The cycle is endless: from the crimson red flowing off her wrist, to the deep hues of purple around her neck. Sometimes it gets bad, random colors swirling into her line of vision, making it harder for her to concentrate. Is this hell? She does not really know, the last time she attended church was when she was fourteen. Oh, what happened to the innocent lady she was going to grow up to?

“You used to be so happy, everyone had high hopes for you.”

“Would you believe me if it was all an act?” Joohyun sniffles a little, grabbing the bottle of whiskey, downing it all in one go. “But, hey, this is my yellow paint.”

Drugs are toxic to the brain and body, but it did not start off that way. A simple drug, compressed into a small tablet, the size of an average fingernail, ingested into the blood streams to cure a simple headache or prevent an upcoming cold. After a while, it no longer works with just one tablet, so the increase the dosage without getting the opinion of a professional, and they discovered nirvana. However, every good thing comes with a price, and so they paid the price; with their sanity.

“Van Gogh,” Joohyun starts saying, glancing to the warm eyes she used to call home, “used to eat yellow paint because he thought that was the only way he would get the happiness inside of him.”

“That’s crazy talk.” Yonghwa crouches down, sitting across Joohyun. When was the last time she combed her hair? He thought to himself, looking at the tangled mess of her once soft, luscious blonde locks.

Joohyun lets out an empty laugh, shaking her head. “If you were that unhappy, even the wildest dream could work; to initiate that spark within you. To you it may seem crazy, why would someone paint their internal organs yellow? Why would someone even think of doing something as insane as that? Then answer this, why do you smoke?”

Yonghwa touches his pocket subconsciously, feeling the rectangle box resting against his pants. “Smoking is-”

“Isn’t smoking toxic to your lungs? Don’t people die of bronchitis?”

Yonghwa finds himself tongue-tied; that is the only reason why he continues seeking Joohyun. Her mind is an abstract field which has never been further looked into.

“Everyone has their yellow paint, Yonghwa.”

“Please.” Yonghwa touches the bandages wrapped around Joohyun’s arm.

She had complained regarding sensations from beneath her skin, the ominous feeling within her veins, slithering into her blood streams. She stabbed her arm with the syringe, pushing down the plunger towards the end of the needle end of it to her layer of muscle, instead of a vein. Joohyun then used a blade, drawing blood from her arm, staining her shirt to red, when Yonghwa found her, it had almost been too late.

Yonghwa felt miserable, to say the least. It would probably had been better if he had left her to die, he would meet her at the end of the world soon enough, but no, he wanted to grow old with her, he wanted to spend time brushing the knots out of her hair when she got lazy, he wanted to cook for her while she would run after their kids.

It is stupid of him to think she would stand a chance against the drugs, against the reasons she wakes up each day because she would go insane going a minute without shot up in her veins, giving her the false sensation of euphoria. By the time her high had ended, so had her resolution of living.

By the end of the day, the reason why Joohyun had slipped away becomes his dose at a second chance in living, even if it may end badly.

[Cause of death: suicide by overdose]