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yeozus · 7 years

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✞ TROUBLE. ( SELF PARA! )

the moment the morning sun rises, the wolf carries himself to the vacant room that had always been set aside for the matriarch of the house. at the first threads of sunlight, weaving away the darkness of night and offering the warmth of a promising morning, he lights a match while crossing the hall and entering the serenity of the undisturbed vicinity. positioned thoughtfully betwixt two lavender candles is the only photo he’d managed to save of his mother. after the forceful removal of what was left of his family from their tiny home in the woods, and in light of the events of the facility where they had been trafficked and essentially robbed of whatever sanity and dignity their parents had worked so diligently to instill in them, not much had remained of their precious home. it could only survive in their memory - though a number of years ago, his elder sister had gifted him with the one thing that remained of the now abandoned cottage. His mother’s visage, elegantly photographed by someone who couldn’t be any more than a fragment of a memory by now - though she was a hardworking & modest woman, she paid a considerable amount of mind to her appearance - hunter often liked to think his aesthete tendencies had come from watching his mother, and how diligent and careful she was with everything in her life. she had a motherly and commanding appearance, but she loved all things beautiful, and embodied that same beauty in a spirit that’s radiance would cause her skin to glow in the eyes of an appreciative onlooker.

even now, as hunter looks at this photo of her - a photo he had seen so many times, remembers the very day it was taken, though surely he had been remarkably young at that point in history - he is captured by her beauty. perhaps it is bias because she is his mother - the woman that sacrificed everything without question nor complaint if he would benefit - the woman that gave him everything. how could a person of that caliber be any less than breaktaking ?

if only he had ever been the son she deserved.

before the match burns too short, he lights the pair of candles, and adjusts the ribbons of lavenders and alliums crowning her regal cranium. she’d always loved those flowers, as well as the hue that defined them - though wolves often struggled to see blue-based colors in their “true” forms, his matriarch never allowed it to hinder her appreciation of everything the world had to offer her. and her youngest son followed so closely behind her delicate footsteps - despite her lack of height, her gentle demeanor- she exemplified the perfect balance between a warrior and a mother. her gentleness never diminished in whatever prowess she developed as a fighter, and hunter still retains the childish wonder of how she’d managed this in her lifetime. perhaps, one day he’ll be able to ask her properly.

❛ hey, umma, ❜ he says in what might have been the softest tone such an audacious spirit could muster. his lips purse as he focuses on her serene face.how had this happened ? she should be standing here - if not beside him, then without him. his shoulders start to tremble as he blows out the match, and briefly he feels a caring hand on his shoulder.

❛ be careful with that, sanyeon, ❜ she warns, sternly, though a smile frames the remainder of her features in the way it always had, whenever daeyeon would smile. ❛ fire can be very dangerous, if you aren’t. what are you doing with that, anyway ? ❜

❛ i - i was tryin’ t’ light this candle ... ❜ the boy mumbles, head falling between his dainty little shoulders.

❛ aish, little one - it’s the middle of the day. you’re up to somethin’, aren’t you ? come on, don’t lie to your mother. ❜ though she knew he would, anyway.

his mother disappears and he’s left alone in her room, again. he presses his lips together, swallowing his whimpers as he disposes of the burnt out match. no longer is he a little boy - though often does he wish he could be, again. maybe if he had been a better son to her, things would be different. he wouldn’t have to live without her.

his eyes lift again, and he finds hers. the photo is monochromatic, but he knows his eyes are just like hers. he remembers this in vividity, the way his mother used to look at him. there was so much love in her eyes, like she regarded the finest sense of promise in all the world. like she believed he could handle whatever the world threw at him. he wishes he could have been that child she prayed for - the child she wanted, deserved. but all he could ever do was give her gray hairs. up until the last glimpse he got of her, the moment an aggressive flash and an earth shaking crack sounded through the woods, and she laid still upon the bed of crimsoning february snow.

it was twenty-one years beyond a century that this had happened. and he recalls it as though it had been an hour ago.

her face becomes blurry, just like his memories of her. he remembers less and less of her every day - if it weren’t for this portrait, he may not even recall what she looked like. But his heart remembers every fiber that was her being, every loving word she’d ever muttered to him before lulling him to sleep, every time she’d promised how proud of him she was, every time she appreciated a crown or necklace of flowers he’d made for her, or complimented his artwork. this could have been different.

❛ umma ... ❜ he whispers, breath stolen by the tears that obstruct his otherwise flawless eyesight. he feels like a pup again, like he did the day his mother died trying to save him. and it was hardly for anything, for the conspiracies that had been belittled as nothing soon came to be true, and the extermination of their species had been underway. but they’d made it out - she could have been there. she could be here, right now. ❛ why did you do this ? why didn’t … why didn’t you run with us ?! you ... y’ could’a lived … didn’t you think about us, umma ? didn’t you think about how much we … how much we would need you ... ❜

he could remember watching the life drain out of her face. as his sister ran him back to their cabin, as their mother’s screams prompting her to take him to safety reverberated so strongly that the avians perched thoughtlessly in the trees were startled, and sought quieter refuge. ❛ we still need you. i need you ... ❜ his tone has reduced to weakened shambles, quivering like a wind-stirred leaf after the second equinox. ❛ all i ever did was cause you trouble, up ‘til the day you died … even now. all i do is cause you trouble. I’m sorry, umma. please come back so i can - so i can tell you … that i’m sorry ... ❜

she gave up all that she had, including her life, so that he could have his. and what did she see when she looked down on him from the afterlife, where she was free of her suffering? a wolf in sheep’s clothing - her son living a lie. an alcoholic, a lustful and seductive bastard. an imperfect brat, a fearless leader to others but a coward when it comes to the depth of his own ailments. what did she give up her life for ?

it was as though, in that moment, none of his accomplishments were good enough. none of them could equate to his mother’s life, and none of them could bring her back.

but to hell if he’d stop trying to make her sacrifice worth something.

❛ aigo, sanyeon. you’re so stubborn, just like your father. ❜

#✞ ( // spilledink *. )#( jdjffdkjdk i feel like this is crappy but o well )

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