#vldtask

[jiyongvld]

                                                  ❝  how do you forgive the man who                                                               slashed your wings                                                       with the sword you gifted him ?

                                                            the gods chased us                                                             from their heavens,                                                          banished at the source. ❞

word count: 557 what: jiyong gives himself a haircut as a reminder that he has been freed — specifically from the family that pushed him away, and evidently towards where he is now. trigger warnings: (mention of) death, mention of blood

To look a devil in the eyes was to admit that Hell was real.

Stuck, twisted in the lies and woes and faltering smiles — slipping memories that painted a past colored in disagreement and disdain, of disappointment and disapproval that rose its head like a cobra prepared to strike. Slick with venom, its fangs would meet his flesh, injecting the very poisons he had worked his entire adult life to craft the anti-venom for, the antidote that still slipped through his fingers and out of reach.

Hate was a bitter bitch with a crooked smile and lazy eye that only kept watch on his wrongdoings, seemingly unable to turn Her gaze towards the successes that now outweighed the unsightly scar in his side. The wound was true, a physical reminder that he had given a part of himself to someone else, only to have it fail him — to reject its sole purpose in this world.

Death was a cruel mistress, cloaked in black and hiding around each corner, just a fingertip’s brush away the closer he drew. She was quick, spry even despite having been around since the beginning of time. She took what She wanted, and wanted what She took. They said She was at least careful with those She claimed, keeping them close and warm... but with the blood no longer in their veins, from where did their warmth generate?

It was these two sister — bound and bonded in mutual understanding — that he found his way forward. Family — some forgotten, some frozen six feet under — was all he had to thank for where he now found himself, a wavering smile as he’d bowed to the producers in the studio earlier that day. Without the familial burning of disrespect and writhing disdain, he would have never been pushed to leave home, to hack into medical records, to travel to Seoul in search of a life better than the one he had attempted to (quite literally) carve out for himself.

Knuckles white with lack of blood flow as he clutches a pair of scissors, dark, endless eyes staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. It was too early, too late to think of these things, to surrender himself to the fact that he was a ship on a river, forever destined to drift alone...

And so alone he would drift — snip forever patching the holes in his hull — snip keeping his heart and soul safe — snip from restless waters and sempiternal darks — snip Alone. Together.

Bleach out the bad, strike out the gray matters.

Be bold, be reborn, be blessed, be possessed.

Remember to dance, remember to thank, remember to bow once — now once more; lower this time.

Remember: You’re thankful.

Thankful to be here, to be aware, to hold the scissors in your hands, to reclaim your own body, your own mind, your own soul.

Remember who sent you here: A father who never truly loved, a mother who never understood how, a sister who turned her back on you, a brother who left before he wished.

Remember... this isn’t permanent.

This state of mind, the bleach in your hair, the dye on your hands.

It’ll sting, but soon you’ll be just fine.

And that scar on your side?

Remember who sent you here.