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Not because it's a memorable day for Jung Wooyoung, but because it's the day where all the past souls come back to haunt him, crawl inside him and suck out all his energy, eat his organs from inside his body and spit them out, messing up everything again.
The interior that was already empty. His organs floated around, as if they were invisible, making no difference to the boy's life. Crushed like vomit inside him, they created something filthy, a chaos that tried to ease the pain he had always felt all his life, a danger made at the expense of a vital and red tenderness, once perfect, now disgusting.
Wooyoung writhes in the rotten grass. He hugs his aching belly, squeezes his chest and pushes back in with his hand as his heart beats so hard you can watch his skin stretch. In an attempt to ease the pain, Wooyoung pushes back his pounding heart, which is no good, because his long and dirty nails scratch him. He could feel bones scrape against each other, and taste blood on his tongue without actually even having it inside his mouth yet.
His eyes roll back in pain. His tears dry with agony as he feels his wings being torn out of his back, tearing as easily as his mind once did. His belly is poked by nails inside his body, his feet chewed by unrecognisable creatures. Wooyoung can hear the sound of his bones breaking, but he can't scream. At all.
Several hands cover his mouth, sticking fingers deep down into his pharynx.
Wooyoung no longer wants to be poked or bitten. Wooyoung wants to live. Wooyoung wants to be free. Wooyoung deserves much more than what he's going through right now. But Wooyoung doesn't want to deserve that. Wooyoung wants to die. Wooyoung wants to disappear. Wooyoung wants to be blown away like dust. Wooyoung doesn't want to deserve any less than he does.
His own hands break the shiny halo that was floating on top of his head. He breaks it down the middle, a knot forming in his throat along with a lump in his stomach. Wooyoung couldn't vomit, not now. He couldn't make it worse than it already is.
No, no. So he uses his damaged nails as advantage to pierce his chest, shoving his own arm in and going deep, bumping into bones inside his ribcage, finally drawing blood into his mouth and choking on the poison. The muddy fingers inside his crimson-stained mouth slide and scribble over Wooyoung, smearing him more and more with his blood. His body goes limp and he has the feeling that he could count every stained blood cell in himself.
Wooyoung pulls his arm back and brings with him a throbbing organ, vibrantly red, blinding scarlet.
His vision goes dark. The miserable silk cloth that remained around his body burns into dissolved particles, along with Wooyoung, who burns eternally, being dragged into eternal suffering, being charged for all the memories he hadn't been able to erase, for all the souls he had lost, for being useless enough to be reborn every day, every minute, every millisecond that something bad happens.
Jung Wooyoung was doomed, his fate sealed. He was never an angel, and never saw himself as one. Wooyoung was a monster. The maleficent kind. The fucking terrible kind.