Snap | j.jk + p.jm

Cemetary

He has a plan.

But first, he has a want.

Early that morning, Jungkook leaves his house and walks to an unfamiliar graveyard. After doing some research, he's finally found a descent one that doesn't cost too much. He enters through the tall black gates and stops at the top of a hill. He breathes in the fresh smell of flowers and looks around at all the tombs. They're all lined up so symmetrical and perfect, as if it were a garden of stone.

He begins to walk down the hill and throughout the entire cemetery. He comes to a holt at an empty lot of land. Taking a few steps back, he comes across a row of tombstones that look brand new, some a little aged. He walks around until he find the one he's been looking for.

Min Yoongi

Jungkook stares at it before sitting down on the grass next to it. There's no flowers next to it, or any reefs or pictures. No, there's just a small, white tile. A piano key? Jungkook picks it up in his hand and examines it on his palm. In faded sharpie, it has the name Yoongi written in calligraphy. How it hasn't been blown away by the wind or picked up by an animal is a mystery to him. He places it back down onto the grass and stands up.

He begins to walk back towards the front of the graveyard when another tombstone, a much older one, catches his eye. He approaches it to get a closer look.

Park Jimin

Is everyone buried in this cemetery?!

Jungkook now takes a seat next to it, examining the cracking stone. There are flowers, pictures, nicknacks, letters, and all sorts of things surrounding Jimin's grave. He must've been a well known guy.

After a few more minutes of observing, Jungkook finally gets up and trudges out of the graveyard. He's not sure why he went there in the first place. Something is just telling him that he'll be visiting again, soon.

-

It's been months and Jungkook still hasn't found a new job. His parents are getting worried. Not for him, though. For themselves. They don't want to have to take care of him anymore. They want him to leave. They never want to see him again. And he feels the same way about them.

He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair is a mess as usual, his dark circles visible under his puffy bags. His bloodshot eyes are having a hard time staying awake, considering how tired he is. He gets thinner everyday. His limbs are shaky; he needs another cigarette. And overall, he's become extremely weak. But no one's seemed to notice. Either that, or they just don't care.

But one thing is different.

He has a gun in his back pocket.

Loaded and ready to kill.

The only problem is, he's not ready, himself.

He sighs as he turns off the bathroom light, running his hand through his hair. Coughing, he heads downstairs where his mother is on the phone with a friend.

"And then- Oh, hold on. My bitch-ass son is coming. I swear if he doesn't kill himself already. Isn't that what teenagers are supposed to do? Get depressed and kill them selves?" His mom says into the phone. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. He's not a teenager. That bastard is twenty!"

Jungkook doesn't say anything as he opens the fridge and grabs a beer. He's about to leave when his mom throws the phone down and grabs the bottle from his hand, smashing it against the wall next to him.

He's sprayed with a cool liquid and sharp glass, pieces of bottle cutting into his neck, arms, and face. He gazes up at the lady who hit him, almost refusing to call her "mother." She is a stranger, and has been a stranger for the past fifteen years.

He scowls at her before leaving the room. He heads outside and onto the front steps of his house. Opening his carton, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, watching the smoke appear before him in the cold night air.

Just then, a black truck pulls into the driveway. His father is home. He throws down his now empty pack of cigarettes and storms into the house, anger boiling inside of him. Why can't he be alone for more than five minutes?

If he weren't such a coward, he would pull out his gun and shoot the two of them. But he's too afraid. Too afraid of being alone. Too afraid of going to jail. Too afraid of seeing them dead. Too afraid of remembering. So, he let the anger remain inside of him as he heads up to his room, where he begins to cut away at his already scarred skin.