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ㅡFOUR YEARS EARLIER. " i become insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. "
the boy sits perfectly still. his plate of food his mother had so courteously prepared for him that evening was untouched. his hands still lay by his sides, absentmindedly swinging with the rhythm of the clock's tick.
"yoongi, you have to eat eventually." the woman says, a concerned expression on her round face. we can't blame her, can we? any mother would be worried if their exceedingly-thin son hadn't eaten in three days.
"no, i don't." he replies, his dark brown eyes still not leaving the edge of the baby blue plate. the woman, his mother, sighs, placing one hand on the corner of the table and the other on her temple.
"come on, yoongi. work with me here." she sighed, even though her plan was going better than expected. she had gotten him out of his room, there was that. she managed to sit him at the table without any arguments. problems began arising, though, like subtle smoke, when she sat down the plate of a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of cool milk.
the boy doesn't respond, though, knowing it won't do anything to put a halt to his mother's efforts. he sighs, and removes his hands from his sides, before landing them on the bread.
the taste, to say the least, is horrid. though he never particularly enjoyed food in the first place, this was just disgusting. the bread squished under his teeth and the peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth with a firm grip, only to be later washed away with the milk.
he sat back after finishing three bites of the sandwich and four swigs of the milk and frowned. he didn't think he'd be able to eat at all, let alone that much.
"see! progress!" his mother beamed from the edge of the kitchen, her heels clacking against the tiles as she made her way towards the boy. she grabbed the plate and milk, tossing the remainders of the sandwich into the trash and pouring the milk in the sink, knowing her son was well over finished with the meal.
"it's strange, isn't it?" the boy whispers quietly. the mother turns, shocked her son said four whole words. she finds his eyes fixated on the window behind her.
"what?" she questions, hoping a conversation is bound to ensue. the boy tilts his head to the side, observing.
"autumn, i mean. it's so beautiful, but everything is dying." the mother stops cleaning out the glass. "the leaves, the trees, the plants."
he continues. "i just find it funny how right before the trees die is when they're the most beautiful."
he doesn't say another word, just abruptly stands up and pushes in his chair, trailing up the stairs to his room. his mother is left, shocked, speechless. she looks out the window her son was peering at and glances over an appealing tree. like a bonfire of leaves, all bold reds and oranges, a few yellows and greens. they will be slowly pried from the branches by the wind, and eventually will fall to the ground.
