#vainsung

The ongoing movie had started off light, seeming to have a clear cut direction and scrap of a story line. Along the way its genre appeared to have drastically changed. Symbolism and crypticism had suddenly taken over the plot, and turned it incomprehensible. Furthermore, the pictures had become disturbing, offering now material equal to horror. Insung’s eyes were glued to the screen, and his mind was slow in processing the unexpected shift from genre to another. As the girl spoke, pointing out it wasn’t fun to watch anymore, Insung noticed his own face being contorted in disgust. With a swift movement he grabbed the remote control, and outright shut the television. Toward the other he turned with a hue of smile, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows against them. “Let’s do something else.”

She had made his thoughts audible, though he would’ve chosen the adjective differently. Was this horror to her? Like war was to some, post-apocalyptic films to others? Sitting down for an entire movie was one of the horrors Insung knew, so the word ‘scary’ did hold true in a sense. “Variety?”, Insung suggested optimistically, running his fingertips lightly across the remote control’s buttons while watching her. If she was to propose another flick he’d rather choose the red button at the top, and take her out to watch the clouds instead, the sea, or just anything else worth seeing. It could’ve been cruel considering Insung had promised her a movie night, making a rare exception as a person to whom watching lengthy films was more about enduring them. Promises were promises. If she wanted to start anew with another film, it was only fair to comply.

Despite her previous words, Kina wasn’t the type to easily scare,--hasn’t felt the tingle of fear creep along the line of her spine or seep in the edges of her vision to bring tears to her eyes in the longest time. Yet she turns in her spot on the couch, gathering one of her baby twin’s famous pouts to adorn her own carefully painted lips to accentuate further. Her lashes fanned across her cheeks as she looked down in her thoughts, the bright television screen creating shadows that kiss her skin with its ever changing glow.  It was the strain that she was beginning to feel from watching the movie tugging at her eyes much like a headache, the dull pain stuffing her head with cotton.

The man’s words sent a shiver down to his toes, stopping him short. With a serious face Insung made a turn round on his heel, blinking rapidly in surprise. Indeed, his feelings were boiling inside and over the brink, the freshly received phone call stirring him to his limits. Currently, he thought he was looking collected, unaffected, in way that he often fooled people when anything was wrong. Passing strangers would trust in his smile that he’d offer, his closest friends would think the shaking of hands was of the usual restlessness. “Who are you?”, Insung asked, irritated. Being rude wasn’t normal behavior for him, but taken aback and feeling shieldless he couldn’t order himself to act nicer. 

An angry reaction was something he was expecting. He didn't expect to be congratulated or thanked in any type of way for knowing this information. He always expected fear or anger to stem from the person he decided to comment to. At one point he thought it was a random thing but then later he realized it was an automatic reaction to someone's energy that was just too strong to ignore. He had a hard time with the whole concept of keeping your mouth shut unless spoken to. That sort of thing had gotten him into trouble more times than he could truly count.