Dear Diary,

I hope we can be friends. I have no one else to speak to. I’ve vowed to never speak again. Every time I speak, I get beaten. I am too clever for my body. I want to go to school, I want to be a doctor, I want to help people like me.

But I think maybe they are right.

I am abnormal after all, a freak.

Maybe I can make a school for all freak children like me - maybe I can make them normal so they fit into society again.

Dear Diary,

Some things in life are beyond control, we can never understand why they happen but they just do. Just like the way gravity staunchly forbids us to fly away; the humans who claim to ‘love’ us never understand the kind of love we need.

They impose a self defined love, heck, I don’t want that love. I don’t want anything.

I wish to drop them into hell. The hell that is void of the same love they crave.

Why did my Lord give my soul to this family, why is my personality so different to theirs? I spent too long asking - no - begging to change, but it was always in me to be...to be just me.

Dear Diary,

He did it again.

Whilst striking me repeatedly with that imported leather strap around his beefy gut, he roared “You - will - obey - the Lord’s - command!”

I, a teenager, grunt in pain.

The gluttony infected bastard whose will forever flow through my blood panted heavily. He told me, “You have five minutes to get into the car. We are not about to be late for Sunday mass again.” Fixing his tie, he glares at the woman just about standing like the smallest of all mice.

It is always the gravest sinners who deceive themselves that religion will save their wretched souls.

Just like Satan is the biggest deceiver, so are humans like my Father.

The female mouse tells me, “Namjoon, my baby. If you just stop questioning everything, none of this would happen. You shouldn’t have questioned God’s existence.”

I will make sure she suffers. Bystanders deserve worse.

Everywhere I walk in this wretched town, they all say the same. Apparently, I have demonic thoughts of rebellion and need to be cleansed.

My perfect older brother was standing in our mansion, looking ashamed. He whispers, “You can stay in my portion of the house.”

I grimace and keep quiet like the past six years (apart from when I can’t keep back the questions of course). I know his pregnant wife hates me too. She had to by default, daughter of the priest and all.  

My brother had a girlfriend and they needed to get married. She is to have twins apparently. I secretly hope they don’t inherit my disease.

This is just another Sunday at the Park’s.

Till next time, stay woke Diary.

Caressing the old paper, a grown man gulped before hardening his expression. Lines spread across his forehead as he closed the diary and placed it in his bottom drawer of the office before locking his memories away.

The teen blonde sitting opposite the oval table had kept his gaze firmly down this entire time lest his mind was read.

Clenching his jaw, “Answer me pet. Did you kill the boy?”

The younger shook hair from his eyes, signalling an ambiguous answer.

“Why did you do it?” Namjoon’s voice had grown colder and was now dangerously deep.

“He made me do it!” Jimin’s voice sounded very childish and small.

The older man analysed Jimin’s crumpled expression down to his curled fists. He sighed and knew the experiments only made his nephew worse. Instead of cleansing a single Jimin from his sixth sense, six things came back and attached to Jimin.

“I thought I taught you to block him out of your mind. I thought you knew the consequences,” turning back to Jimin, “But I was wrong. You can no longer stay with this family. You will stay with me again.”

Jimin wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He wanted to shout and protest but right now, he was pet. He needed to obey. So he just let tears roll down his cheeks.

Opening his mouth before closing it, the voices were everywhere. Each breath he took was raspy and short as his mind was living for him. He has no purpose, no life and just when he was gaining control, master had to end his purpose.

Namjoon smirked secretly; he always enjoys seeing Jimin respond to the stimuli of control.

“Speak. What do you want to say?”

The young boy bit down on his bottom lip, before swallowing dry lumps of saliva. “W-who f-found out?”

“About the Jackson boy?”

“No. C-c-code,” he pointed to his jumper which was a deep blue.

The older grimaced, “What colour is it?”

Jimin tried hard to remember.

The sky, the sadness, the veins, his nights, the ocean waves.... “Code blue?”

“Good boy.”

Jimin blushed.

Namjoon stared at him before replying, “Don’t worry about the code. I will sort it out. But I want you to answer me one question truthfully. No lies, promise? Look at me pet.”

The younger instantly obliged.

His uncle continued, “Who is Mona Lisa?” For this was the name Jimin had let slip the last time he was examined.

Jimin froze as blood rushed to his ears and head. His thought process became jumbled and he had to squeeze the back of his leg to snap out of it. Voices were everywhere, the children were giggling at his expense and he heard his name being called out breathily before the heat of flames forced his mouth open.

“Jungkook.”

The older raised a brow, “Who is Jungkook?”

“My purpose. Jungkook is my hope.”

No one spoke for a good minute.

Namjoon gulped, “And who is Taehyung?”

