Monday, March 13, 2017

Death canvas

I sat numbly, staring through the man in front of me. “Mr. Wright, I’m going to need you to tell me why you’re in here” the man asked me, yet again, for what must have been the 10th time within these past few minutes. I could see, his amount of patience was deteriorating rather quickly.

 My pale blue eyes watched him intently as he began pacing around the room, red-faced, heavy and jagged breathes - aggravation was noticeably written across his face. Clearly, he was done with my lack of co-operation. Finally, I decided it was time to speak;“We were just sitting in his room, myself on the bed and him on the window sill” I spoke for what seemed like the first time in years, though it’s really only been a few weeks. My voice was hoarse and cracked slightly, which really wasn’t a pleasant sound.

 man reclaimed his seat and began writing in his notebook.

“It was my best -well, only friend- Ashton and I. We started off talking, which led to arguing- about what? I can’t recall but I was mad, infuriated. More then I ever had been before. I felt some kind of strange feeling inside my chest, I couldn’t figure out what it was and I still can’t. But I guess he was scared, so he tried to calm me down. I remember his voice was small and shaky as he pleaded to me, “Luke, calm down, It doesn’t matter. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”. I wasn’t listening, all I could hear were those voices in my head, almost like those little devil and angel things you see on TV, sitting on my shoulders debating between right and wrong. One side of my conscious told me “Luke, he’s your best friend. Without him, you’ll have no one” and the other told me “Who cares? People like you don’t need friends” and I chose to go with the latter. I walked closer to Ashton who was frozen in his spot, out of fear. “L-luke, are you okay?” he asked quietly. I walked towards him so I was only a short distance away. My hand twisted around the collar of his shirt as I pulled him up so we were face to face, only a few mere centimeters apart. “You always knew I had a great interest in art, right Ash?” I asked him, innocently. He nodded slowly, obviously confused. “Well, I’d like you to help me with another picture” I said smirking as I dropped him to the floor. That was when my mind went blank, everything was so sudden. That always happens”.

I finished my story with a sigh and looked up at the man to see his reaction. His face was like stone, no expression. “Okay, Luke. Continue your story, I want to hear everything.” I nodded before continuing.

“When I came back into reality, I was alone in my room and that weird feeling in my chest was finally gone. My hands felt strange and when I looked down, they were covered in a dried, brown-red substance which also found on various spots on my clothes as well, it smelt odd but pleasing at the same time. I assumed this was just the leftover paint. I cleaned myself up and started downstairs when i heard my parents talking in hushed voices about all the leaving town for my “safety”. I just laughed, I can protect myself.

 the funeral, it was time for everyone to say their final goodbyes. As I walked to towards the casket I noticed he was wearing a long sleeved suit, what do they think they’re doing? They’re covering my beautiful artwork I thought angrily and began to role up the sleeves on his jacket. I smiled at the words written across the pale, cold skin; “a clown can get away with murder”. I traced the letters with my finger, small giggles escaping my lips every so often before my parents rushed up beside me. “Luke, we need to leave before someone sees you” they said quickly and escorted me home. So, I guess that’s when it really started. When it started to actually mean something, I guess”

I finished the story and got the same response as last time. “So, it happened before then? That art you created, you’ve done it before?” the man asked slowly. “Well, yes but this was the time I felt something while I did it” I told him. “And what did you feel?” he asked but I gave no response, I just looked down towards the floor, hiding the smirk forming on my lips. “Guilt? Remorse?” he questioned but when I still didn’t answer he just let out a long sigh “okay, just continue”.

 “The next time it happened was a few weeks later, I hadn’t been to school since the funeral, under my parents wishes but they didn’t want me to fail so they eventually made me to go. I was dreading it. My first class was a double period of English, which was almost always boring so as I always did, I began to daydream. My thought wondered to the possibilities of my next canvas, and what else I could use to paint. My thoughts were interrupted by the bell signaling the end of class. All the students filed out of the room and just as I was about to leave, my teacher called me to her desk. “Luke, I heard about Ashton and I know you were really close-” she started to speak but I cut her off. “It’s fine, really.” I shrugged as she gave me a strange look. “Okay, well I also wanted to speak to you about a story you handed in to me a few weeks was a bit..graphic for your age don’t you think?” she asked and I shook my head, I didn’t see any problem. “Luke, you can’t write about murder in that much detail, people might begin to think that-” “It’s about art” I interrupted her, “you wouldn’t understand” I finished, feeling ,my chest tighten with a feeling I hadn’t had since the night Ashton and I painted together. I just sent her a glare as I walked out of the room.

I went into the cafeteria, the strange feeling had distracted me so that I completely forgot about the two people I hated most. That was until I felt the back of my shirt being tugged roughly, dragging me down the hallway. I was pushed harshly onto the floor of bathroom and as I looked up, I saw the school bullies -well, just my bullies actually- Aaron Rogers and Sam Owens. Aaron grabbed the collar of my shirt, lifting me to my feet. His tan hand found it’s way around my neck as he shoved me into the wall. “Hey, freak.” He sneered. “We’ve missed you around here, haven’t we, Sam?” he spoke to his little apprentice. Sam just smirked in response, nodding before I felt his hand connect with my stomach. Aaron allowed me to drop to the floor as I fell to my knees coughing. They continued calling me names, beating me up, until, finally I was done with it. I’d been taking this for years and it was time for some revenge. I somehow managed to regain a standing position and push them back long enough to reach into my back pocket. I pulled out my paintbrush and watched the slight shine of the metal surface. “How would you boys like to help me with my next painting?” I said walking towards the two boys who were now on the ground, looking up with wide eyes. This made me laugh as I looked into the mirror. I took in my appearance, my eyes once a vibrant blue were now darkened to a gray with my new found control, my blonde hair was messy and sticking out in all directions and I had a devilish grin plastered on my face. As I started to walk towards the boys a fresh quotes was stuck in my mind “to me, the world is nothing but evil”. Then, again my mind was elsewhere.

 I woke up in a dreamlike sequence, nothing made sense. Someone was talking but I wasn’t listening, I couldn’t. I finally realized that I was here.”

I finished my story and looked at the man. His face showed no expression, but as I looked into his eyes I found fear. “I suppose I killed them, didn’t I?” I said, quietly. He nodded slowly. “You’ve never been face to face with a killer, have you?” I said, as the smirk on my face split into a crooked grin. “Luke, relax. We can cure you, help you get better” he told me but again, I wasn’t listening. “Oh but, you can’t cure crazy” I spoke, reaching into my pocket. I laughed as I watched him reach for the phone but I quickly jumped on him, pinning his arms to the side of the chair. “I think it’s time for another painting” I whispered, pulling out my paintbrush and pressing the metal tip to his neck.

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