장의사

Last Login:
October 26th, 2020




Gender: Male

Age: 25
Signup Date:
August 21, 2020


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10/22/2020 10:03 PM 

White Houses.

How many white houses will there be?

I’ve lost count, but it’s a dream, so it doesn’t really matter. I’ve had my eye on the one that’s lonesome, standing on the corner of the street, the dim streetlight the only thing reflecting it as it sits still and somber. I want to reach out to it, but it seems too far for my arms to stretch, so despite how emotionally exhausted I am, and how heavy my shoulders are, I drag my legs, which feel like they’re filled with lead, toward my dream home. Oh, it’s there, among many white houses. It’s painted red, like a rose, and stands out against the canvas of the dreary sky. It’s calling to me, and I come to it.

Does it really exist?

I reach the door, the golden knob cold to the touch. It feels real, but then again so does a lot of things that aren’t. I’ve learned that society and fantasy can often be misleading. Sometimes you have dreams that feel so real, you’ll remember them later and not be able to recall if it’s a memory, or a dream. Or a memory that felt like a dream, felt like it didn’t actually happen, because you were repressing it. The brain is simply confusing.

I would open the door.

It takes me a moment to adjust my eyes because the light is so bright that it’s blinding. I’ve never been in a room so bright, but when I can finally see, I’m in awe. It’s my mother. She’s sitting in the middle of the room, in a rocking chair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me. She says to me, “I’m so happy to see you here now, Sang, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” I can feel my body start to tremble. My dark eyes are watering over, I can feel a lump in my throat and an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I don’t like having these emotions, but here I am. Something about this reality keeps me on my toes.

She’s there in this reality, smiling and happy. Alive and healthy. We’re not living in a world where she has to constantly protect me. I’m protecting her. We live here, in this little red house, living among the little white houses. Together. Forever. In our new world.

10/17/2020 05:57 PM 

Demons.

“You go in, get you out, toss the little sh*t in the back and we get paid. It’s easy.”

Sang’s head rested against the glass of the van window, eyes focused on the darkened house he was sitting across from. Beside him, a man with curly brown hair, a big nose and dark eyes sat next to him, drinking from a flask, reeking of booze. His name was Colt, and somehow Sang got stuck with him on these business trips. The man was in his late 30’s and screamed scumbag. Not the typical type of person he’d be caught dead with. The Korean man narrowed his eyes at the other, expression unmoving, before looking back to the house.

Just in time.

As the door on the side of the house opened up, a child no older than 13 walked out with a bag of trash. That was the child he was coming to get, the one that the facility had been observing for a long time. The reason? The child had never had any health complications and was perfect for their studies. He was so used to just picking them up off the streets, or going to take transfers from the orphanage to the asylum… but on the rare occasion, there was a child who had a family. A child who would go missing. A child who would never see their family again.

“Are you gonna go or wait for him to go back inside and f*** this all up for us?” Colt’s voice brought him back down, Sang blinking, and staring at the man. He let out a sigh, reaching over to grab the sedative from the glove box and get out of the car. One day, he thought, one day he’d be able to burn this place to the ground. One day he’d be able to free all of the children he’d taken. For now, however, he had to live with his. He had to live with being a monster.

10/04/2020 02:14 PM 

Painted red.

There were shadows around his face.

The painter had captured his energy so well, he hadn’t even asked for this much. In line with the stoic expression he always seemed to wear, the creator had also carefully indulged in Sang’s aura. Although he wouldn’t show it, he was impressed by the detail, and would only imply that with a simple nod and a thank you. The painting was of Sang’s face, painted much like an old masterpiece, one of those photos that made you feel creeped out when you walked by it, because you thought the eyes would follow you. In the black ground, there was a darkness creeping up over his shoulder, almost forming the shape of a bow, and it seemed his torso was floating in water. It reminded him of his mother. It was scary, how accurate this description was, but the ache in his throat was swallowed and consumed as he admired the piece.

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08/22/2020 06:41 PM 

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UPDATED 10-23

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