The Collector's Wares

While Sinners Play Saints (Yoongi x reader)

     Do you ever just get this feeling that you're practically on top of the world-utterly untouchable and invincible... and then... it all comes crashing down to nothing?

It didn't even matter what you did to step onto such a high pedestal-somehow you'd just fall back again.

Your heart clenched at the memory. A memory filled with so much pain it made you whimper in the happiest moments of your life!

You remember the cheer of the crowd, the sweat that trickled down your brow, the excitement in your chest. The laughs you shared with your friends and the trophy you held in your hands as you glided out of the high school like the champions you now were.

"Hey! How about we head to my house for an after party!"

"Ha! Yeah! Don't forget the Cheetos, Caitlyn."

"Got 'em right here!"

Nothing could take such a triumphant feeling away from you!

Nothing except that first shot.

And the second.

And the third.

And however many came after.

The only way you knew, really, was that sound.

That oh-so dreadful sound.

"BANG!"

Everybody froze. Everybody looked at you. Everybody looked at the left side of your chest. Everybody looked at your heart.

You looked down at your own chest to see your sweat-stained shirt slowly turning red. You felt something rise up your throat and that something trickle down the left corner of your slightly parted and trembling lips. You raised your fingers to it and wiped it off, proceeding to look at your thumb.

You couldn't breathe.

Something was lodged in your throat that kept you from the air you needed. You could only catch tiny bits of it between the sticky liquids reign. It was blood that you started to choke on.

You fell to the ground in a heap.

You had been shot.

"BANG!"

Everybody looked to the girl next to you as she fell like you did. Everybody seemed to break out of their spell as a scream erupted from another girl in the crowd.

"BANG!"

Said girl fell to the pavement with tears streaming down her glazed, brown eyes.

You felt your breath hitch and tears form in your own eyes as you watched helplessly from your place in the middle of the road-knowing full well there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You finally got the strength to turn your head to the side, and just as you did, you saw both your mother and father fall limply to the ground. They both had bullet holes in the dead center of their foreheads.

Everything went black after that; with the occasional flash of color from momentary consciousness.

The bright red and blue flashing lights that would otherwise give one a headache, but now was welcomed in your case.

The artificial lights of the ambulance with the blaring siren slicing through the silence of the night.

The beige walls of the hospital, turning into white squares suddenly-only illuminated by the flickering light fixtures that desperately needed to be replaced.