Two Guys. One Serial Killer.
He walked towards me, a razor in his hand and a crazy look in his eyes. I wasn't able to run, I wasn't even able to move. He lifted up my arm, and started slashing it over and over again.
"I thought you loved me," he sa...
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▂▃▅▇█▓▒░ St. Bangtan ░▒▓█▇▅▃▂
I looked down at the empty black backpack, and the other items I was about to fill it with. First, I had to do an inventory to make sure I had everything I needed so I wouldn't find myself missing something on the scene. Sloppy work beforehand would certainly lead to being caught.
Chloroform? Check.
Rag? Check.
Syringe full of Pancuronium? Check.
Razors? Check.
Latex gloves? Check.
Already wearing another pair of latex gloves, I put the items into the backpack. Preparing for a kill came with mixed emotions. Excitement, nervousness, sorrow, and anxiousness. I was always excited to do it, but I recognized the fact that it was wrong, and the fact that I didn't have any guilt about it was wrong. That didn't stop me, it never would.
I would never stop.
I knew the pain of being sad and alone in this world, and it was my job to take that pain away from other people. I had to do something to calm myself down. I still had another night before going after my target, and if I did it a night to soon, everything could be ruined.
After placing all of my items in the backpack and setting it in a secret hiding place behind a mirror in the bedroom of the apartment I had rented out in another name, I went into the bathroom, where I stared at myself in the mirror above the sink. The whites of my eyes were red; my body was tired but I was not. I opened one of the drawers below the sink, and pulled out a razor. I didn't hesitate as I brought it up to the skin on my wrists, and pushed. I pushed, and slid the sharp corner, cutting open more skin. I licked my lips as I watched the blood start to ooze out.
What if one day I cut myself deep enough, to feel the relief I gave to so many others?
No, I couldn't die. I had important work to do.
▂▃▅▇█▓▒░ Euni ░▒▓█▇▅▃▂
I looked over Yoongi's face as he read through my now-finished article about St. Bangtan, ready to be submitted to the Seoul Letter. He looked at the photocopies of the letters Detective Kim had given me for the piece with a huge grin. "I can't believe you're the only person these have been released to," he handed me back the freshly printed out papers before I carefully slide them into a document folder.
"What do you think?" I asked, nervous to drop the packet off for Mr. Park.
"Well, I've never written for a newspaper or magazine...or read one...but it seems good to me," he flashed me a huge cheeky grin.
"I just need it to stand out from the other pieces, you know? If I give him something that's already been published hundreds of times, then writing this was completely pointless," the thought of having wasted all this time to come out with a shitty article put a pit in my stomach, and I couldn't seem to shake it. Yoongi seemed to notice.
