etiquette and crystal glasses or wine aged for years are missing. We still can celebrate, we still do the cheers. Sen seems prepared to wear a little red riding hood.
Their shadows deformed by the impromptu campfire alongside the swamp bring a golden shine to the stranger’s hair, Sen is laughing his ass off.
"So… you’re drunk…" A wry smile appeares on his face, it’s the first time he speaks since Sen brought him home. Excited, the host let’s his body fall to the ground, resting his head in one of Jongin’s knees.
Jongdae reiterates the way the latter said “They keep my mind away from bullshit” and he chuckles. “True enough, they are…. indescribable” He sighs because he feels it is the best he can say. “Ah, surviving as best as I can though?”
Nodding with his head, narrow eyes skimp on the boy's last sentences, his mind now is wondering, if not just reconsidering a fleeting thought, a certain idea. "Surviving... but are you living, though?" A pause after his words bring Sen to shake the notion with a gesture of the hand, his nose got too deep into third party business. "Well, mind if I...?" His fingers tremble at grabbing hold of a cigarette, he awaits for Chen's blessing with raised eyebrows.
▶ Blessed with ethereal beauty, the greatest of creatures walks through filthy ground with no sign of impurity in its paws. Restless but still elegant, privileged with many of nature’s angelic gifts, hard is to think that such being has direct contact with the Underworld. No soul escapes from its crystal clear eyes and silken strands of hair, no mind is free of being hypnotized by the apocalyptic sound that comes out of a mouth filled with whiskers.
They can fool anyone, but not everything. Not one of their own.
A purring is heared in the midway of nothing, empowered, magnified with the help of emptiness. It’s not alone, another mewing replies. The two felines share an indecipherable conversation complemented with a dance of bodies rubbing against each other, caressing, exploring. Curious one of them lifts a paw and plays with the other’s tail, the meeting is revealing to them, despite their great wisdom and greatness it is a moving object and a certain herb the things that can open new doors to them, creatures that have seen everything in this and all worlds.
But, unbelievably, are humans beings the ones that proclaim themselves as the owners of these little fluffy god and godesses. Back in the time when they reigned alongside pharaohs, their position of divinity was recognized by those bald bipedal apes and respected as they deserved. Today, when humanity is begging on its knees for mercy, the cats, higher selves, find freedom in wrecked streets and bloody forests.
"Toot! you brat what are you doing here?!" a female voice breaks into the peaceful waters of the swamp, as she gets near the two felines. "Who is this? a friend of yours?" she asks while reaching for the other cat’s ears with gentle ways, Toot, by its side, remains loyal to a ancient vow of silence that its kind made at the beginning of life.
"Hey Kat, what’s up in there…" Sen, coming out of his shack with the savage mark ii between his hands, peers at the scene with analytical eyes. The girl, startled, takes Toot in her arms and slowly starts to fall back, her dolly eyes petrified over the weapon.
"Oh sorry, lemme take-… Not that way!” Sen warns the girl rather too late, for she’s already swimming in the ingrate waters of the swamp.
Toot, in the meanwhile, jumps out of the water with its whiskers bristling of pure, feline indignation.
▶ A scientist’s job is perhaps the most exciting of all. Even its inevitable path to delirium results a worth-taking risk for the brave ones that dare to give themselves to the inmense universe that surrounds us, wild, but full of misteries to unveil. In ecosystems, in the human body, in a flie’s eye, a scientist craves for more, for all that’s to be known. Their individual reasons, on the other hand, are not available for other’s scientists to explore.
A motive that’s shared for the scientist in this generation is with no doubt the cure to the devil’s influence, but, as in any matter that involves Lucifer, the death is one step away.
That’s maybe why people say that a scientist’s best friend is a soldier, because they control in their hands pure evil, weapons capable of judging and executing. By himself, Sen wouldn’t like people calling him a soldier, but he can’t deny he’s playing God with a Savage Mark II. Acts guide to consequences, and now, with Bom to his side, Sen is escorting her to the gates of knowledge. In this case, the doors lie just between an Infected’s eyes.
