Stray Kids Oneshots

🖤💙 Deserving of the Same Fate | Minho

So, this story has no ship related to it at all. This is a solo story for Minho. But that doesn't mean that it's going to be fun :)

The piece I added above is Vivaldi's Gloria RV 589, Et in terra pax hominibus. I chose this piece because I've had a vision in my head of an event to go along with it for over three years now and I finally wrote it down.

It's written more as like, a recollection of an event if that makes sense. It might get a little intense in some parts because I started writing with true, real emotion rather than just writing words down and hoping that they made sense.

This story is seriously fucked up. I'm not lying. But it's really cathartic for me to write for some messed up reason. I am warning you, READ THIS WITH EXTREME CAUTION

T/W: mentions of death, murder, panic, blood, graphic prison violence

------

(Minho's POV)

My heart was racing. My breathing was short and rapid. I was running. Somewhere. I didn't know where. But I was running. It was raining. I remember because I stepped in a puddle and got my jeans wet, which only slowed my running down. I didn't care, though. I had to leave. I had to keep running. I wasn't safe.

What had I done? I killed someone. I murdered a human being out of cold blood. Why? I don't know. It was a blur and I don't remember anything about it happening until after it was over and I was kneeling in a pool of blood with his body in front of me, lifeless. How had I killed him? Apparently with a knife. I was told that I had stabbed him multiple times in the chest and neck.

Who was it?

My brother.

I kept running, afraid of what had just happened and afraid of myself. I didn't know what I had done, yet I did it. I had killed him, but I couldn't remember a thing. My mind was going in circles. I was running. I was crying. I was trying to get out of my head.

That was when I felt an instant chill. Air conditioning. I looked up, and I saw where my body had taken me. To a church. I don't know why, but I felt propelled to go in, so I did. I was cold, scared, wet, and covered in blood. But it was safe. I was safe here. There wasn't anyone here and the doors were open.

I walked in, and for some reason, I rushed straight to the altar. I fell to my knees and started screaming. I don't know for how long or how loud I was, but I know that when I stopped, my throat was destroyed. All I could do was let out broken sobs and sore coughs.

I was begging for help. For forgiveness. I wanted to be forgiven. I didn't know what I had done, yet I had done it. I hated myself for doing it because there was no reason for it. At least, that I know of.

I was spiraling quickly. I felt lightheaded. My stomach was churning and I was gasping for air as I choked on my cries. I looked down at the wooden flooring, and saw my blood-stained hands, leaving their print on the wood. It was official. I had murdered my brother.

I could feel every statue in that damned building staring down at me, condemning me for what I had done. I begged and pleaded to be forgiven and saved. I didn't want this. I never wanted this. This wasn't in my plans.

Why did I do it? I couldn't give a reason. No one could. And my poor parents. They'd never know why their youngest son turned out to be a scum of the earth murderer who would eventually terminate his older brother's existence. They'd never get that closer. They would never get it because I couldn't fucking remember. I couldn't fucking remember anything.

My chest was tight. I was sweating. I was angry. I was livid. I couldn't blame God for wanting to condemn me to hell. What right did I have to think that I'd ever get eternal salvation after slaughtering my own God damn brother? I fucking stabbed that poor son of a bitch and let him bleed out. His last view was of his younger brother's face covered in his own blood. That is not the person that deserves eternal happiness. My brother did. Not me. For what he had to suffer and go through because of me. I deserved the torture of hell and nothing more.

I keeled over in front of the altar. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. I tried screaming some more but it wouldn't come out. I had torn my throat apart from the first time. I had no way of letting anything out. I couldn't stand. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I was paralyzed.

And I deserved to be. I didn't deserve to do anything. I didn't deserve to have a life. I took that privilege away from my own brother. It should've been taken away from me. But it wasn't. I was left to live through this God forsaken life with no view of a future. There was no reason for me to live.

And I didn't care what anyone told me when I was arrested. No therapist, no doctors. They all tried telling me that I had a purpose despite my past actions. That's fucking bullshit. They tried selling me that bullshit of "everybody deserves a second chance."

Well I don't motherfucker. I don't because I took my own brother's life for no fucking reason. I didn't deserve to get care or treatment. I didn't need treatment. I needed to be murdered in the same way that my brother was.

And I tried my God damn best to make it happen, but those fucking prison guards would always intervene at the last minute. I was so close to getting what I deserved. I made sure to build my reputation in there. I wanted every single inmate in there to despise me and take me out. And they would try. Oh, they would try and I would let them. The joy that I felt when one of them landed their punch square in the nose and I could feel the blood rushing out and then they started slamming my head against the ground and I could feel my consciousness fading.

Finally.

But then the prison guards would break it up and take my executor away from me. And I was apparently the victim of prison violence despite me silently starting the whole thing. But they didn't care as long as I wasn't being physical with them. I would say they were the victims since they weren't able to finish their job.

Maybe I'm just fucked in the head. I mean, who wouldn't be in my situation? That's what all the doctors tell me. They keep telling me that I can change and become a better person.

Fuck that.

No I can't. I can't and I won't. I deserve what I did to my brother. And until I get that same treatment,

I won't stop.