Among the festivities, the embracing, the rolling green grass and blooming white lilies and weeds—years after all the destruction, that the weeds have grown strong not just in the plots but between the streets’ concrete sends some kind of delight through the college—Lee Gilyoung threads his way through the crowds, carefully holding his arms to his chest so no one touches the hoppang in his hands. The evening sun slowly lowers in the cooling sky, dying the grass purple, but the celebrating continues as others bring out their lit lanterns, creating a sea of embers, of yellow and red paper flower-shaped lanterns to match the university’s cultivated gardens—gardens in which the campus has bred a multitude of flora species, native and foreign to Seoul, to make up for the ones lost in the Star Stream; gardens from which the environmental department has passed out fresh cut flowers to the people in the picnic, a flower for every soul lost and every soul who survived. Not to be swayed by any of the other tempting activities, Lee Gilyoung presses forward with single-minded focus to find his companion, Shin Yoosung, who had muttered something about dancing, dismally disappointed Gilyoung wasn’t interested, and slipped off earlier when Gilyoung was enraptured by the rich food’s aroma. ‘Save a hoppang for me,’ she had shouted as he swatted off her ear-pinching hand: now he searches for her, following the phantom tugging she left in his ear, past other stalls, past the games, past those handing out pamphlets, lanterns, and flowers. Out from under the canopy, the sky has been dyed a blue twilight, and the stars, so few in the sky now, peek out and down—maybe the constellations will join their former incarnations, share their light with the lanterns: in this soft blooming darkness, Lee Gilyoung comes closer to the clearing where a band plays on a raised, wooden platform and a swath of people dance to the music. He’s half a mind to use diverse communication and listen for the bugs—when there she is, as if she’s caught every last ray of the sun, since atop her head lays a crown of white lilies and pink roses, with her brown hair draping tangled behind her like a veil, her dark eyes that he knows to be red like rubies shine at the sight of her food and friend. +++ (i loved this prompt! it got a little away from me)
Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, Lee Gilyoung & Shin Yoosung
Not to be swayed by any of the other tempting activities, Lee Gilyoung presses forward with single-minded focus to find his companion, Shin Yoosung, who had muttered something about dancing, dismally disappointed Gilyoung wasn’t interested, and slipped off earlier when Gilyoung was enraptured by the rich food’s aroma. ‘Save a hoppang for me,’ she had shouted as he swatted off her ear-pinching hand: now he searches for her, following the phantom tugging she left in his ear, past other stalls, past the games, past those handing out pamphlets, lanterns, and flowers.
Out from under the canopy, the sky has been dyed a blue twilight, and the stars, so few in the sky now, peek out and down—maybe the constellations will join their former incarnations, share their light with the lanterns: in this soft blooming darkness, Lee Gilyoung comes closer to the clearing where a band plays on a raised, wooden platform and a swath of people dance to the music. He’s half a mind to use diverse communication and listen for the bugs—when there she is, as if she’s caught every last ray of the sun, since atop her head lays a crown of white lilies and pink roses, with her brown hair draping tangled behind her like a veil, her dark eyes that he knows to be red like rubies shine at the sight of her food and friend.
+++
(i loved this prompt! it got a little away from me)