#autotelics

kill your darlings sentence starters

Does it always? Where is the proof in cycle? Baekhyun rubs his chin and offers him a weak smile, knowing that the remnants beneath the surface of his skin are a lackluster thereof. He has seen the climactic rise treading alongside cataclysm, Christianity, but there is no recollection of rebirth upon heaven’s reform. 

“I have died a hundred times. Where is my newfound righteousness?” Baekhyun asks quietly. He thinks that Jongin is being too selfish, too ignorant, too much of everything all at once and quite frankly, it’s giving him a headache– heartache ensues for nostalgic faith that serves to wreck his vice. You can take the sin out of the sinner but at what cost?

“God is cruel.” His words are short and sweet, and the gradual laughter building up inside of him shows no sobriety. Mischief flickers back and forth like broken streetlights, a result of broken faith. Recklessness is a joke like John 3:16. Baekhyun continues to keep his smile in place, but his smile becomes twisted at the corners from hereon. 

source: drabble masterliststatus: accepting➥  I’ll write a angst drabble of my character violently killing yours.

She had spaced out for a good few minutes, if she were to guess she’d have to say a total of four minutes, the ticking of the clock telling her time was still going steady as usual. It didn’t stop for everyone else as it did for her in those four minutes. Reality had reeled her right back in, and when she opened her eyes, Jiwon didn’t realize she wasn’t at home at first. It was someone’s home, alright, it just wasn’t hers. Her fingers felt somewhat sticky, warm, not necessarily the most pleasant feeling out there, but it wasn’t bothering her. Opening and closing them, she dropped the item she held firmly, a simple kitchen knife. She had gripped the handle so tightly, it left red marks on her hands.Or maybe the color came from something else. Wait. Kitchen knife?

Looking down, it wasn’t difficult to see what exactly was going on. But it wasn’t a situation she’d ever see herself in. She’d done questionable things in the past, but she never wanted to hurt anyone. Definitely not to this extent. Her hands were red because they were covered in blood. So were her clothes. The knife she had held so tight had been stuck in his chest multiple times, she could tell. It was as if her mind had been turned off the moment she grabbed the knife. Right now, however, it wasn’t time that was frozen. She was in shock, shivering and shaking, the tears running down her cheeks felt hot, they burned. Pushing herself away from the dead body and the pool of blood, she hit her back against the wall, pulled her hands through her hair, refusing to even look at it. This wasn’t ever going to leave her mind.

This is the beginning of a new chapter, an identity created with the color of charcoal instead of light brown. Footsteps stride along the smooth gravel of Seoul city where large houses and green lawns lie orderly along neatly paved roads long and winding, where the slums are hidden in the shadows out of sight. Sweat clings to the back of his shirt beneath a coat that hides cryptic secrets-- Baekhyun keeps them in stifling space as his fingers tighten around the elegance of suede.

One glance at the digital watch on his wrist quickens his pace immediately. His steps become heavy moreover with the icy block of apprehension melting slowly in his stomach, a watery surface somehow always frozen. The day is getting dark and shows by the outline of distant buildings now veiled by threatening gloom; Baekhyun doesn’t have much time, can’t afford to waste any more, and breaks out into a light jog. 

From hereon, everything moves quickly in a blur: he reaches the location, aims carefully and kills the greedy bastard sitting on his balcony. His body jerks once before collapsing out of his chair with a loud thud. Red wine spills from his glass and shatters-- runs a river of crimson and drips down onto the first floor. At this point, he can’t tell blood and wine apart. 

Then the wife runs out, pearl necklace swaying lightly against her chest, and shrieks loudly at the sky. She mourns over not only her source of wealth but also the dirtied Prada pumps worn on her feet. Baekhyun smiles at this sight in satisfaction before turning to leave.

can’t see it from the kitchen here anyway.

my mouth is filled with scotch that tastes like nothing, but it burns like something, and it fades like everything. mother’s letter sits between my fingers, and the dim light overhead casts my shadow over it.

i still remember the only time you’ve ever cried

you’ve ever cried

you’ve ever

how you tried to kill your brother

kill your brother

kill my brother, i remember. but the sun is absent and so is my brother. only a broken boy sleeps in my bed.

the glass clinks against the marble top when i set it down, and the letter next to it. i pick out a kitchen knife from the drawer opposite -- the sharpest one, the shiniest one, the strongest one to carve a believer of another kind out of him.

