[ Part I - Clarity ]

Sehun hated white. It was empty and it was cold. It reminded him of his childhood, of the hospital walls and of his mother’s pained smile as she told him everything would be alright.
He could still remember the smell of the disinfectants wafting towards him as she reached over and cupped his small face with her cold hands, smiling as she did so.

“It’s alright Sehunnie, everything will be fine. I won’t be suffering for much longer”

He had been young back then, and he had smiled joyfully thinking that his mother meant she would be getting better and that she would be rid of all the pain her sickness was causing her.

Several weeks later when he had gone to visit, her room was empty and the bed freshly made. He had sat on the end of her bed, the clean white sheets crinkling as he fidgeted impatiently.
He stared at the white walls, trying to occupy himself before moving to the other side of the room to sit in the white plastic chair that sat in the corner, tapping his foot on the white linoleum floor at the same time, lost in thought. 
The white plastic clock ticked emptily from the wall above the bed, minutes drawing into hours. The thought of seeing his mother the way she had been before falling ill keeping him in place.

But his mother never came back, and later that day when he found out what had happened, he finally understood the meaning of being alone. 
                                                                                                                 . . . . .

Sehun hated white. It was searing hot and burnt the back of his eyes, leaving painful memories and scars that would never close over. It made him remember the sweet smell of lilies, of soft lace edges and large white boxes.

It was on that occasion that he saw his mother for the last time. 

She was lying in a white coffin, cold and pale, surrounded by white lilies, dressed in a simple yet elegant white dress with lace edging.
Everything was a crystal clear white and Sehun had run, throwing up in a garden bed outside. The memory burnt into his mind, causing him agony at the mere thought.
He had cried as he threw up, only to cry more when he was done, knowing all too well that he would have to go back in and face it all again. 
The white coffin, the white flowers, the white dress. Searing white that turned his mind blank.


After that day, Sehun promised himself to never cry again.

                                                                                                                 . . . . .

Sehun hated The Kim family mansion. It reminded him of everything he wanted to forget. 
He hated it because it was cold and empty, the walls were white and the floors made of perfect white marble, the sound of footsteps carrying easily.
He hated it because the light was unnatural and bright, the curtains made from white fabric edged with lace.
He hated it because in almost every room there would be a large vase, filled with lillies, their sweet smell unescapable.

Most of all, Sehun hated it because at the end of the corridor on the second floor beyond the plain white door with the silver handle, someone was lying in a bed with crisp white sheets, suffering the same way his mother had.

But even though Sehun hated it, he found himself going back every day.

Have you ever heard the term ‘history repeats itself’?