"That one! Shoot it down!" pointing at a Runner, Bom calls the attention of the creature so Sen can get a clean shot, there’s nothing she can do about Sen’s shaky pulse but bringing the Infected a little bit closer might help, she reckons after analysing the boy’s emaciated reflexes. Sen gives the white, the Runner is on the ground.
Her feet move quickly towards the creature with eager, in her clipboard a paper titled with “Infected’s field behaviour” is filled with annotations. “Please come here and get it open…” she calls the boy over with a collected voice and a professional feel to her, Sen grins out of pure amusement. Kneeling beside her he takes the knife she handed him and penetrates the chest of the felled, bringing its phylum down the torso. Once open, the putrid smell of decomposed organs slap Bom and Sen in the face, overwhelming them with chills and retches.
"Wow…" His body shivers from the sight, Bom is writting more hieroglyphs in the paper before reaching out to the Infected’s interiors and extracting out of it a mass of coagulated blood between her fingers.
"Is probable that the fungus can infect the body through intake, but…" Bom doubts in the absence of records about the matter, and frustrated she approaches her fingers to her nose before stopping the move, and slowly turning her head to Sen.
"Don’t look at me like that… ain’t putting that shit in my mouth"
⌊…⌉ ㅡ a pause of breath. mi - tsu - ji.
“evening,” seul greets, closed-lipped and small-voiced, tucking a hand to give the door a quick shut. “glad that you were able to come by for your yearly checkup as standard, just as we would like our men and women to be in good health. my name’s iseul; but do call me seul. before i go on ahead and get you started for today, how might you be feeling today, sen?”
Thriller, an augury scented with feminine perfume. Fatality, one door to the unknown. Honor, a small clip adhered to his chest. Havoc, hearts devoted to a raison d’être.
Memories and conclusions make of feeling freely as impossible as counting all the starts in the nightsky. Sometimes, however, enumerate them one to one is not enough, and one must stop to contemplate them instead, just to unveil the many secrets that the existing abysses jelously hide. True to be told, only some galaxies are available to the individual mind. For him long roads are still there to be travelled. A dark hole, the only abyss he has overcome is the death of his mother, whose unconditional love caused in him a Big Bang. Superation was created, and now he can no longer trap dark demons in the part of his heart where he keeps the memory of the greatest lady he has ever yet met.
And while he has the certainity that there is more for him to come, that a shadow of his past is yet to be extinguished, and that starlight is still missing in his life, Sen walks through obscured passages, embraced by the altitude of the great fence. The walls, margin between freedom and prison, intitle a chapter of his background.
Mud in his boots and bluish half moons under tired eyes reflect the moodiness of Sen, Mitsuji Sen. Every curve inked in that name brings him out of gravity, his villi raises against its phonetics as it has always been since tender years of soft skin and dimples in his cheeks. His interiors collapse at the mere first consonants, a shiver and a dizziness, desire. He lusts many things but never thought of rush out, whenever or wherever. Where he was wasn’t any place and didn’t have no meaning, the call of duty haunted his whole morning and renegade steps towards the Capitol.
Once there he waited and waited, the walls offered freshness to his hectic pulse in the desolate corridor. Sen’s forehead, straight glued to the concrete, struggled to strench the mental skills that he didn’t posses to the interiors of the room, where a rattle of heels increased the blinding suspense. Slight electric shocks still roamed through him, sparks dancing around the recent burn in his forearm. A cigar and the fierceness of pain always help awaken the sleepless body.
React. He puts his senses in alert at the noise of an opening door. He was already in front of it.
Before his eyes, the sight of a woman appears a little fuzzy; out the window the suns shines with its last strength and the contrast between her body and the light make of her a dazzling vision. His eyes narrow, Iseul’s voice sounds delicate in his foggy ears.
