The Artist

The sketch was coming together nicely, very nicely. To beexact, it would make me a couple hundred dollars. I sign my name at the bottomright corner. The cursive V in my name, Victoria Rose, looked different. To behonest, I was starting to think I didn't like the look of cursive anymore. “Ohwell” I said to the complete sketches on the walls. I took a look at them. Theyall seem to have their own expression, their own life, and most of all, theirown story. The sketches to me were, in some indescribable way, alive. It wasn’tsomething that science or religion could explain. No, this was a great mysteryin life; this was something that would never be explained. All the sketcheswere meant to be different, but in some way they ended up resembling my mum.How I’ve missed her, bless her soul. An idea was slowly forming in the back ofmy mind. I knew it had been forming, but I was just too scared to even think onthe thought. That was until now. I could almost hear them screaming inencouragement. Even from here, I could see them moving in a supporting manner. Inodded my head to the sketches. The time was the problem though, as the sketchwas needed to be complete by tomorrow at 12. The current time was 23:32. Ialways thought it was odd how times worked out like that. I put on “My Way” byFrank Sinatra to get me in the mood. Starting with the torso, I outlined thebasic figure of what I could remember my mum looking like. I moved onto thewaist and then to the limbs. Finally I got to the head. Normally I would takemy time, but tonight was different. I could feel a tingling sensation going tomy chest and shoulders, coursing down my forearms. The sensation was amazing,god-like even. The faster I went, the stronger the sensation. I gave into thefeeling fully. The feeling was starting to be overwhelming. I tried to slow mypace in fear of hurting my wrist. The sensation had taken over me though and Ihelplessly watched my hands fill the details of my mum at a speed not humanlypossible. The hair fell flat over the shoulders. Then the lower of the faceappeared next. My mum’s beautiful smile, she was once famous for, lookedincredibly real. Nose, ears, and eye brows appeared next. I was now a prisonerin myself; my body being the prison, my eyes being my cell. I watched, unableto stop whatever was going on. Suddenly I noticed the eyes. They stared back atme, looking, reaching, into my soul. The eyes weren’t that of my mum’s, but ofsomeone else. The eyes made the sketch look wrong and evil. Her smile no longerseemed beautiful and her chin no longer innocent, but that of a hawk. Slowly,creeping into my vision, darkness overtook what little of me that I still hadcontrol of. I awoke in a cold sweat. It had all been a bad dream. No scratchthat, it had all been a horrible nightmare. I stretched my arms to make sure Idid in fact own them. To my relief everything that was a part of me was mine tocommand. I pressed my hands to my face and brought them down, slightly draggingthe skin on my face with it. Lightly smacking my cheeks, I brought myself toattention. I directed my attention to the drawing. It was real. Poiseddifferently than it had been created, she seemed to be leaning against aninvisible object. I considered some odd mixture of lack of sleep and lack offood was at play. “It was all in your goodbyes” I heard someone say. Startled,I scanned the room, looking for the source. Out of the corner of my eye, Icaught movement. It was impossible though. Had the drawing moved, or am I stillin the nightmare. The second had to be the answer because, before my own eyes,I saw the drawing of my mum cross her arms and shake her head. “Mu-“ I started.“It was all in your goodbyes. But what’s this? You never said goodbye? Shame onyou.” the drawing spoke. I sat with my eye glued to the paper. “What took youso long Hun? Hmm?” the drawing seethed while gesturing towards the direction ofthe wall. Every single sketch and complete drawing was poised leaning againstan invisible object, the same way this drawing had been. At this moment in mylife I had too many emotions, emotions that should never mix, flowing throughme. I could only let out croaks of words. A tear formed in one eye. “Oh what isthis? You now care? You could have said goodbye to you own mother you know.”the drawing teased in a cruel manner. The tear gained in itself and tookaction. Rolling down my cheek, it jumped off and onto the paper. The smileforming across the drawings face chilled me to the bone. The eye contact seemedto have paralyzed me for I could no longer move. The sensation was back, but Iknew now it was not a good sign. To make this living nightmare worse, sheseemed to be coming out of the paper. Growing to the size of a human as herhands pulled her up. Out she came, from the paper, into the real world. Sheseemed to vault over the invisible barrier that once contained this demon, andshe grew to full size. Taller than my mum, she towered over me, starring downat me. Tilting her head left and right, she let out the cracks of her neckbones. She looked around the room, taking an interest in the other draws I hadmade. “We are going to free them as well. You tear broke down the walls ofreality. Did you honestly think it was normal that your drawings seemed to beliving?” she hissed. “How are you real?” I managed to scream before she grabbedmy throat. “I’m real because you gave me life. You drew me into the paper and Iwas trapped there. Until that sweet, innocent little tear of yours broke downthe walls. Now we’re going to get the others out.” She spoke softly towards me.“But that little tear of yours, yeah, that wasn’t satisfying. Think of thistime as a blood pact. You share part of your life to give us life, then we doas we please until you die.” she said, her words piercing me like daggers. Thrustingher arm that gripped my throat, she caused me to fall to the floor. This had tobe a dream, no a living nightmare. The demon moved towards my desk and took thebox cutter I used for cutting cardboard boxes as frames. “This’ll do” the demonmuttered. I stood up again, what did I have to lose after all? I watched herfiddle with the box cutter while I slowly backed up towards the door. Once Ireached the half-way point I spun around to run for the door, but the demon wasstanding there. I looked over my shoulder to see the demon was no longer there.Turning back to her, she was much closer now. She took my hand in hers and gaveit a kiss. In a voice exactly like my mum’s she said “Don’t cry Hun.” Now inits normal voice she spoke “This is the best part as her smile seemed tolengthen. Taking the box cutter, she slowly lined up the blade with the side ofmy hand. Our eyes locked, I made a silent plead. Grinning even more now, she slidthe blade across my palm, cutting it open to the bone. She continued thetorture by swing my arm like one would to swat away a fly. The blood from myhand flew across the room, little specks landing on the drawings and sketches.I stood, watching in horror. I had to re-witness the terrible event until therewere almost a dozen more demons. Suddenly, her words echoed in my mind. ‘Youshare part of your life to give us life, then we do as we please until youdie.’ Until you die rung church bells in my head. My heart began pounding. Iquickly grabbed the box cutter from her hands. “There’s no us love, you can’tharm us with that” one said. “I know, but there is always me” I saiddesperately. Each and every one of these wretched demons knew what I meant. Itook the blade pressed it to my throat. I let the blade glide across the skinon my throat. Everything faded as I fell to the ground. My vision was gonebefore I hit the ground, but the sounds of the demons screaming were impossibleto miss, even if I were letting out my last breath. Everything was peaceful andquiet.

