Jongin stared at the person standing a few feet away from him, only watching as his mother turned the knob. Each click of the knob seemed to enrage the fire dancing atop the stove. 

"Mommy?" The adolescent boy muttered, standing by the kitchen door.

The woman jumped his sudden appearance. Her head was hung low with long, unkempt, black hair dangling right above the fire. "J- Jongin..." She whispered, voice dry and eyes stuck to the floor. She turned to him, slow and slothful. Jongin could see she was trying to smile, the sides of her lips trying to twitch into a grin. She could not. 

"You're... Not supposed to... Be awake at this... Time..." She spoke, long silences of just breathing between some words as she nervously dug her nails into her arm. "Go... Go to... Sleep..." She commanded in a lazy tone as though tired. Her tone matched her face, as she looked deadly tired with deep, dark bags under her eyes.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" 

"Mommy..." She replied, eyes darting from one corner of the floor to the other. "Mommy is cooking..."

Jongin's gaze landed on the large can of gasoline beside her. 

People. Nothing was wrong with him; it was just the people around him that made him look bad. They were all idiots, they made a complete fool of themselves in front of the world and surely no one would care if they were gone. It wouldn’t make a difference if they disappeared. They were the ones that were in the wrong, not him.

“Jongin, are you feeling okay?” The woman that demanded to be called his mother asked him.

Jongin forced on a smile, even if he wasn’t happy. Smiling was simply the one thing he was good at doing. Very good at doing. “Yes, mama.” He responded with a sickeningly sweet tone. “I’m feeling just fine.” Jongin was also good at acting, and acting like a good boy would please his mother. Although, she had changed over the past few days. She was acting less and less caring.

Another woman, who looked a bit older than his caretaker, walked up to the boy. “Jongin, you do know that it was very mean of you to hurt the other kids.”

“I know, teacher.” Jongin nodded, holding the sides of the small, green, plastic chair he was seating in.

She placed a warm hand on the side of Jongin’s face, a worried expression in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and knit her eyebrows together as if trying to get a better understanding of the young boy, “Jongin, if you know it’s bad then why did you do it?”

“Because, teacher,” He started, small fingers following the hand caressing him but eyes locked with the hers, “if they’d lived any longer in the world then I don’t know what this Earth would come to.”