"Evening" He replies with a particular growl in his voice, not for nuisance but for the lack of parlance during extended hours. Cautiously entering the room he is devoid of weapons and armors, in his machinations Sen dismissed the likelihood of danger; sounds like a curse to fear one’s blood, but after all, his father still has the power to end - or improve - a life.
An echo repeats Seul’s name in the caverns of his mind, he mumbles it in silence, as to contemplate its musical notes on a better way. “Work is duty”. Sen gives her a lazy grin before sitting between towers of papers, without worrying about dirtying his clothes with dust accrued in some places of his impromptu seat. He suddenly feels warmth.
Out of sudden, the question takes him by surprise; what would be the politically correct answer?. “Today? Well… do I have to get naked?” He finally chooses to ignore his protocols to look at her expectantly; in the back of his head a slight “click” brings a chill of doubt to his hitherto mild countenance, the vision of starlight blinds him during the blink of an eye.
Darkness takes its toll, blindfolding the living with a thick veil of uncertainty and forebodings, weapons that don't hurt the flesh but the mind. The night, its comrade, protects the childrens of Hell with tender arms as it guides them to the feast, where you and I are the main dishes. For us the preys, hope resides in a great sphere in the dimming sky that offers the leftovers of the Sun, light to our spirits. Faraway, where the arms of earth block the Moon, Sen recognizes himself as a friendly believer, fan of what a shadow can do for you.
Alone, surrounded by the gloomy atmosphere of his shack, Sen rejoices in the dark, swinging on the thin line between joy and fear and all sins, as if he was finally the lord of his destiny, conqueror of the seven seas. The fact that he's incapable of finding his own feet indicates that it is time, any responsability fades away with the murder of his consciousness.
With his senses empowered by the complete blackening of his perception he inhales and laughs, everything feels weightless, he is now floating in space.
Dancing in the darkness every threat sounds like a joke, Infected are clowns, Survivor are lions trained to jump from one platform to another. In his circus, where colorful confetti crown his head, the lethal touch of a weapon means nothing, the rub of a petal against his skin. Sen is in the clouds, away from the refuge seen in shadows from the outside.
"Wait a minute... Jinah... Jinah?" A name, a quiet "click" in the back of his mind, is he missing something? is there more beyond the laughter and rainbows?. The weapons on a corner of his house are screaming for his attention but he's long gone, Sen will keep on dancing until the Sun replaces the Moon.
▶ White and more white, bad memories assault his mind as the sight of endless hills covered in snow send a shiver up and down Sen's spine. In front of his nose, a small cloud scapes out of blue-ice lips, recalling in him the warmth of toxicity running through his body. Oh, he could kill for a cigarette right now...
But the closest person around could hardly be in possesion of the treasure he seizes. Chen is clean, he detects, while the other man rubs his arms to bring a shot of heat to his system. Who knew the roads could be so empty. As a little child Sen remembers streets collapsed in cars of all types running through Tokyo, actually, he might have a vague memory of a movie he saw with his mother before her death of a bald man racing mad careers within cities all around the world. Funny thing, even the word "movie" is strange for him right now.
They never thought that a little snowfall could get them stuck in the middle of nowhere; just a chit-chat, they said to themselves, it can hardly hurt us in a world where danger is around every corner, they believed. Now, when the porch of an abandoned house barely offers them shelter, the two share furtive glances full of blame, not for oneself but for the other.
"Don't look at me like that..."
Sen, sensitive because of the cold, growls in a soft voice:
▶ Running was never a thing he did best. As athletic as his body could look, what comes to be an essential trait of any good surviver is just found missing in Sen’s list of abilities. Too much pain on his lungs, too many consequences, devastating signals. A reason. Sen knows very well what can make him run at edge of his limits; stalkers.
Putrid smell and nightmare-like taste of style puts him to speed up; not that he cares about fashion after all, he might have many scars of his wrecked aftermaths but, c’mon, Sen very well knows he doesn’t want to be a part of the devil’s army. “Let’s get te fuck out of here…” Sen murmurs to the girl next to him with a barely perceivable gleam in his pupils, he’s still fighting after all.
