When Creative Liberties Get Out of Hand
It was with an elegant grace that the red he'd pressed the bristles into, appeared on the canvas in a glorious stroke.
He felt a sense of peace and serenity wash over him, as the colors began to come together on the blank white canvas before him. The familiar smell of paints and other art supplies filled the air. Making him feel that much more at peace. And if this meant he could avoid the awful creep that was always trying to get him alone, then he did not mind that much further. Seriously, did he look like he was a slut? He may have dressed to show off his abilities to bear pups enough, but not provocatively. Some whispers he heard, indicated it was because he was very pretty.
He could have scoffed, he was nowhere near as pretty as omegas were.
True, he counted on the fact he was a beta-omega for such comments. But it was not enough for him to emphasize he was a beta-omega. But he supposed some creepy alphas out there liked them with breasts, clits, and cocks. It was unnerving and unsettling. True, he wouldn't mind a strong handsome alpha for a mate one day. But one that would respect him, and not give off sleazeball energy the way many he encountered did. But it only made his understanding of what many omegas went through more powerful. He could sympathize with them enough. Understood their problems enough. And they were the full deal of an omega.
His watercolor green eyes traversed the canvas in the path of his paintbrush.
He was safe here. He knew they never came down to the art room of school. It was too far for their stupid alpha brains to even consider. He did not think all alphas were this way. He's encountered many fine alphas. Many well mannered alphas. But his school seemed to be chockfull of brainless alphas that only wanted a good fuck. Not a life mate. He could almost sigh his typical dramatic sigh. They were such a bother.
His colorful ears of white with splashes of every color possible, remained perked forward in concentration. He rarely ever had any idea or direction for his art. Usually, he just let himself flow with the colors. Only for his actual art assignments did he actually sit down, and think long and hard about how to artistically do as he was instructed. But when he was allowed to just let his creative energy flow free, he created unique pieces. His art teacher did see them often enough, and had complimented them. Saying he captured the essence of art perfectly. He knew art was a freedom of expression. A window into the heart and soul. The emotions of the individual. And she said he did just that with his freestyle art.
And that made him very happy.
At least he had someone complimenting him and his choices. Too bad his family didn't. His mother never really said anything. His father wasn't the most supportive individual. And his brother and sister? Eh. He was just eager for the day he could get into a decent art college, and try and sell his art. But that was a far off dream. For now, he just wanted to make it through school to get there.
As it was, he focused on his art.
//
He sat up, getting the strain and kinks in his back out.
He rolled his neck for the same reason. He stretched as well. He'd been going for a decent amount of time. And it's been quiet and peaceful. He did think of getting up. Standing and walking. Maybe put on some music. Another form of art he truly appreciated. As an artist, he could truly appreciate all the art the world had to offer. In whatever medium it was in. Be it with a spot of paint, or with the voice of an incredible vocalist. He could appreciate any artist, and any form of art.
Eh.
To a degree.
He gently set his paintbrush down to give his hand a break, when he was pulled from all his inner musings to a sound above him. He blinked and looked up. And frowned. It had sounded like someone fell to the floor rather hard. He waited a moment, straining to hear anything else. And something certainly did. Screaming. And the sudden pounding and rushing of feet.
How very odd and peculiar.
Still, he'd not investigate. It had nothing to do with him. He stood with his used paintbrushes, and went to go and wash them. Even if he wouldn't investigate the odd things happening the floor above, he should really make his way from the art room. His art teacher gave him permission to use it whenever he needed to. Or wanted. Which was often and frequent. But he still had to attend some classes. He had one coming up. Best he headed there now. As he washed his brushes, he heard more banging and more chaos happening above him.
He frowned and looked up. What the hell was going on up there? Trying not to get too curious it could lead to him getting involved in something ugly, he returned his attention to cleaning his brushes. After a few, he scrunched his face and nose. Ugh. What was that awful smell?! He turned the water off and dropped the brushes in the sink. Yet the odor continued, even growing stronger.
