The wax figure

#4

Humming rhythmically, he took his sweet time to load the pictures on his computer. Editing the perfect pose, the man was eager to capture the perfect moment.

He caressed the screen that framed her face. So alive, so beautiful. He had found his perfect model once again.

Leaving his laptop open, he moved to the art room, where his creativity reached its apex and his sculptures took life.
Placing two scalpels on the metallic table, he took out needles, pins, galvanised wire and polyurethane foam.

Although back in the day he used hay, he found that material to be much better.
He wouldn't be stuffing her corpse yet. He still needed to empty it out, treat it with alum and borax, wash it and so on... The man enjoyed keeping close a reminder of the final product.

Paint brushes to fix her makeup were also close by, but he would have to run to the drug store to buy her a new lipstick.

It all would be sealed under the wax, but he needed it to be perfect, and coloured wax was not in his preferences.

He calculated around two months to finish her taxidermy, and one additional to make a wax figure out of her.
The alarm on his phone rang. It was time for her life to end- no, not to end. To be immortalised, captured forever. It was time for her to become immortal and gain a place among his collection.
It was time for her to be his perfect masterpiece.

The man hummed again a joyous beat, dancing towards the room he had left her in. He twirled on himself, ecstatic.
The woman's body was there where he left it.

He did not like to touch her naked body with his hands. It felt disrespectful.
He wore gloves and easily carried her, bridal style, to the other room. He found that fainted people always weighed more than awake ones.

He placed her on the operation table and covered her parts with a thin cloth. He was glad she had decided to take her clothes off herself.

Taking the scalpel, he placed the sharp side on her chest. "It was lovely meeting you", he whispered in her ear.
Taking one last moment to stare at her beautiful face, the man stopped in his tracks.
His face twisted and he threw the scalpel across the room. A metallic clang resonated in his ears.

A big bruise appeared on the temples of her face. She had probably hit it when she fell.
His masterpiece was ruined.

Ruined. Ruined. Ruined. Ruined.

He threw off the table all his tools and kicked the cabinet where he stored them. The man stormed out the door, closing it in a loud thud.

Writer's corner

Y'all the Google searches for this story will put me in jail.