KojemalThe last thing that Song says before Sun-Hee leaves home isn't anything spectacular. It's just--he's packing, and she sort of slides into his room and sits on his bed, curls in on herself, and watches. Sun-Hee hates that, hates that she watches him; it feels like he's breaking some critical, vital part of their family.Kojemal by SkylineProphet
Halfway through packing, Song speaks up. "You're coming back, right, oppa?" she asks, resting her chin on her knees and watching him.
The problem with kids is that they know exactly how to break your heart with just one sentence. Sun-Hee folds a shirt very precisely, just to give himself a moment to compose himself. Finally he turns to face her.
"I don't know," he says, because it's sort of honest, and because he can't tell his younger sister that he'll probably never see her again.
Song looks mournful in a way that a four-year-old should never have to look. "But you love us, right?"
"Of course." It comes out a little more forceful than he intends, so Sun-Hee corrects hi
MalakMalak are creatures of divine starlight fit into the space between atoms. They are meant to be the mouthpieces of God-- a bridge between the terrible, ungraspable greatness of the Creator and the stumbling, fragile things that are humanity. And even then, they have to bend and fracture themselves so as not to shatter eardrums, burn eyes white and unseeing. They carry obliteration on the beating of their wings, and the touch of them is holy fire, ever burning. Simply put, they are //more//.Malak by SkylineProphet
When Uza was first made to walk among men, he promptly dropped to his knees, every new atom of his stunted form screaming with the effort of keeping his vastness contained. He cried out and clawed at his new flesh in an attempt to feel divine again.
//You’re not very good at this, kinsman,// Gavri’l would say later, his hands slick with scales and cold blood as he dug out the fish’s innards, and Uza looked away, bile rising in his throat.
//This is not what I am//, he told the earth
ChildhoodShe called him "child." She held him close to her breast, pressed her cheek against the top of his head; she crooned in her mother tongue that echoed familiarly within his ears and let her fingers comb slowly through his hair, and she called him a fucking childChildhood by SkylineProphet
But he had never been a child. Never. Never.
Children were not supposed to root through garbage bins for their nightly supper. Children were not supposed to be pressed down against silk and satin sheets, and children were not supposed to be forced to part their legs in anticipation of being violated irreparably. There were some damages that could never be healed.
Children were not supposed to stare into the mirror and wonder why their gaze looked so empty.
Children were not supposed to
Children were not
He was not a child.
○ ABOUT! SkylineProphet ; ●●●●●●●●
( » n a m e ) Kai
( » a g e ) 22
( » o c c u p a t i o n ) College Student (Major in Early Childhood, Minor in Psychology) / Assistant Preschool Teacher
( » f i n d_m e in ) Coffee shops, lounges, random parking lots.
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