?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Fanfic: Runner's Dream


Title: Runner’s Dream

Pairing: Shindong centric

Rating: PG

Genre: Angst

Warning: None that I can think of.

Disclaimer: He isn’t mine and this isn’t real. All made up.

Summary: When your passion dies, so do you.

Author’s Note: My 28th entry for the challenge. Prompt 032 Rose Shindong/Shindong.

 

 

                Running had always given him a sense of freedom. He’d run through the streets of Seoul in the hour right before the sun would rise. An occasional car would drive by. Workers were just entering their stores so they’d be ready for the day. The city wouldn’t be awake yet and all he could hear was his feet hitting the ground and his heavy breathing.

                Running allowed him to empty his mind and just concentrate on going further and further each day. When he reached his limit he would jog back home and hit the shower before heading to work. Feeling refreshed he was ready to take the day on with a smile. And the next morning he would go again.

                Running had shown him beauty in things. The smell of roses as he ran past them. The baker starting the bread, the flour clouding the sidewalk. The sound of a baby crying, dragging his poor parents out of bed to comfort him. The drizzle of the coming rain hitting his skin. He can’t stand the smell of roses anymore.

                Running wasn’t something he could do now. The passion that would pull him out of bed every morning at an awful hour was no longer there. The desire to run had died and with that so did everything else. Any longing he would feel, he’d squash down until it wasn’t there. Anything he would feel he would push it into a box until it was gone.

                Running in his dreams haunted him. The streets would be dark and dead. No sound would reach his ears, not even his own breathing. The air was always so still. He’d catch a glimpse of a red blur and he’d try to follow it. Sometimes he got close enough to see another runner in a red sweater. He’d call out but it was like the city ate any sound made.

                Running faster he’d reach out, trying to grab the other person. He longed for contact in his dead world. He didn’t want to be here by himself. He never managed to get closer enough. Once just as his hand was about to close around the hood, the runner disappeared. Lights blinded him, replacing where the other runner had been. The pain that slashed through him had him waking with tears.

                Running was something of the past. After every dream he’d wake up at the time he’d normally get ready to run. He’d roll over to his side and stare at his red sweater. It was been draped over his wheelchair. The smell of get wet roses hung in the air and all he’d want to do was scream.