Have you ever think about dangerous thing? Like, how will it feels when you slammed your body to the road, or how will your fingers will survive if you drag your hands while your motorcycle is running. Have you?
Maureen lifted her tote bag, it was heavy on her left hand. Her right one felt like burning. She stared at her right palm for the God knows how many times. The red lines were still visible. Even though the scars were slowly healing, she still can felt the, yes, burn, and she, somehow, satisfied.
She just cut her right palm, one right below her thumb, made long lines across her palm; one on her middle finger’s side; one on the pinky finger. With a fresh and clean razor blade, of course. She couldn’t deal with tetanus or something similar.
What if everyone wants to die? The thought emerged in Luce’s mind. He just saw one of the youngsters died this noon; hit by a large deep blue container truck, and flawlessly burst into sakura petals.
It was abnormally beautiful, if he set aside the hit-and-run accident and the death of that kid as well. It was like a scene in those animated movie; his head was turning into sakura petals right when the kid’s head hit the truck. His whole body followed afterward.
Jungkook is lost. On one very late night he finds himself awake, starring at the ceiling with wide eyes open, fighting back the urge to cry. He sighs in discomfort, can’t help feeling the battle of his mind and his heart draining his energy down. Jungkook has known that this matters are taking up his mind and energy, but he can’t help it. He can’t restrain himself to not fall in love once again.
Taehyung is life. He is sunshine, he is everything. Every time he is around, his surroundings seems like brighten up a bit. He makes everyone laughs with his jokes. He makes the leaves dance with his movement. Taehyung does a lot of thing to perks up the world. A little bit more to makes Jungkook’s world alive.
I stare at my reflection. When I smile, she smiles. When I frown, she frowns. When I point the gun’s tip to my head, she does it too. And then there is blood running down our face, like honey dripping down from the bee’s nest. It is blue, not red, and when I push my index finger into the hole, it lets out the blue blood intensely.
The blue blood is making such a messy mess in this room. But it adds the colour. This room is lacking of colour. The wall is white, and the bed is too, and the lamp, and everything. The only coloured thing inside this room is me, and my blood now.
When the first snow fell, Misha the Dragon was in his big but comfy cave. He somehow managed to get his place’s warm enough for himself. After adjusting his tail, Misha began to sleep since it’s night time already.
That was when he hear a rustling sound near him.
Misha didn’t keep a pet, no. He was -is- a good dragon, and he didn’t eat friends. So, where was this sound came from?