paper cranes | uc.

( 11; almost home )

' paper scent.'

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[name] doesn't remember what it was like to be happy.

her chest was burning with itchiness; she was inhaling the scent of paper that was present in the room when she woke up on her bed, early morning and at a time when the sun hadn't even risen up yet. she can feel the scent of his sketchbooks and drawings that were stuck on the walls inside her lungs before yesterday flooded through her eyes like a streak of lightning.

she pulls the blanket off of her and gazes down at her pitiful state, glancing up at mun's sleeping form on the bed that was just a story above where she sat. he looked like he was in peace; no pouts, no tears in the corners of his eyes, and no eyebrows tipped upwards as if he was deep in thought. a sleep without good dreams or nightmares: the type of sleep she longed for.

what a beautiful boy.

...and then, look at her.

a mess.

 she glanced at the clock next, noticing the number of five forty am that read. oh...school...gotta go....

she was exhausted. it was, as she got up from her bed and strolled over to the hallways to change into her school uniform, like her legs had been crumbling under the pressure, under the weight of simply being alive. she doesn't feel blood pour at her legs yet she sees it, as if threatening to drown her and pull her into a dark abyss of what was called 'death'.

she stares into the mirror and sees her reflection; and the first thing she lays her [e/c] eyes irises was on the patch on her left ear.

gone.

her bruises are healed but she feels the bruises on her soul still there, bleeding out of her body and dripping from her ear, falling to the ground.

maybe that was why blood was pooling at her legs.

to be very honest, [name] finds blood icky. she's not sure why, when blood was the very same thing that keeps her alive. blood is hard to avoid too, since the color red was considered to be a primary color and it painted her life too. blood is inside of her, it is dripping from her eyes, it is staining her hands, and it pools near her feet. blood is everywhere- blood shapes everything.

she hadn't known life without bloodshed - she could never live her life in peace because her life was shaped by blood as well, from the moment she was born until the very second she was here, breathing. it's as if she was meant to suffer, as if her blessing, and as if her curse was to just suffer, suffer, suffer. 

there was a saying [name] read once somewhere: 'every soul shall taste death'.

then why not her?

why was she alive?

why was she still breathing?

she didn't deserve to.

she didn't deserve anything.

[name] messily stumbles into the dark hallways of their hideout and grabs her bag from her shared room with mun, eyebags so heavy as if they carried the weight of the world, the weight of simply living.

she glanced at mun again, and the only thought that clicks in her bind is 'oh, he's beautiful.' 

warm ivory skin, tanned like the creamy aftermath of something sunlit and kissed by gods, unlike her who was cursed by gods. ruffled, dark brown hair curled up into small curls, split bangs, and the tips of his hair reaching to his nape; the kind of brown that reminded her of the way the trees would become dry and leave scrapes on the floor during autumn.