Following close behind a horde of stalkers crave for flesh, Min is fast, accurate in every feline move of her feet across the vegetation, she never looks back and Sen knows she won’t stop just to make sure he’s okay… he is not.
His lungs whistle in misery and his legs lose compass and rhythm, he can almost hear in his head the laughter of the predators at his back. He pushes and pushes his borderline but sooner than later Min’s back is out of his sight, he doesn’t panick, he just keeps running. Entering in a wall of dead trees the branches, sharp as daggers, don’t stop his pursuers from wrapping their claws around his neck; he never felt desolation so close to him.
Suddenly, his feet feel lighter. Following the trail of a hand dragging him by his shirt he discovers a new and unexpected source of streght; Min is there. When the obnoxious forest is over and the stalkers result stuck on it, Sen lets out a sigh alongside roughs coughs, tempted to laugh his body crumbles in the ground.
"Your nipple is showing…" Min points out at his chest, exposed in the scratches of his shirt. Sen raises up at her before nodding with his head in a fast motion, a drop of sweat running down his cheek.
Twenty five years weight like stone in his lungs, a burning consequence of the crimes he comitted against himself. His chest tired of going up and down demands for a truce, not only due to the nocive black they wear but also because the air is as well painfully grotesque, filled with dancing flies that scort him to a rundown building in the Free district, away from the safety of his home. Sen is not only homesick but also uncapable of going any further. His legs push him to keep moving, there’s a prickling in the back of his neck that omens death as if the devil was just at his back, but he ignores all intituitions and decides to obey his interiors to soathe refuge; "rest", he says to himself, the night is never friendly to those cursed with weakness.
Sitting in the stone cold floor his harsh coughs echoes in the ruins of the place, "shh", he advices himself and remembers to cover his mouth while the uncontrollable itchiness of his throat assaults, for is polite to do so, Papa used to say. Sen gaze darkens as the sky does, there’s no point on recalling the past.
Once his breath is quiet enough to be mistaken for the breeze, he shrugs legs and looks at the little brooch in his jacket as a flashing smile fills the hollows in his cheeks, no trail of color, however, is found on them; he is not proud nor motivated, Sen is resigned, his spirit given to the bittersweet taste of sarcasm. “Member of the Patrol Duty Squad” it says, giving him a title of concerned civilian. He grins once again as he tries to remember the last time he felt part of a civilization, having a hard time at it just reinforces his thoughts on why he carries that little thingy in his chest; civilization is just an abstract adjetive for those who believe and live within the Military. In there lies the reason why he is trying to get some sleep in the middle of nowhere, too, relieving is to think that he’s outside seeking for a true civilian - one that’s not brainwashed - to help out, it makes his hate box a little bit smaller everyday. The moss growing in the walls tenderly brushes his nape, and he sighs, immersed in what Sen believes is absolute spacial loneliness. His mind is trying hard really, as no one would ever suspect, to bring alive a spirit that got frozen in time, is just that his body doesn’t go along. Who is the one at fault? there’s actually two demons in his timeline and sadly he is one of them, Sen sees fingers poiting at him all the time to the extend he’s lately been looking for the most beautiful forefinger of them all. Right now, Sen feels the urge to laugh but he doesn’t because it is dangerous, he almost forgot loneliness can be deadly too.
And in the moment, the smoke of a cigarette can make him less of a loner.
"You look more lively than the last time I had seen you around" He said with a monotone dripping in his voice. Ah, the kid is familiar-- of course, he had once lived in the military zone so he knew who is this boy he is talking to. "I supposed yuo have been okay?"
Outlining a crooked smile, Sen runs a hand through his hair in amusement. "Well well, lately I have been frequenting more people. Survivors aren't easy to deal with but I guess that... they keep my mind away from bullshit" He sighs. Vague memories come up to him at the sight of the boy, Sen remembers him, but a dizzy feeling of unconsciousness makes him think he wasn't at his best when they met. "Anyways, um, what about you?"
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