What the hell?
He huffed.
He'd just have to come back and clean them thoroughly later. Unaware he'd never get the chance. He turned and left the art room. Out here, the stench was just as foul. He pulled a face, and kept it. It was so gross. So disgusting. Still, he made to head upstairs. And maybe see what all the commotion was about. As it was still happening. And had even spread to the rest of the upper floor.
As he got to the top of the stairs, it was a cacophony of sounds. Screaming and running, and sounds that had Hyunjin's stomach rolling. He blinked, and jumped back as he watched one student be tackled to the floor by another. A streak of blood in their wake. The tail and ears missing from the attacker. He put a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting, as the other began to tear flesh from their victim. And swallow whole. His eyes went wide in horror, even as his brain finally caught up to just what exactly he was horrifyingly witnessing.
A zombie apocalypse.
He shook himself of his fear and disgust. And to keep from fainting. It would do him more harm than good. Without hesitation, Hwang Hyunjin bolted for the exit like all the other panicking students. As soon as he was free personally, he turned and bolted for his home. He had never run so much in all his life. And he would continue, until he died. Or was bitten. Or the world was cured.
He wasn't sure what type of ending their own personal real life zombie movie or show would take. He just hoped to survive long enough to see some positive in all the negative now. He stopped for no one. Even dodging and managing to avoid being tackled. He had a place to get to, and he was determined to get there.
And he was successful.
//
As he struggled to catch his breath, he noticed the home was vacant and silent.
He shrugged.
Hardly a surprise they may not have made it home in time. Without hesitation, Hyunjin deadbolt locked the door and barricaded it. As he struggled to get his breathing under control and his heart beat back to a more regular rhythm, his mind swirled. Holy shit. This was all really happening, wasn't it? The world was ending. Nature was fucking furious with them for some reason only she knew. And they were paying the price. He could almost plead with her for mercy.
And in a way, he felt she had granted him her grace and mercy. He's made it home unscathed. Shaken and traumatized for sure, but safe and alive. After he managed to get his breathing back under control, Hyunjin approached the window. He looked out and below. Watching as Seoul plunged into chaos. Wolves screaming and scattering. Being eaten and turned.
His eyes drifted up to the slowly darkening sky. Watching as the sun set on their last semi-normal day. The colors were beautiful. Nature knew how to paint the world, herself. It seemed she had decided to paint the world, in red. But hey, the world was her creation. She could change it however she saw fit. She would change him and other survivors, as she saw fit.
With a sigh at having regained himself enough, Hyunjin closed the curtains. Time to block out the world as it died. He was still dazed by the blood he'd witnessed. And the consuming of the living by the dead. There was no denying how stomach churning the entire ordeal was. He felt dizzy and faint. Deciding it would be in his best interest to lay down for a while, he made for his bedroom. And there, he more or less collapsed on the bed. He fell asleep, trying to overcome the moments before.
One day he'd become so used to the blood shed, it would hardly affect him. That was often how it went in all those movies and tv shows about zombies. The weak perished, and the strong survived. He had to wonder how many omegas and pups in particular would survive the fall of the world. The alphas may be fine. Same with the beta-alphas. But beta-omegas, omegas, and pups were the true question of survival. Without omega types, new pups would be hard to come by.
Yes, female alphas could bear and birth pups. But not enough to sustain a future for their species. Omega types would become coveted. A rarity. A commodity. Bartered for and bargained with. Maybe even kept locked away, and forced into becoming nothing more than a broodmare. And that thought caused him to shudder. It would be horrible conditions for omegas. To be treated as nothing more than pleasure toys and pup making machines. They had more value than that. But in this new zombie infested world, did that matter?
In a world without organization and government, the world did as it wanted. And as it needed to survive. It would not be a fun life for omega types, but it was necessary. Until they got back to their feet. Maybe. He knew he'd have to find a weapon to defend himself from both the living, and the dead. But it could and would wait until he was feeling better. It could wait until tomorrow.
For now, rest.