#ecstasinx

Your character has found mine’s journal/diary. Send ★ for an entry my character has written about yours.

April 12, 2014Café Alver, Gangnam,Seoul

 I hate the rain. I honestly do. Should I elaborate reasons why I do? I don’t think I can. Thinking about it, there isn’t any certain reason reason why I don’t like it so much? A bad memory? Perhaps. But I just don’t like it. It changes my mood. Always does. Faster than how alcohol intoxicates my senses.The roads are damp, The wooden chairs and tables outside are wet so I have no choice but to stay here indoors. The view outside is much nicer, I would’ve appreciated this cup of latte better than here. And maybe I could have written more sensible things in this journal. But I just need an excuse to stay longer. 

Send a ☂ for a sad story; April 14th, 2005.

Everything had become nothing but a haze, stained by darkened spots and he had no clue as to what was going on; wasn’t aware of what he had done just yet and barely kept track of motions of other’s, of how he was being moved without actually moving himself. Neither had he taken notion of the scrapes decorating his frail skin, how his milky pallor has been stained with red, decorated by small gaping wounds.  He wasn’t aware but he should be. He should be able to make out everything that’s being said but he can’t and it wasn’t until then, when he saw unfamiliar lips move that he knew something had gone terribly wrong.  Most likely more than one thing. Lights faded, there was darkness and there was silence. Then there was light, but still no sound and slowly, panic crept up on his shoulders, ate away at him, burned him from the inside and he squirmed, tried to sit up now when he had realized he was lying down, only to be held back by strong arms of yet another stranger.

They spoke but gained no response, all he could do was to flutter his eyelids for them, squinting and parting his lips to speak but for all he knew there wasn’t a single sound leaving him, when in reality he was releasing a silent groan. It made everyone stop, as if time had frozen and they had suddenly became picks of ice. It only lasted for the shortest of moments before they moved again, seemingly a lot more stressed this time over and soon he was on the move again. Flying and falling as time went past, as pain started to radiate from the back of his head as well as his wrist, shoulder and lower back. What the hell had he done? He wondered by now, as he slowly came to properly, as senses returned and he was able to grasp bits and pieces of reality. But with realization came the real ounces of fear and it made his entire frame shake, made him want to call for help but it was as if his throat was dry, vocal chords tangled and he could only wheeze, wheeze for the help he considered himself needing.  

Rosy cheeks were damp, corners of his eyes decorated by small translucent droplets of lost hopes, dreams and prayers.  Because he remembered now. Every single thing, every image was as clear in his mind as it would have been on the screen of a cinema and it made his chest tighten, had him gasping for air. It wasn’t the pain, wasn’t the sobbing that made ache rack through his entire frame. It was different, it was the knowledge of loss that made him like this. He had fallen, he knew he had. One step and it had been gone, ground below him had ceased and he had been in the air for a few seconds before he had collided with something rough and everything had turned black; thick. Warmth had spread below him, chill creeping up his legs as fingertips grew numb and eyelids heavy. Stairs. He remembered stairs and that remained to be his explanation. The rest was still enveloped in thick hazy mists, blankets shielding him from what he was unable to handle.  

A soft breeze ruffled his hair, the scent of summer filling his nostrils as eyelids grew heavy once again, weariness creeping up on him and it was terrifying but he was too weak-willed to fight against it. Thus embraced by weakness and the common ill will of his body and its senses he let his eyes close, let himself relax, go limp in the arms of another, someone unfamiliar. Judging by the way his limbs were tugged at, this wasn’t what anyone wanted him to do, wasn’t what he was supposed to do, but it didn’t matter. He’d just sleep, he’d wake up again. Soon.  

Generated Number: 2

My muse is curled in a ball on the ground, screaming in pain and calling out for help. Your muse comes to the rescue.

No more.

Please —

I’m sorry 

Have you watched as the one you cared for died? It doesn’t even have to be at such a level. Have you watched as the one you loved departed? It hurts, doesn’t it? Imagine this longing and nostalgia piercing the heart over and over again. Imagine it multiply itself by impossible factors.

No one can contain the pain.

Please —

Smiles, laughter, blood and tears ebbed through his system. The more smiles he saw, the louder the screams became. He died in too many worlds. Yongguk was forced to relive the pain too many times.

Would it ever stop?

Yongguk is alone. He’s curled up and screaming, begging to forget everything. The silence echoes his pain, emulating it to ghostly moans. He deserves to be alone, after the amount of times he forced a single life to face death. All he wanted to do was take care of everything, to solve all the problems. He went to ‘fix’ the problem over and over again. He refused to believe and accept this death.

After thousands of failures, Yongguk had tried to forget everything about this death. And now, all the images had returned. All the chocking horror had returned to steal him of his very last breath. He cried, punched and whimpered for it to lock itself back up.

These memories.

He tried to laugh away the existence. At first. He tried to forget. At first. Of course, seeing his current pain, it hadn’t worked. And so he screamed. Screamed for it to just end. Not only was this tearing at his ghost, but it was breaking him on a physical level.

Yongguk could barely stand.

Curled into this pathetic ball, a weary piece of humanity, Yongguk is lost. And he deserves this — he knows. All he wants is for this to end. If an ending meant his death, then so be it. If an ending meant screaming till there was nothing left to scream, then so be it. If he were to live through these deaths instead of watching them pass, then let him die. At least then, he could be at rest.

Just as another smiles, so sweet and pure, flickers across his mind, his voice is back. His voice is back to its low, broken tone, crying for darkness.

No more

He throws his fists onto the ground before they open to dig his nails into the carpet. It isn’t blank or pained expressions that push another nail into his heart — it is the smiles and joy that used to come before such expressions that did.  

“Yongguk?” 

A voice break through the hoarse screams. It does not reach anything though. Alas, the screams continue, bringing a shudder towards the approaching figure. 

Make it stop.

Footsteps hasten as a figure approaches Yongguk. Without any question, the figure’s arms are wrapped around him, holding him tightly in hopes of warding off these memories.

“They’re all just memories. They’re all elsewhere — not here. You’re alive. He is alive. I’m alive. Everything —”  Yongguk rises from his foetal position to clutch at the figures shirt. He couldn’t care for who it was. Humans can’t survive in loneliness.

Taemin doesn’t need questions, answers or tears to tell him what is wrong. He has seen enough of Yongguk, seen enough death himself, to understand this pain. Yongguk is only human.

[ i might've just squeaked a little