                “We canstill save her!” someone yelled. Lights shown down on me as my vision came inand out. Arms and legs strapped to a surface, I made an attempt to move. I wasbeing moved, rolled, to an unknown location. It took me a moment to realize Iwas in a hospital. Suddenly I was free. I sat up quickly, but my eyes stayedshut. It felt like three hours is what it took to get my eyes to open. I was ina white room with padded walls. One door, no windows, white walls. They musthave thought I was crazy. I agreed with them though, who wouldn't after seeingthose things. I had no ability to make words, just sounds. Days went by, thenmonths. Same food every day, in the same white padded room, with the same whitepills they had been giving to me. I learned quickly there was no food until Itook the pills. After what could have been half a year, I was moved into aninsane asylum. The first day was terrible, but not worth complaining about. Notthat I could have. I spent eight weeks there. Eight terrible weeks. The guardswould grab at me inappropriately knowing they could get away with it. The other“feeders”, as the guards referred to us as, were either horribly mean or justhorrible. I wasn't insane before, but I knew sanity and I had parted ways.Walking towards the common area, I took up a pencil. I found a half sheet ofpaper and began my work. I recreated the same drawing, but nothing happened. Irepeated this for weeks. I gave up for I was reaching deep inside myself andnothing came out. Then one cold day, I woke in a cold sweat. The air that dayfelt different. Where ever I went I felt like I was being electrocuted, but ithurt me not. I took up my pencil and found paper for my last time. I begged thesensation to come to me, but nothing. I tried reasoning with it, but nothing.In frustration I let out a scream. I tried one last time, but this time Iforced the sensation. At first I thought it was just my mind. Then as I pickedup I realized it was the sensation I had felt once before. It felt like thatwas a life time ago. I pictured myself back in my room. I felt powerful andmeaningful again. The sensation was stronger than it had been that night solong ago. The difference between that night, and this night was huge though.This night, the sensation and I worked together at the drawing. The drawingcame to life once the eyes were done. It nodded to me, as if it understood Iwanted it out. I bit down on my cheek. I bit down on it so hard I drew blood, butthat was what I wanted. I let the single blood drop that came from the biteout, onto the paper. As the demon came to life I spoke for the first time inwhat had been a year. My first words of hate and my last words of hate werespoken that night. “Kill them all.”

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Short Story
writing BringMeMore115
Fuck work, I have a job.
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A Word from the Writer
I play on writing two stories that are tied to this one.