chapter 1; beginning

A majority of his life is described by maybe something along the drags and the loops of scribbled lines on pieces of shredded paper. It’s like black ink that’s been turned into a more thin sort of substance, inking through blots of paper and inches of every sheet that lays on top of each other. That’s something along the vague view of it, in his own perspective, of course. Maybe it’s different for others but he thinks it’s safe to say that they’re all going through the same sort of from the current few months. He feels that everyday, more of the colors that used to be in the same world is now dying away, progressively from maybe trees of olive to the pure waters that lie in indigo to just pitch black and crimson red from all the red rusting in the water. For now though, color’s still a sane stimulus.

The classes of clouds from above lingers in something of a gray fog from pollutants of nuclear plants building up and then just collapsing like it was nothing once a word of an apocalypse was dropped from the government. Since then, the skies have never turned another pitch of colors and has just stayed as something so moodless with puffs of orange shining through whenever it’s a definite day.

In the distances, Chanyeol could hear something that sounds like a pad of percussion instruments being embedded into the quiet airs of dawn, maybe a scamper or just a mating call to signal the burns of a new day. He peers down towards the aching waters that wishes of yearned purity, where his feet lies kicking in and out and whenever his legs nerves too far, it slams back down with a silent groan. Not too much pain though, in his opinion.

Inhales the air, he does. It smells of metal that’s been rusting in crimson, shreds of rubies, and mud that’s been decomposed to a single thread of liquid running down shades of sidewalks and dripping down deceased bodies in decayment. Exhale, he follows up in the routine and it gives him something that seems more pleasant since the disgust is now gone, but remember, only for a little bit because that’s how the air is twenty-four seven.

If he was a little more prone to his surroundings and the sounds that go on from behind the fenced gates of barbed wires and electricity surging through, then he would hear the man who’s approaching him from behind, but he doesn’t, so it takes him by surprise when a hand that’s heavy is placed onto his shoulder. His first instinct is to reach over towards the other boulder that’s positioned right by the one he’s sitting on to grab a weapon and he does just that, quickly turning around and pointing the caliber at a face that’s comprised of sharp eyebrows and a frown that causes Chanyeol to shorten his lifespan by a few months.

“Put the damn thing down, Yeol,” Kris says, taking his right hand and slamming it right onto the gun, dropping it with a thud that resounds from the fences and back.

“God, you ing scared me, Kris,” Chanyeol says defiantly, his heart still running like lost souls in long wields of jungles and loneliness following in a tundra.

Kris shrugs, sitting down onto the boulder next to Chanyeol where death tolls might have rised by a casualty. Little bastard is what Kris uses to describe the giant who matches a surprising height that challenges his own. “What are you doing out here so early?” he asks, taking a time to look out into the distance where a literal red sea roams. There’s no sun in the distance and there’s no lucky shades of yellow today either.

The giant parallel to him shrugs and his eyes falter down for a second, unseen and unfazed by Kris. “Just out and thinking. It’s good to get up early for once, right?” He gives a small smile but it quickly dies as like it was the government in this ty situation.

An apprehensive raise of a brow is turned towards Chanyeol. “Okay?” Kris says, in a way that makes Chanyeol feeling too mopey and pathetic for his own decisions. “Well, what are you thinking about?”

Chanyeol probably meant to answer him but he gives a small mutter, followed by a what from Kris. “Life and our situation as it is right now,” he says, a little more louder and sterner. There are a few shades of surreal dreams in his words and it kills Kris a little bit to see his friend, ever since primary school, to be so down.

“Come on,” Kris says, raising an arm that ghosts over the bends and collars of Chanyeol’s jacket. “It’s only been a few weeks, Chanyeol. You’re gonna have to get used to this because our society’s done for. No other chances available.”

Yeol scoffs, a little too loudly. “Is this some sort of reality slap for me, Kris? Because if so, there’s a door that you can enter that leads to a group of two others that needs a bigger one.”

That hurts, definitely. Maybe not in the sort of really hitting Kris in beneath the area below Kris’ heart but more of, it hurts to see Chanyeol like this. It hurts to see his friend in a peripheral view of destruction and diseases but really, what else can he do? What he said before was the truth and there was no other way around it and no easy way out.

So he stands up, quietly to let the red-haired boy who uses a secretive amount of gel hidden underneath his bed mattress to ponder on the meanings of why and where he is now with his hands ruffled too deep within his hair.

“You might want to wrap it up though, if you are going to continue this self-reflection . Day’s gonna get bright soon, you might as well be safe with everyone else inside.”

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The sounds of blood against feet, splattering within every hit to the pavement, is audible and it’s something that’s accustomed to the ears of the runners. The gasps they nail out, and the breaths they have to endure for a few seconds before getting an opportunity to stop. It’s become a hassle, really. But it’s either that, or lose their lives, and none of them want to resort to the latter so they just continue running, dust in the rust, crimson against soles.

There’s a boy who’s running briskly, each jump just propelling him a bit further on, meters away from the Infectious and a few inches from friends. His name is Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun, and he has auburn hair, diminishing eyes and a pace that might last him for a few years.

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