It took over for a flash. It was angry.

“Jackson.”

The older leant forward worryingly, “Taehyung. Kim Taehyung. Your brother who is not Jackson. Who is Taehyung pet?”

Jimin’s chin trembled as he clawed onto his soft hair, “He - he - he will take my hope away. He needs to go. Please make him go master...Or...it will take him too. I’m sorry - I can’t hide it anymore.”

Namjoon ended the recording tape and took one fleeting look at Park Jimin. Last time these words were uttered for another boy, a dozen children ended up dead or missing and the boy who was called hope has been in a coma induced state since. He nodded, “Very well. You may return to your guardians,” standing up now, the psychologist was very tall. He strolled over to the teenager half his age and size.

Long fingers gliding across the oval table, he stopped beside the frightened nephew.

All of a sudden, the boy fell to the ground and covered his now pink cheek with a shaking hand.

Namjoon grabbed Jimin by his hair and twisted locks roughly so the boy’s eyes were closed and his jaw was stuck out at an angle. Thick lips pressed into the younger’s pierced ears, “If you return, I will stick one hot branding iron down your throat, another in your stomach and the last one up your rear. They will meet in the centre of your abdomen and you will burn from the inside out. Do - you - understand?”

Jimin snivelled as voices were whizzing, some were laughing, some panicking, some crying, but one was roaring with anger.

Namjoon kicked the back of the younger’s legs so he knelt down before applying pressure to Jimin’s wrist.

“Do - you - understand?”

Nodding ferociously, “I UNDERSTAND!”

Wishing to electrocute Jimin until he passed out, the older instead ground his teeth and threw the boy back down before craning his neck to the side and backhanding Jimin one last time. But a ring caught onto the boy’s flawless skin and a deep gash formed under his eye, blood oozing down his cheek a moment later.

Kicking the boy hard in his groin so he bent over, Namjoon shouted out for an assistant to clean up the mess and send him home.

“That should keep it at bay for now,” the older man reassured himself as he pulled out a fresh tissue to wipe a spray of blood from his chair.

* * * * *

The bell rung loudly, signalling the end of another gruelling school day.

As a lean Jungkook strolled down the hallways, all eyes were watching him. Everyone was whispering, covering their mouths and he soon realised no one was walking other than he. What was once a sea of students had now parted, as he was a lone Moses striding through.

Everyone he looked at lowered their gazes. Even teachers gave him small smiles but avoided his eyes.

Ruffling his silky hair and rummaging through his bag for a black face mask, he was momentarily concealed as he waited at the bus stop.

Three girls were in front as he overheard their conversation.

“I saw on this documentary, apparently the quiet ones are always the serial killers.”

“But, why would he mutilate Jackson like that? Kill yeah okay, but...apparently there were bits of Jackson everywhere!”

"A good body and gone to waste." 

“I don’t know why he would mutilate Jackson, but now everyone is scared of him and my mum wants me to move schools. She used to know his mum, but now she’s scared for my life. What if he gets offended at something I do? I sit next to him in Physics!”

“Oh no!"

"And wasn’t his father in love with another man?”

“Yeah...ed up family the lot of 'em.”

And as the school bus stopped, Jungkook didn’t feel like taking it anymore.

He didn’t feel like doing anything anymore.

Jungkook was initially shocked, but he didn't feel sorry. He felt sorry for the parents of Jackson, but that's all.

Since assembly last week, he’d been doing rounds of interviews with the police, then the principal and recently the counselling office. And the worst thing is, Taehyung wasn’t here. He’d never had any friends and so it didn’t bother him too much, but he needed Taehyung - he needed to know if Taehyung had anything to do with the killing. 

Of course he didn’t, idiot.

Taehyung can’t even hurt a fly without crying.

Jungkook stopped walking down the hill and crumpled down into a ball. Even Jimin couldn’t fill the void of Taehyung. Yeah, his family have been here for him and always will be, but without Taehyung, his days are always rainy.

Gulping, he checked his phone. There was nothing. Jungkook had called so many times but there was no answer. Crossing the road, he walked down an unknown path and let his mind control his steps.

Jackson died too soon. It shouldn’t have happened. But it made Jungkook scared. Because he’d read somewhere that bad people don’t die easily unless another bad person killed them. So whoever killed Jackson could possibly be after Jungkook.

“I don’t want to live for me. I want to live for you,” he mumbled. Tears blocked his vision as he didn’t realise how far he’d walked.

Legs aching, he waited at a bus stop whose destination was unknown.

All happiness Jungkook feels is attached to the wide eyed boy whose rectangle smile is the only shape worth knowing.

Clutching at his hair, “I am tired of this place. I am tired of not knowing what I want; did you get tired of waiting for me?”

The person sitting next to the he