✖「YOUNG GOD 」✖ Serial Killer!AU [COMPLETED]

11 | young god.

"Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,

And when the wind blows, the cradle will rock."

Mama's singing voice was soft in Jisung's ears, her gentle fingers smoothing out the locks of his hair. He was curled up into her side, his tiny fists, which had been clutching stubbornly at her nightgown, finally loosening as his heavy eyelids drooped. Jisung couldn't even remember what nightmare he had been having before he had cried out involuntarily and woken his mother, the warm embrace that followed immediately soothing the tightness in his chest and drying the tears on his cheeks.

Mama was always so warm. Mama was home, and Mama was safe.

This was the earliest memory Jisung could remember — every time something triggered all the flashbacks, the nightmares, he would always find himself back here — in this memory, in Mama's arms, everything growing less and less clear every time. It was like wading through muddy waters, a thickening shroud of fog, as if his memories had become a frayed photograph — blurred at the corners and fading out of focus.

Eventually, he had stopped trying to remember altogether, and the lullaby became nothing more than white noise ringing in the back of his mind.

━━━━━━━━

"Well, aren't you going to open it?"

The box was wrapped in gold paper, complete with a red bow and ribbon. Covered in little Santa Clauses and Christmas tree patterns, it was small, but weighted enough to make Jisung's arms slightly sore from holding it. Father would have called him weak had he said anything, so Jisung bit his lip and sucked it up.

"Man up, boy," he would bark, delivering a slap to the side of Jisung's head that was hard enough to make his eyes water. "Don't tell me I raised a little girl?"

Mama would tell him not to mind his words.

Father was watching him now, leaned back on the couch. Maybe there was a glint of impatience in his eyes, but Jisung didn't notice it as he slowly undid the bow, fingers barely touching the paper for fear of ripping it as he unwrapped it. He never got gifts on his birthday — in fact, Father didn't even seem to remember the date at all, and Mama never had the money to buy him anything. Christmas, though, was easier to remember.

The fluttering paper fell away to reveal a black box, and when Jisung lifted the lid it something shiny — metal? — caught his eye.

"Cost me a damn fortune. Old geezer down at Young Wings gave me a load o' shit..."

Mama glanced over at his father, a hand hovering above his arm before withdrawing it timidly. Jisung's attention was still fixed on the present — it was a camcorder, and brand new; the polished silver metal winked at him, and Jisung pulled it out with wide eyes. He flipped open the screen, fingers fumbling with the power button. The red recording light blinked at him like a rabbit's eye. Grinning, Jisung held it up to his parents, smile not faltering despite Father's disinterested eyes and Mama's tense features.

Mama smiled into the lens. "Merry Christmas, 'sungie." Jisung turned away, too fascinated with the present to notice how the smile never quite reached her eyes.

They didn't celebrate any more Christmases after that.

━━━━━━━━

"February 22nd, 2005." Jisung cocked his head, squinting at the viewfinder as it came into focus. "Yes! That's what I'm talkin' about." His tongue ran over the gap where one front tooth used to be — he'd lost his first tooth a couple days ago, but he could swear the strange, metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. He scrunched up his face. Blood didn't taste good; he decided he wanted as little to do with it as possible.