ˡᵉᵗᵗᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ

ONE

THE STORY OF AN HOUR
(JUNGKOOK)

ONE OF THE MOST DAUNTING STORY was of the salem witch trials, the crucible, by arthur miller. it tells the tale of a tragical, yet - almost - intoxicating event in history, where accusations fly and doubts whirl the minds of greedy townsmen. jungkook is fond of such stories, as he, a runaway, desired a coup d'état. yet insatiable, more or less, illustrates his character. he wanted everything despite that it was simply impossible for him to have anything. it may not seem fair. well, nothing is fair.
jungkook's story began at 1 a.m, below a - presumably - starry sky (nowadays, it is hard to tell if stars exist when streetlights and the illumination of small windows from office buildings miles away is all we see). as mentioned previously, he is a runaway. a runaway from a place he knew well, a place where he felt the light and warmth of his mother's embrace, and a place where his father's words sounded like the psalm rehearsed every sunday morning. it is a good place. nevertheless, he turned to a better place, a place where the devil lurks behind alleys and on the stained beds, a place where teens utter silly laughs with a cigarette dangling between their swollen lips. that's the courtesy of the devil, it brings them closer to heaven.
    so he sat by the outskirt of the city, head in the clouds, lighting a cigarette. his eyes drowned in flame for a split second, before it faded into the shape of the moon. "it's often our curiosity behind the utmost sins and temptations," a voice started, "y'know, i've seen everything but what's behind my eyes. perhaps i will see my soul!" jungkook never in his life, has heard of something as uncanny as this - but he likes it. perhaps it was the sound of her voice, or the faint, unfamiliar smell of lavender that made his head turn. he isn't like this; he never quite enjoyed meddling with other people's life as he is always in a dream of his own.
    first thing was obvious, she isn't stunning, yet she brings a stunning presence. the black under her eyes, the moles on her left cheek, the chapped lips, and the hair that grows just below her ears, does not belong to a beautiful girl. beautiful girls only exist in beautiful stories, and this story is cursed by a forlorn hag whose heart she sewed herself. "nice view, eh?" the girl asked, in a tone equivalent to boredom."so what brings you here - to this barren hill, amid tall buildings and busy bars?"
    "sleepless nights," jungkook replied.
    "oh! they're an old friend of mine." it may be. florence - the girl's name - grew up blossoming with joy, brimming with energy. she is the sun over an open field, the wind that moves water. her wild spirit soon evanesced along with her father's pulse. she was always her father's child, and no one came between them. but of course, fate slipped through the cracks of their fingers and conjoined palms that bear a puddle of sweat. now, at 19 years old, she wish she could tell her 13 year old self that everything is okay - it's better, is what she meant. now and then, she recalls the rosewood piano in her living room occupied by her father, who delicately waltzes over the keys. gymnopédie no. 1 by erik satie, was his song. he tells her that gymnopédie came from the word gymnopaedia, which was an annual festival where young men danced naked. she remember laughing at this, unbeknownst to the painful, sad, and grave melodies that this funny name bears. this thought always made her bittersweet.
    "why?" he asked. jungkook shouldn't have - he made the poor girl cry! "my apologies."
    "quite frankly, i don't know."
    "life's shitty."
    "yeah."
    they laughed bitterly. it's one of those days where time lasted just a tad bit longer. even through storms and hurricane, jungkook and florence found each other on a summer night, at 1:06 a.m.
    "have you ever felt empty?" this was a question that was never intended to be spoken. somehow, they both knew the answer - why else would they be here if it wasn't for the vacant space in their chest.
    "yeah," jungkook replied. "lost." he's 19, on the brink of adulthood, yet he is unsure. he's a dropout, a drug addict, a drinker, and one heck of a child. it wasn't supposed to be like this. his parents were so proud when they heard that their little boy was gifted, so they made him skip a grade or two. he lost his youth to a much bigger dream - though it wasn't his dream.
    writers in the dark like to describe the spirit of the moon, the light that traces the terrain softly, and the grey overlay of night - romanticizing each minuscule of a moment, unwinding the thin threads of mundane culture. nights are emotional times, where darkness is brighter than morning thoughts. nights are lustful times, where the floors creak and breaths heave. nights like these, more remarkable still, are like the lingering smell of sweet and spice in a baker's kitchen or the memory of silk lacing the tip of the finger. 'everything stays, but it still changes'.
    he's a pretty boy - florence had to admit. he's the muse of a drunk poet, rose-like and sad. his low hums were soft to the ear, and for a moment, she felt like she's in utopia.
    "let's go to a better place. somewhere better than this hill," florence said.
    "sure." jungkook didn't ask where. wherever it was, whatever it was, as long as it's with her, he was okay.
    it was 1:28 a.m. florence took him to the sea. she took him to the only place she remembers of this godforsaken place. 13 year old florence would be happy, she really would. now, not so much.
"why here?" jungkook asked.
    "it's beautiful. i can hear my father's chuckles echoing along with the waves. strange."
    "this must be special."
    "mhm," she paused. "aren't we just pathetic?"
    "what do you mean?"
    "look at us! how depressing!" jungkook laughed at her sarcasm - although it was true. two sad teens sitting by the sea was almost a comical sight.
    they laid down and jungkook closed his eyes. he was tired. so tired. florence thought he looked like an angel, and she loved him - she was sure of it. (love at first sight must've sound ridiculous! they don't even know each other's name!)
    "hey, y'there?" jungkook mumbled a 'yeah'. "i want to leave this world," she said as she look to the horizon that separates the sea and the sky. "how would you do that?"
    "dying? i'm too afraid to live. y'know, i was going to die today anyways. i'm so glad i met you. thank you, love. hey, what's your name?"
    "jeon jungkook."
    "hi jungkook, it was nice meeting you. my name is florence. one day, let us meet again, maybe at a coffee shop, or under the eiffel tower, or maybe, on that same barren hill. and maybe, just maybe, we will even fall in love."

seconds of bewilderment, disbelief, and pain followed her words.

then, minutes of gasping air, cries, and howls serenaded like a broken record.

and atlas! their souls sunk below the surface of the waves.

jungkook and florence's story ended at 2 a.m. the world was still at peace, the sun risen, and the larks sang at the break of day. might i add, this was a happy ending. the star-crossed lover died of euphoria. may they meet in their next life. a life where authors are merciful and compassionate, where stories are much longer than a pitiful hour.

NOTE. this is really bad , IM SRYJSKAKS