#press:start

skin so black that it burned like onyx etched on flesh, waves of bright, red hair spilling down her back and a glint of fire in her eyes moulted the surreal likeness of a woman who was not of this realm. the image was not meant for his eyes, the demonic glare spiralling hefty shudders down his spine. a fear alike a meal he could not digest lingered in his stomach, throat tightly caught in a choking knot. 

unworthy. strange echoes resounded somewhere in the distance, their spectral glimpses hardly reaching him.

he knew it was no nightmare, not when the clock started ticking, pulling raw matter backwards, stretching it until jae was plunged back in time, a tired guitarist stiffly striding the alley back home. involuntarily, his eyes fell on his wristwatch, only to be met with the overflown sleeve of his sweater, hiding nothing but his thin, bony wrist. “an hour.” or two, echoed the uncertain voice in his head, a traumatised jae unable to accurately pinpoint any event at its rightful time right now.

for once, he was grateful to have been blighted with this peculiar ability. it hurled him back to safety when he needed most, even if, at that time, he was unaware that it resided within him regardless and that it would activate when a nearby life was threatened. it seemed that the endangered life was much closer to him than he had expected; a familiar existence he knew all too well, alike a book he had read countless times, that he could perfectly recite a paragraph before his eyes could even reach it. his own life.

“an hour. or two.” the uncertain voice gained an existence, ghastly leaving a dry feeling on his tongue. the woman would soon take shape in the distance, lazily strolling to greet him with a warm smile. his friend. but instead of the chummy demeanour he was so used to, he could only see the monstrous abomination parched on his retina.

“i’m not stupid,” he hissed. the sight of the bloodied face disgusted him, but it had been his fists which butchered the boy until his nose broke. he deserved it, he tried to convince himself in vain, until the black brother roared through the curious crowd and separated them.

the sun gleamed above, wistfully announcing the last months of summer. stubbornly, he refused to move from his place, pained fists still clenched tightly, the flow of warm blood unable to reach the tip of his fingers. the wall. shudders fell heavily down his arms and his spine, hot tears welling up at his eyes, but before they could flow down, he wiped them away with the sleeve of his ragged shirt. just a boy of sixteen, dumbly caught stealing bread from a merchant in the flea bottom and the choice he had to make had been painful --- his hands or the black. resentfully, he thought how he had never even been with a girl. he didn’t know why his mind ran there however; the warmth of a woman had been unknown to him. too scrawny, too dirty, and too poor for even the lowest of whores.

the pack of boys and men trudged forward, towards the far north, and he had to go with them, pledge his life to the night’s watch, pelt himself in black and go beyond the wall to be killed by a blood-thirsty wildling. maybe, after all, having his hands cut off wouldn’t have been so bad. if they had been useful, he would have successfully acquired his meal for that day. turning on his heels, alike a stubborn mule, he paced at the back of the line, head lowered to the ground, with fingers anxiously peeling the skin around his muddy nails. the collision came too suddenly for him to react, although as skinny as he was, he was barely knocked away. narrow-shouldered, plump of lips and with smiling eyes, the smaller boy almost fell down because of jae’s clumsiness.

“watch where you’re going!” the glint of confidence was noticeable; always in front of the weak. “i’ve beaten that boy, and i can beat you too if you don’t move. do you hear me?” he spat, fighting the urge to grab the tiny boy by its collar and land a punch in his stomach.

the sky is no two days the same. 

the bench is unchanged however, with scraped green painting and slivers of wood preying on a hand wrongly-placed, coated by the tired branches of an oak tree. flat sounds of coins dropping into the bag of his guitar catch his attention for a fleeting second. the same silhouette, swallowed by a different colour each evening, traipses the alley towards an horizon smeared in light. who the hell is she.

the first coin came unexpectedly, misguidedly flipped that it hit his shoes first before tumbling into the guitar case, shiny and silvery. after the sun has extinguished its flames beyond the outline of the hills, he’s packing his things, guitar notes vaguely scribbled on a store receipt and crumbled into the pocket of his jacket. it’s time his band made a return--- it’s time he stops hoping that the girl he loves will call him. there’s plenty to be done this new spring; netting his heart behind a fragile wall, there’s few remnants of patience left in him for the outside world.

the second coin was shocking--- it landed perfectly in the middle, requiring only a moment for his jumbled thoughts to somewhat settle in their place. it must be a joke, but as soon as he’s lifting his eyes, once again he catches just the image of her back, the contour of her body erased by the increasing crowd strolling the park. the store receipt has been replaced by a white sheet of paper plied in half, english words--- blood, fight, night --- plucked out of his tired mind and thrown into meaningless, violent phrases. this song is becoming personal, but it’s gaining shape.

even the third coin has found its way into the case of his guitar, despite jae’s futile attempts of keeping it covered under the bench and behind his long legs. irritated, he gives up on playing for tonight, zipping the instrument into the black bag and pulling out his tangled earphones instead. he’s not going to deal with this today, but he can already imagine her, flying like a dove through groups of people and disappearing before he could even muster a reaction.

stress and work is what he deals with--- it’s been days, but he has caught up on her intentions. it must be the washed-out jacket, dirty sneakers, untrimmed, messy hair and the constant company of his guitar, falsely painting him to be the type of artist he isn’t. and the coins have kept coming these past days, always from the same person.

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ev1j7flu-g)

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Np5LbarCJOw)