Skin of Chains

Act III Daylight

I felt devastated by what I was feeling, I thought that I would never like to murder but ... see the blood... Oh God! That glorious paint made my skin have goosebumps like a cold morning. I noticed that I wouldn't feel anything anymore besides getting more of that paint.

I continue walking with the rain on my body, thinking about my demons, thinking about that voice that never showed up again, there's where realize that I was lonely, I killed two persons without the voice of my head, after two, I killed seven more, those seven changed to be fourteen with the pass of the days.

Every paint of blood that came out of their bodies were unique, I couldn't last long enough to appreciate my artwork too much, I knew with every person I had murdered something was coming, chasing me out for no reason, It was the police that finally showed up, I don't really know why they kept me waiting so long, I yelled at them that I WAS THE ONE WHO HAVE KILLED SIXTEEN PEOPLE, I was the killer that they want, I was the monster behind their necks.

They played down more importance to what I had said, they thought I was playing... But after my greatest work of art, one that I have been planning for far too long.

There's where I've noticed that I am becoming death, the destroyer of worlds. I had been planning it ever since I heard that a woman had died murdered by her husband, - throat ripped out and head split in half by an Ax, arms and legs mutilated and nipples ripped off presumably by her husband's mouth-. She was found being devoured in the garbage by rats and other animals. It was then that I decided to see the photo of the woman, she was the same woman who had been kind to me... I said to myself.

-Why are we so... so weak? We were born to die but at the same time we fear death, is it a process? or is it just that we do not represent anything, we want to believe that we are something doing "important" things but the truth is that they are only important for ourselves, we grow up with the inspiration of being remembered for all history but some do not even get to be remembered at home.

I simply think that we are all lost, it makes no sense to continue thinking that we have any value as people, when some people want to make a change or simply they are the change, they die irremediably.

That's why I decided to go to my old school and act normal, it wasn't surprising that they didn't notice my absence, I decided to do it very cautiously, but suddenly everything clouded up, only screams were heard, when everything uncovered I could see bodies of young people melted by the acid that presumably had been me... The truth is I don't remember anything that happened after the fog but... When I turned around... I witnessed the most wonderful work of art in the world, flesh together with blood and skin they had formed a delight for my eyes.

So, I realized that the voice in my head had taken presence in my body, only my subconscious could do such a thing, it was as if everything I had been through happened again and again and again, but this time I was enjoying it every time...