Another Form of Paradise ; ym

1.

Like every morning, Jimin wakes up in a cold sweat.

The terror of a night's worth of bad dreams and tossing around is still sitting deep in his bones.

It's too early for the sun to rise. The sky is dark and only a pale, thin stripe on the horizon is suggesting the impending dawn. Jimin's mother is standing by the door, her hand resting on the light switch she'd just flipped in order to wake him up. She looks ready to go to work, dressed in her usual white pants and a turquoise shirt. Her black shoes with the little flowers by the clasp are as clean as always. She makes sure to shine them regularly and wipes them down after every shift at the hospital.

Jimin rubs his eyes, sits up and leans back on his forearms, his chest heaving and sinking rapidly. He feels more drained than had he not slept at all.

"Good morning," his mother whispers gently, a warm smile on her face, "Your breakfast's on the table."

Jimin nods once. "Thanks."

Her smile turns tightlipped and her gaze rests on him for another second, just long enough for it to almost be uncomfortable, then she leaves the room and quietly closes the door behind her. A few moments pass before Jimin can hear the front door falling shut.

The bare lightbulb hanging from his ceiling swings back and forth.

He stays hidden under his blanket for another two, three seconds before he finally gets up. His mornings are insufferably repetitive and Jimin has spent too much time of his life complaining about it, but he's come to terms with it now. Quite frankly, he doesn't have the energy for it anymore and instead shuts up and does as he is told. It's much better than sleep anyway.

All the lights in the kitchen and the small living room are turned off; only a few weak, gray rays of light fall through the window. A few dust particles are floating through the air.

Jimin doesn't linger for too long, instead drags himself into the tiny bathroom. The day has hardly begun, but he already doesn't have a lot of time, so he takes a quick, cold shower and then gets dressed. His mother has prepared a bowl of oats for him. She always makes sure to take care of him in every way possible despite him being 20 already, but he gets it. They hardly see each other throughout the day and at night they're both too drained to hold a proper conversation. So, they've learned to care for each other in the small ways.

Jimin finishes his oatmeal, then he slips into his boots by the door and grabs his jacket from the garderobe.

Outside, it's cold enough for his breath to be visible. It's early March and this year's winter was tenacious. Just a week ago, half of the land was still covered in snow, and even though it's all melted now, spring is not in sight yet.

A few birds are chirping, but for the most part it's quiet as Jimin walks down the road he lives on and past all the small, sordid houses. The sky is now a pale gray, but it's still too early for most people to be awake. Like this, Boeun seems more like a ghost town than anything else, but Jimin likes the silence and the eery atmosphere. He certainly prefers it over the times when the streets are busy and crowded with people.

He hardly remembers life before the small town of Boeun. He was too young anyway, so most of it is just a blurry, incomprehensible mess in his head. The only times it comes back is at night and in the form of bad dreams and horrifying images. According to his mother, he was four when they came to Boeun, just the two of them. He never knew his father and his mother doesn't talk about him. She doesn't really talk about anything before Boeun. All Jimin knows is that they were a part of a faction far away; the Cult, as his mother likes to call them. Jimin has given up on finding out more about them a long time ago.