curtain call • seulmin

i. red rain

a study on park jimin (1)

park jimin notices how the rainclouds that follow him around are all bright carmine instead of curious grey. he notices how the rain that comes along with it is not water soaked up from the dying atmosphere, just the sanguine liquid he spills with dainty fingers.

drip, drip, drop. that's the sound that is made when park jimin slits the throat of his targets, the blood (the dead, his remorse) falling to the floor.

the world is his canvas, and he paints it red with his victims' blood. his weapons (guns, knives, grenades he mistakes for sweet little fruits) are the paintbrushes that he uses to create gruesome artistry, because there is art in cruelty and cruelty in art. he carefully paints his canvas with his variety of brushes, turning a violent bloodbath into an abstract-looking crimson masterpiece.

(every single time, he would stare at his fine work in wonder and excitement, a temptation to create more fine pieces.)

meticulous (and psychopathic), jimin orchestrates every single one of his stages with explicit detail. he pours his thoughts and passion into every single aspect, each contorted bone, each ripped flesh. each mangled desperation and terror under the creases of furrowed skin, conveyed in the most detailed of ways. park jimin is one perfectionist of an artist; all of his pieces are made to awe, to terrify (for there is beauty in violence and violence in beauty).

he loves it, craves it, seeing life leaving one's eyes, dragging these poor souls to a dead paradise, with only memories of their performances around to follow them through purgatory. indeed, he finds absolute joy in seeing it.

of all the weapons within his spindly hands' grasps, he enjoys using guns the most. the loud bang of a gunshot that reverberates the world around him is like a crescendo leading to the most beautiful of deaths, as he mercilessly shoots down (un)lucky souls in cold blood.

funner it is, to make his theatrics appear like an accident, bringing an inferno to an unsuspecting household and dancing artistic ballet to deafening screams, desperation clawing at the walls that entrap them as another family gets burned alive. jimin would laugh and dance and dance and dance, until the curtain finally closes and he kneels down to gently pick up the rose petals he calls blood from the dirty wooden floor.

ah, so what could be funner than all those aforementioned things for park jimin? surely that's all the fun he could have, right?

it appears not.

park jimin finds even more joy in the art of deception, the trickster inside of him cackling with glee as he watches the look of betrayal in one's eyes (because gullibility is a form of entertainment). what is meant to be a steamy one night-stand turns out to be an unlucky soul's final moments; a passionate kiss followed by a stab to the back, smudged lipstick now overrun by murky red blood. he will spill petals all over the dead as a final touch, and taints the crime scene with his own little touch of picasso before leaving with a mind all over the place, forming ideas of new masterpieces to create.

sometimes it goes farther, legs entangled and hair tousled as jimin sloppily reaches for the nearest revolver, wakes her up by murmuring a "good morning, beautiful," in her ear, and shooting them moments later ("just kidding, babe. good night!"). he will pour diamonds and pearls and gems all over her body moments later, making the dead's flesh sparkle like stars under the light of the crystal chandelier.

he will leave the hotel room after playing a bohemian rhapsody on the phonograph, hands buried deep in empty pockets (empty, save for the razor-sharp blades that hid amongst quality handmade silk). jimin will sway to the music that is slowly drowned out the farther he walks, and when the music is finally replaced by silence, he lets a smile creep onto his face, lips stained crimson not by lipstick, but blood (but oh, the people around him won't know that).

sometimes, he creates contemporary artistries through the means of creating a mess, stabbing his victims repeatedly when boredom clouds his unstable mind, coloring the once white sheets scarlet. he calls up room service and sugarcoats them with a monotonous, scripted lie, all the while he disposes the body elsewhere, burning it to nothing but overlooked ash (and he finds himself entranced by the embers that rise from the ashes).

he has a lot of flawless masks in the palm of his hand, but there is one which he likes putting on the most. there is no specific name to it, but jimin likes referring to it as the sun. in this facade, he is the perfect man; kind smiles, heart of gold, the masterpiece of every proud parent. he is the boy that shyly opens up the door for you as you walk by, the one who pays for your lunch and follows you shopping with no complaints. like a god, pleasing all who has the luck of meeting him, compelling everyone to love him and only love him.

and then when he has you completely wrapped around his finger, he exposes his true colors. the sun is taken off, revealing his interior, which he idly calls death. he takes a blade and slices hearts in half with no regrets, savagely walking on his victims' broken pieces (shattering them into even tinier ones). he drenches himself in blood as he drives the knife through one's skull, and he laughs because he loves it.

the world simply calls him ace. jimin appreciates the sentiment, really. not even his own parents had the effort to name him themselves, so he is ever grateful to the fearful media. ace, ace, ace. it would slip off his tongue once in a day, delightful smile growing on his face the more he says it. he's been given a name. his grin grows wider every time he thinks of it.

in the world through jimin's eyes, everything's a blank canvas he must paint. the world's a stage, a playground to mess around with; a dollhouse that is his to play. he's like the puppeteer, pulling on the strings people call lives and cutting them short, short, shorter.

park jimin, the artist, is akin to a snake, slowly coiling around the unsuspecting victim until there's no escape, and they only realize they're entrapped when they're dead, one with his bloodstained masterpiece.

°

a/n: not gonna lie this entire book will basically be seulmin (mainly jimin) committing murder left and right. they're like bonnie & clyde, but they only kill instead of both killing and stealing. have fun with this y'all. this is gonna be a fun (and pretty short) ride. jungri will also make random cameos in this story in the future :-) please vote and comment!!