“Gun. Aim. Fire.”

     Bang! The loud sound echoed throughout the entire town. People jumped in horror. The air shattered. There was no sound at all, only silent cries and broken hearts. A pair of delicate hands covered his eyes in an instant, Jungkook was blinded. He was only eight at the time, but he had witnessed so many things. And all of them were horrendous, gruesome, evil. 

     Jungkook often asked his mother about them. The soldiers. The ones who shot people at their heads without a trace of guilt on their faces. Jungkook often asked his mother about them. The victims. The ones who were shot at their heads without a trace of fear on their faces. “Why they shot them?” Jungkook would ask. “Why they were shot?”

     His mother spoke of nothing. She left Jungkook's questions unanswered. She knelt down before her son, cupped his cheeks, and said, “Always be the good boy you have always been, will you?”

     Jungkook looked bewildered. But he nodded nonetheless.

Jungkook was twelve when he sat by the window of his house. He peeked at the soldiers outside. A small group consisting of six young people were kneeling before them. Jungkook scanned their faces. No sign of fear or hopeless showed. They did not tremble at all. 

     “Gun,” Jungkook whispered as the soldiers lifted up their rifles. “Aim—” the soldiers directed the muzzle of the rifles to the victims' heads. “Fire—” blood splattered on the dusty ground, those victims, the young men, lied there motionless. 

Jungkook was sixteen when he learned the reason as to why the soldiers shot the dead ones, the right ones. He frowned upon the soldiers, the government, the men clad in black suits who propagated the idea of peace and freedom to people, promising those innocent residents that they would bring tranquility to the place. They promised they would not hurt them, unless, unless they gave them a reason for the soldiers to lift up their firearms. 

     Jungkook came to a realization one day that they were actually not nice. They were actually liars. A bunch of liars. All of their words, they were just empty promises. And Jungkook had been succumbing to them all these years by listening to his mother's advice.

Jungkook was seventeen when he met a boy named Taehyung and joined a secret group against the government. Through Taehyung, Jungkook learned about them, about the secret group, and about their agenda to drag the government out of the small town. Jungkook was triggered. He was intrigued. He found a place where he truly belonged to, amongst them. Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung. Jungkook scrutinized their facial features as he remembered their names.

     They stood still at the other side of a quiet street, fingers curled into fists and brows furrowed as the soldiers, once again, stood with rifles in their hands. Jungkook scanned his friends' faces. He saw wrath and hatred. That particular day, the soldiers shot five men dead. 

     Jungkook looked at the fighters. He looked at the soldiers. He frowned. He grunted. “Gun. Aim. Fire.” 

     The air shattered for the nth time.

Jungkook was eighteen when he learned that he was digging his own grave. He was preparing a funeral party for himself. He was walking toward Death. When they built a small hut for the poor, abandoned, neglected children and marched for their rights; education, Jungkook knew their names would be on the blacklist. 

     The moment the government acknowledged the existence of the school, they definitely would perish it, burn it down to ashes, until there was no remnant of it left on earth. And then they would hunt them down, all seven of them. And they would incarcerate them in the prison, for the ‘crime’ they committed, and torture them until they gave in to them, to the condemned men, to the damned government. And if they didn't, the firearms would be lifted, death awaited at the muzzles.

     Jungkook knew that. So did the other six. But they were not shaken by the men. Because the men were not supposed to be afraid of. They were supposed to be fought.

     Jungkook had seen it once. What the soldiers did after they had shot the fighters dead. They dumped the bodies to an open field. And they burned them. The smell was unpleasant and foul and it reached the entire town as a warning. A dire warning that none of the people there could fight against them. 

     Jungkook smirked at the black smoke that polluted the pale blue sky. He knew he would end up like those bodies, sooner or later. But Jungkook preferred being burned down to ashes. He preferred to be taken away by the wind rather than to be buried deep under the ground those filthy men stepped on. 

Jungkook was nineteen when two soldiers came and took him away. He was in the middle of a literature lesson when they burst in out of the blue with the rifles in their hands. The students jumped and screamed in terror. So did the teacher.

     Jungkook knew why they were here. They were coming for him. The men had found out about it, about him, about his friends, about the secret group. They had found out about the school they built and their plan to collapse the men and the government. They had known it all.

     They were already there when Jungkook was into the grimy, dull cell. His friends. Jungkook smiled at them. They smiled back at him. 

     One particular evening, one of the wardens called on Jungkook. He was brought to a room. There, Jungkook saw his mother. Her eyes were red and puffy. Tears continually trickled down her already wet cheeks. 

     “This woman said she's your mother,” said the warden in his gravelly voice. “Is that true?”

     Jungkook looked at the woman. His gaze was dead and empty. He shook his head in denial. “No. I don't know her.”

     His mother gasped. She sobbed even harder. The warden took hold of her and dragged her out of the place. “Crazy woman,” he said.

     Jungkook's blood boiled. But he suppressed his anger.

     The woman suddenly fell. She called out Jungkook's name hundreds of times as she looked full in his face. The woman was begging the warden. His pure, angelic mother was imploring the filthy, condemned warden, on her knees. 

     Jungkook's heart ached. His heart was throbbing in pain when the warden kicked his mother out of the filthy place. He wanted to run to her and took her into his embrace. But Jungkook could not. He could not do that and he should not do that. His mother's life was in his hand and Jungkook would never give it to the soldiers.

Jungkook was twenty when he celebrated his last birthday with his friends. Seokjin drew a picture of a cake on the soil with his slender finger. Hoseok added a few candles on it. Jimin wrote down his name on the cake and Taehyung asked him to make a wish. A weak smile graced Yoongi's pale, dirt-covered face. Namjoon gave him a pat on the back. Jungkook closed his eyes, hands clamped to his chest as he said his silent prayer for his mother, for the small town, for the condemned men, for the deceased ones, and for justice. Before long, he shut his eyes opened and blew on the soil.

     Two days later, all seven of them were called upon. Their hands were handcuffed behind the back and they almost lost their balances when the wardens them forward. 

     The day had come. Jungkook heard it called his name. That day, he saw Death standing there, along with the soldiers. It was smiling at him.

     For the very last time, Jungkook scanned his friends. Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung. Their faces were covered with all sort of dirt, nicks, wounds, and bruises. Their dishevelled hair had were dull grey. But in their eyes, Jungkook saw courage and hope. He saw a light. 

     They were forced to kneel down before the soldiers. People watched from afar. They looked scared, hopeless, and terror. Jungkook saw his mother. She was lamenting on her knees. “No, my Jungkook, my son,” she said faintly. Jungkook merely smiled at her. That was the least he could do at this moment. I'm sorry, mom. I'm not a good boy I used to be.

     One of the soldiers yelled at Jungkook. Jungkook turned his head at them. He furrowed his brows and clenched his teeth. Jungkook glared intensely at the muzzle of the rifles. They were loaded with bullets, ready to kill.

     “Would we go to heaven?” Jungkook remembered Taehyung asking the question to Seokjin that particular night.

     Seokjin looked at him. Silence.

     “Yes,” Yoongi blurted. “Because the hell has been reserved for those bastards.” 

     All eyes were on him. There was a short pause. Before long, Namjoon laughed. The other smiled and after that, they laughed together. 

     “Gun,” Jungkook whispered. His gaze softened. His lips curved into a smile.

     The soldiers lifted their firearms up. The stock of the rifles at the level of their shoulders.

     “Aim.”

     They squinted their left eyes, index fingers at the triggers. 

     “Fire.”