#s!lo

hiding.

change.

the fact of the matter is that jinri is growing to hate change, existence screaming for a halt as each neutral second is ripped away from her.  she does not want to know lays ahead, she does not want to face the turning of tides, for parts of her believe--no, they know--she can't; that she is capable of nothing other than gasping for salty, sharp breaths or drowning.

but kind change, fake change, sporadic choice--that, she does not mind, for it provides her with distractions, which she needs.  it's her desire to get lost in them that prompts her to paint her greying world with opioid oranges and alcoholic ambers, bright and blurring, and tonight, it's what drives her to stain ink stained tresses chestnut. 

"where'd i put them, where'd you go?  boxes, oh boxes," the girl murmurs to herself, half sing-song, digging through her things, their things, as jinri isn't sure where her stuff ends and soojung's begins.  a small, "aha!" parts from her lips as she picks up the box she was looking for.  turning it over in her hands, she grins--the colour is just a nice as she remembers, the brand, one she adores--before a beige envelope catches her eye.  

'throwing' the box of dye behind her--she merely leaves it to suspend itself in midair--jinri picks up the letter gingerly, anxious fingers brushing against its surface.  for a moment, the panic that she keeps bundled under the surface leaks, blocking the breath in her throat yet leaving her mouth dry.

'to jinri' it reads, font familiar.  the mutant lacks the courage to tear open the envelope, to match a name to the writing--scared, she's scared, though she doesn't have a name for this particular monster, this fear.  she feels herself being sucked into the ebony etchings of her name, growing smaller and smaller, cold, only to jolt as her box of colouring falls to the ground.

 "dye," she mumbles dumbly.  "gotta dye."  an empty laugh.

one hand still grasping onto the letter, tightly, almost desperately, she picks up the box with the remaining hand, wandering to the washroom and going through the steps provided, leaving her hair in a bun to settle.  sinking onto the tile floor, she begins to read.

there is no one to see her face or hear her voice, yet for some reason the girl still feels the need to knot herself together, tightly, body trembling from the effort of not screaming right away, breath shuddering as she gives into sobs.  she makes the sound of a wounded animal, wounded and broken, knuckles whitening as she grasps the paper with increasing force. 

who is this letter from?  mai isn't the same anymore.  mai wouldn't even look her in the eye, the last time she saw her.  who was this letter to?  jinri isn't even sure if she knows who she is anymore, let alone if mai knew.  perhaps now she knows, that the girl she had promised to not forget is already long forgotten; perhaps her dark eyes cut right through everything when she saw jinri again, and that was why she couldn't bear to rest her gaze on the very embodiment of rot.

she slams the letter down with a sobbed shriek, swinging her limbs about as she she feels something inside her ignite.  nothing is working, nothing is the same, nothing will ever be the same, this is all wrong.  "wrong," the aerokinetic chokes,  thrashing, voice straining, "wrong, wrong, wrong!"

gripping onto the sink ledge, she pulls herself upwards, tearful gaze staring into the place where their mirror used to be.  a fist raises and strikes the emptiness, curled fingers unfurling to rest a shaking palm against the surface.

even she is not sure if the sound that rips itself from her lips is a strangled sob or a laugh.  

"th-this isn't hap-happening.  this i-isn't happening," hissed words as quivering fingers struggle to force open a medicine bottle, tearing into the childproof lock, pressing against it, stumbling, unsure and utterly ineffective.  she can't breathe, she can't breathe, she can't breathe; darting black eyes finally look up to stare at the mirror.

there was no mirror.

the girl exhales and inhales, forcing the breath in and out of her lungs, resisting the urge to manipulate it through her airways (for fear of puncturing her lungs, of destroying the traitorous structure).  focus, she needed something to focus on, anything.  as long as it wasn't the sight of the news, the truth, the red truth, the painful truth, anything.

(she had stood there, in the lounge, frozen, absolutely frozen, time spinning, head roaring, somehow able and unable to understand that the people that she drank with, that she laughed with, that she had seen, had talked to, had smiled to just weeks ago had spilt so much blood.  it's when someone asks her if she's okay that she smiles [the same way she had done for naeun, for mai, even for changmin] and murmurs a, "yes," and nearly runs out)

(that could've been me, that could've been me, that could've been me)

shaking, choi jinri is shaking so much that she can't stand and so she sinks, she sinks, she sinks, she sinks, laying on the cold bathroom floor, searching for air.  where had it gone?  the air was hers, where had it gone?  

(that could've been me, that could've been me, that could've been me)

(but it wasn't me, it was them)

(it was them)

suffocating, she's suffocating under god knows what--guilt?  fear?  fear of what?  guilt for whom?  hands clench around the bottle, squeezing until a fine line appears.  anger?  was she angry too?  why?

who was she?

what did she stand for?

(i don't know, i don't know, i don't know)

white noise.

between two ears sounded white noise.

(---ma--ybe--it's--better--not--to--know--)

it takes approximately twenty three minutes for choi jinri to gather herself up into a little package, lovely but admittedly more empty.  she leans against the bathroom cupboard, pressing capsules of varying colours pass twitching, curved lips; she wipes away at dampened cheeks.

