Sixth Victim: Min Yoongi - Planned

Method: Beaten to Death

Date of Death: 19th April 2018

Body location now: Unknown

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Tuesday, 1st May 2018.

 

He told me Yoongi was next. That’s why Justina had to die. He was too strong and we had to weaken him. It worked.

The look in his eyes when he saw me at his front door, I’ll never forget. I put on his screen to open the door and I could feel the fear through the air. So when he eventually came, a baseball bat in hand, ready to swing at me, I was surprised when he tightened his grip and actually swung. The fear had vanished and he was pissed at me. He had finally learned that I was behind all of the deaths.

“YOU TOOK AWAY EVERYTHING FROM ME, YOU ASSHOLE!” He hit me on my side hard, causing me to clutch at it before tackling him to the ground, the bat falling from his hand. His head smacked against the floor hard and he winced at the pain. I didn’t want to hurt him. I really didn’t. But it felt almost like I wasn't in control anymore...

“If I don’t do it… We’ll both die…” He didn’t know that when I said ‘we’, I didn’t mean him and I…

“Why?” Tears filled up in his eyes. “Why us?”

“It isn’t my choice to make-”

“BULLSHIT!” He screamed at me, yet made no effort to move away. “YOU HAD A CHOICE!”

“Well, funnily enough, I’d rather not die.”

“ME NEITHER!” Yoongi breathed out, letting his body relax under me. “I don’t want to die… Please…”

“I’m sorry… But it has to be this way.” The flower made me smile. You’ll never understand how horrifying a smile that isn’t your own working it’s way onto your face feels. I plummeted my fists onto his chest, causing him pain and he arched back and the tears started falling. The smile wouldn’t disappear and, before I knew it, I was closer to his face, punching it to a bloodied pulp. My hands hurt like hell, but I know he was hurting more. Both physically and emotionally. I couldn’t stop… I… I wanted to stop, but I just… Couldn’t. It wasn’t my actions anymore. The flower was enjoying it. Enjoying the infliction of pain on my friend. Even when he was unconscious, it wouldn’t stop. Not until I could feel the lack of breathing underneath me.

He was dead.

He was really dead.

I stood up from the body and looked at it horrified. I did that, I thought to myself. But, I didn't. Not really. Those weren't my actions. They were actions of the flower, not of me. Before I could think any further I was walking over to the kitchen and pulling out a knife. More actions of the flower. It felt as if I was in the drivers seat of a car but someone else was controlling the wheel, while my hands had been severed and left in the back seat. I had to watch my hand carve numbers into my friend's chest and I can still remember the feeling of resistance against the movements because I didn't know what it was the flower was trying to do. We were meant to be as stealthy as possible, but here my arm was, carving the numbers 6/10 into human flesh to display in a public area.