i make my way back to my bedroom with it. mother’s letter can rest with the scotch, and i can go rest with the boy.

the night makes everything still, so still, how still? jongin stirs as i lay beside him, an arm propped up on the pillow with my head resting against my hand. i join the stillness, admiring.

sleep cradles him like the arms of a mother. the boy used to belong to the night but now he belongs to someone better; dark hair and darker circles, this boy belongs to me. even if his breath is steady, his mind is plagued by the thoughts of his god’s disbelief in him. it’s eating him alive, but no one else knows what. but i do, because his god is me.

a sliver of light peeking through the window ricochets off the metal while i press the knife against his cheek, slowly. the tanned skin dents against the edge and god, how pretty it would look stained crimson.

jongin pries his eyes open. i greet his confusion with the gentlest smile, dragging the tip of the knife down his jaw.

01. Someone murmurs that the darkness does not exist without the light, that the darkness is only the absence of such illumination. Someone else murmurs that God is the one who created it all, and most importantly that he spoke of the antic words, let there be light – and behold, oh behold. There was light. 

But, but. The darkness existed before the light ever came into existence. Darkness came first, and darkness was what truly ruled the heavens, turning galaxies within it and cradling the earth to be before God’s puny fingers began to morph of its hungered, hollow abyss. 

I existed first. This is his own hymn for the skies and angels. I existed first when there existed nothing before me. This is the only prayer he will ever command his body with. I was here first. This is what falls like a benediction from his mouth, one his tongue rolls over again and again, one his lips learn gentle and learn soft. I existed before. I existed before. You cannot turn me into anything else for –

I existed before anything else. 

02. There is a nimbus around the clouds. Some shadow that casts its curse. He finds himself beneath these same clouds, somewhere deep in the dark forest of human life, bolstering with its passions, vices and perplexities of all kinds. Among the black is something glistening, something obsidian and terribly morose as spilled ink on fresh parchment. He sees Jongin, all shining in his virtuous, saint of an act. The woods disappear around them as the light, as his light touches the grand pathway. 

The light may create its careful illusion of darkness. But never the reverse. For darkness can never fathom the light. 

03. Everything about them is the same along their body. They are composed of just the same atoms, organized just the same. Everything but their hands is a perfect, paradoxical simile.

Jongin’s hands are sewn for God, closed up in a golden lace to keep him from bursting at the seams. But his own are of no constraint. He holds out his hands, fingers stretched. The sunlight bleeds through the cracks of his fingers. But his hands are his own, he is his own, with no string to play on the stage as any being’s puppet. 

They are complete foils in this tale, and it is one even God leaves unwritten. 

04. “Why are you always trying with such work to disprove God? I am solely and just, trying to show you a world you are choosing blatantly to ignore, I can –”

“Disprove? Disprove? Who the fuck proved of God’s existence in the first place, amuse of me that first before you sit me down with that book again.”

there goes jongin romanticizing his love for lord god almighty again. sometimes shin can’t help but wonder if jongin soils his pants while praising the lord in church. maybe hymns are jongin’s equivalent of moans; ‘gloria’ and ‘hallelujah’ does seem to slip pretty easily on the tongue. people use god’s name in bed; jongin makes it all appropriate and convenient for himself by just using it in church, how nice.

shin replies with a question, as he frequently does, “why do you love god then?”

it’s understandable that this is a catch twenty-two for someone as blinded as jongin. so naturally, he’s unable to see the truth that is, morality isn’t set by some higher being – morality is set by humans to ensure that the human nature of survival doesn’t supersede the survival of humans themselves. it’s a structure used to hinder the strong and shelter the weak. ( and we can all tell who is which in this equation here: jongin the hindrance and shin the shelter. )

some say what separates humans from animals are their ability to differentiate what is right and what is wrong. unfortunately, that point is itself is already wrong, so those dumbasses basically reduced themselves to animals. the human society is no different than the wildlife anyway, except thinly veiled with the pretentious man-made concept of morality. 

because if god decided what was morally good and what was morally bad, how come no other organisms other than humans follow this structure?

your god is a little unfair, isn’t he? shin wants to ask, but instead, like the devil he easily picks up on the sweet, sweet scent of god-doubting and knocks right where his foundation is slowly but surely crumbling.