I wrote quite a few stories inspired by our one and only sandbox on 150th floor without the fence that is Kpop. This came easily, nice voice on the looped playlist, plot already turned into makjang drama. This is a pure fiction, though. So much fiction that you don't see any spoiling tag under this post (and so I won't be sued, just in case). Every similarity to the people alive or dead is purely coincidental^^. At first, stories came as a suggestion for writers/PDs since our Megalomania-infected-Diva claimed some project. And part one and part two of another story was also inspired by the thing I mentioned earlier. Maybe that means I'm back to me being a ferocious hater?
U mad, SMEnt? Oh shit...
U mad, SMEnt? Oh shit...
Once
upon a time, in a country filled with ddeokbokki and soju
there was this one family. This family was generous (and wealthy) enough so
they dispatched emissaries to the most remote corners of the country and
beyond, trying to find talented kids to raise them. Since the mountainous
taegeuk-patterned land produces such kids as spring garden radishes, family
soon started to grow. Adoptions followed. Older kids created havoc
became less manageable, so of course younger ones were playing the role of
puppies and they were under the utmost care. They had everything, orthodontics
and training, private lessons and diets. They had rarely seen the sun (hence
whitening of the skin) or family, and when they did something wrong, they were
thrown into Pits of Despair deep in the subterranean dungeons under the
family’s mansion (the most feared place, cocooned with rumors and dark legends tighter than any silkworm). When they grew up to the sellable handsome age of
below 20 or around, they were introduced to the local families and cultural
centers.
Neighborhood
kids soon discovered they quite like those adopted kids and started to follow
them, treat them as role models, as Gods nearly. They gathered in spacious
places so that those – by chance there were five of them who kept together –
could display their newly acquired skills, like singing or dancing. Soon after
that, a nearly quasi-religious cult developed around them. The followers of
those five Stars From The West called themselves Terminators (Termis among
themselves), because – following the famous, mythical almost, moments in this
movie – they can’t be reasoned with, they can’t be bargained with and they
absolutely will not stop, never, until Stars (or antis) are dead they are invincible
and equipped with futuristic technology.
The
number of Terminators grew rapidly, catching the attention of a World Carlsberg
Record Book that noted the record number of members pledging their eternal love
to soul-mates they never met and never would. The target demographic of our
five Stars was teenage girls right in the middle of hormonal swing ball, so
their suppressed sexual needs had to be channeled through an artistic
expression, especially in two fields – literature and graphic. Yesbel Literary
Committee offered yearly an Honorary Award to some of those luminous writers,
yet they refused humbly, explaining that they are not writing this for the
humanity, or to make people under every longitude/latitude happy, but for their
own personal consolation. The young girl’s heart is a mysterious place, filled
with Princes on white horses and who sleep with their pages (or other Princes)
but no Princess can be found around. Yet in the same time this little heart
under the empty head can be easily filled with hatred, disgust and rage if
their Princes look at any Princess direction in the real life. No one ever
fathomed what could actually happen if one of their Princes turned out to
actually like one of his pages.
With
time, five Stars, or at least one of them, acquired a skill heavily prohibited
in the big mansion – reading – and by chance he read an adoption deal. Turned
out they had to be with their new parents forever and ever, because deal stated
that even their souls didn’t belong to them.
― But Papa, “forever”
is somewhat long, and we can’t date, we can’t rest, we can’t think. Could you
please…
― No! ― the voice of
Papa SMurf was rolling like a thunder through vaulted halls and corridors.
Since begging to
reevaluate the deal was of no avail, three of the Stars escaped the heavily Cerberus
guarded, wired and slippery walls of the mansion and sought the help as
refugees. They were soon branded as dangerous rogues that every bounty hunter
or even a peasant can shoot off without any penalty. Legends don’t say why only
three of them escaped, but maybe when some different constellations will shine
over the Earth's glittering oceans, maybe then the truth about this is going to
be uncovered?
The mansion, although on the verge of chaos, quickly
regained the strength, focusing on keeping their kids right in the middle of
spotlight, especially kind hearted nonuplets, looking identical and sweet as
every girl around the world, except for BBCreamland.
And then the real war
with the Rogues started. Every city got an informal “suggestion” not to accept
them and not allow appearing in public. Only then three refugees understood how
lonely and bitter their battle was. Fueled by the adrenaline lasting from the
escape, they challenged their adoptive parents by filling the separation form at one of the local Courts.
Many
years have passed, kingdoms, countries and continents came and fell into
oblivion, and white sheep are nibbling now on green pastures where cities were
poking the sky with towers. But Courts still debates on the case.
Thank you.
