two | the colour red

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TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️
This chapter may be triggering to certain people due to mentions of blood/slightly disturbing themes. (I swear I'm not an insane person!)

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I walked thoughtfully down the path with the sound of the cobblestones audible clearly against the sole of my shoes. I was thinking of inspiration---for my art. I had created a really alluring piece this time, but I was afraid it lacked something.

The darkness of the night and the cool air brushing past me helped me think. Perhaps I could go for something more...disturbing next time. People often said they found my art 'disturbing'. I liked to call it creative.

If there was one thing I had ever been proud of, it was my art. I had covered so many canvases with all my works, that there was no space left for more.

I could see the windows tightly shut, and the doors were definitely locked properly. The neighbourhood was too quiet. This silence was eerie. Was it strange that I found myself liking it?

The sounds of the police cars' sirens became louder. Soon enough, I realised something was wrong. I kept walking.

I could hear them speaking. I heard their desperate cries. They had found it.

I sighed and looked down at my hands. They were stained with my beloved art. The blood was so beautifully red. If the officers had found my site of art, they would ruin it. I sighed again and ran my fingers gently across my knife.

Well, I could always make more art.

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