(n----m-------d----------wh------------mu------)

clumsily getting to her feet, the girl splashes her cheeks with cold water, before opening the locked bathroom door--

(----mo--------------kil----------------------------------)

--and exiting room 101.  

everything is aflame, though she can’t see it yet; rather the heat of chaos pulsates in each and every limb and thought, and quickly, suddenly, she falls.  the world rushes past wet lashes and she faintly registers laughter, tastes the blood on her tongue, but she’s frozen and can’t stop herself from greeting the body littered, crimson stained cement down below, a sight that is sickeningly certain—what she can do, oddly, uselessly, is scream—

--but then, she wakes,  voice registering from a hiss to a squeak as she passes from sleep into wake, a shaking, sweating mess.  quivering hands clap themselves over downturned, distorted lips before the pitiful sounds escaping them can escalate into screams, and so they don’t; rather, they soften into sobs.  the girl bends over, attempting to swallow the bile that threatens to raise up as she wallows in her fear, which for the last few days, had oddly, blissfully, faded away.

like a fool, jinri had thought that had meant she was getting better.

even when she had jilted at shorthaired blonde yesterday, she had brushed it off.  she was supposed to be getting better.

even when she had to pause when looking down at the school earlier, the girl had forced out a laugh.  she was supposed to be getting better!

when the girl heaves, she curses herself for her moment of optimism.  stupid, stupid. the mutant shoves herself out of bed, letting out a small yelp as her knees buckle.  stupid, stupid.  a sob forces itself out of her mouth and she presses her right palm against her mouth with more insistence, she couldn’t wake soojung. 

jinri wouldn’t make it to the toilet, that much was obvious, and so she crawls—wincing with each movement—to the trashbin near her bed, retching as quietly as possible.  the girl clings to the receptacle as if it was all she had to keep her from sinking, and it many ways, it was; a shuddering sigh passes through her lips as she attempts to quieten herself, head resting on the edge of the bin without a second thought.  in the darkness, she quakes.

the appearance of yet another letter is greeted with a prompt sinking of the stomach and a slight fluttering of anxiety; jinri had been hoping that the letter from before would be the end of things, that she would be able to go back to stewing the giant falsity she called peace and calm without any more disturbances, without any more questions.  dully, she found herself afraid of the mere thought of digging for answers, of what she’d find. 

regardless, the mutant already assigns herself to going to magneto’s office upon reading what’s inside the envelope.  importance oozes itself off of every letter, so there’s no brushing the affair off, even as unanticipated as it was.

the teen arrives four minutes before her official appointment and so she sits, a metre and a half from the door, tracing small circles on her left armrest.  she could swear she had taken her medication—if she hadn’t, her grinding bones would feel as if they were on fire—but her heart races a mile a minute; anxious, somehow, behind the haze, fear of the unknown still manages to shake her.

annoying.  she nibbles at her lower lip, stopping at the first taste of metal.

jinri raises a bound hand to magneto’s door precisely fifteen seconds before her timeslot, finding a small bit of happiness at how exact, how perfect her arrival was (for by the time she had settled in front of magneto’s desk, she should be right on time!); precision was rare for the miserable youth, who had begun to felt like she only stumbled from one day to the next (which carried an element of truth). 

the sight of swirled amber is what catches her eye first, then the pen, and then, finally, the headmaster’s eyes.  they were all too intense and for a moment, the world seems to shake around the pair of epicentres; jinri’s gaze drops back to the pen, glass, and then floor.

another question.  she swallows, hands gathering in her lap.  no time to write it out either.  the thought draws a small amount of jarred amusement and so her lips jerk themselves into a slight simper. 

“what… i.. would do… “ her brows furrow, already finding a sense of disagreement in the words she was about to utter, “what i would do is try to talk… diplomacy is the first and best option…” the girl’s words cut off with a slight warble, for the dull aching of her tense shoulders forces her to remember what little talking had done and would do for her, for her friends, for her family.

there’s no thought more painful than the thought of losing them all; of that she’s sure, for she’s had many.

inhaling, she continues, “for diplomacy to work, it requires a willing ear and i don’t think… no, i know that a good lot don’t want to listen.  maybe they’re sad—“ like us, “—and mad.  definitely scared.  so they’re covering their ears, forgetting that the presence of mutations, as per darwin’s model would better our species, the human species as a whole… “

her next words slip out, as if by accident, in a moment of wandering ponder, “… and because of that, that maybe we’re better.” immediately, she rejects her own utterances, tongue rushing to correct the beginning of such thought. “better as allies than marks.”

realising that she’s a) made a fool of herself and b) wandered off topic, jinri strives for a conclusion the best she can, discomfort pressing itself against her with each passing second. “anyways, when diplomacy fails, you have to be ready to do anything.  hell, even if you aren’t prepared, even when you’re scared, you end up doing anything.”  dark orbs raise themselves from the carpet, resting on magneto’s face in a moment of sincerity.  “so i won’t lie, because i’m not special—i’d do anything.

even though it scares me half to death, i’d do anything.”

a few months ago, the answer would’ve been simple.

a few months ago, everything had been simple.

what do i think of humans?

the easy answer would be she didn’t, she tried her best not to, choosing to wrap herself up the best she could in a medicated haze; such was a coward’s choice but that was exactly what she was—a cowardly excuse of a person who could no longer face the world she had once looked to with the endless wonder of a child. 

but that answer wasn’t good enough, it was honest but not entirely, and so the girl leaves the paper unfolded on her bed, eyes lazily tracing the edges of the font, as if doing so enough would allow her to carve out the words and discover her answer underneath. 

eventually the girl decides to just write; the question was easier to approach from an academic standpoint, even if her pen’s ink consisted of medicines and drink.  it’s probably the worst paper she’s ever written, but when it’s done—all six, messy pages—she highlights the general idea, the most concise truth with a shaking highlighter and copies the sentence onto another sheet, quietly reading her scribbled words aloud.

“humans… have always been… a species of chaos… a species in which… acts of monstrous cruelty and miraculous kindness… would occur hand in hand… and it was with the latter… that i fell in love… that until now… i had been in love with… that i still want to love… no, there’s no—,” a teary yawn, “—room.  one sentence.  one sentence only…” she frowns and retrieves another sheet of paper.