Starving Beauty

Sarah lll

"Can you play with me?"
He looked down, seeing the gleeful eyes of the little child, laying in front of him.
"I want to play puzzle"
He knew that she asked him to correct her when she said something wrong, but puzzle a puzzle, really? He couldn't bring himself to tell her.
The long hair from John came around the corner.
"You two have to take your meds. And don't you forget it Sarah"
"But I don't like the medicine, it makes me sleepy"
He saw how her eyes filled with sadness, trying to argue about something that couldn't be changed.
"Take them Sarah, it'll help against seeing him, John only wants the best, trust me, they will help and after you slept a little we can puzzle"
"But the last time I took them the man was still there"
"Did you tell the doctor that"
John was surprised to her it, the antipsychotics should help against the hallucinations and the flashbacks.
"Sarah, I'll talk to the doctor, you can wait a little and then I'll get you probably a bit more Meds"
"Fine, can we puzzle?"
He looked at the little girl, thought about her trauma, kidnapping, then losing her mother. Her mind was broken but in the psyche ward the shards had been put back together, back together into a beautiful picture of a little autistic girl, haunted by her past.
She knew about his brotherly love, how he cared for her and how he would do anything for her, anything for the little Sarah.
Sarah, the little girl that couldn't even really talk, Sarah the sweet child, not made to endure the suffering this world could bring, Sarah the girl that learned to read, talk and think even if she wasn't able to do it like others. Sarah, the girl that was now shackled to a wheelchair, blood oozing from her now stumped legs. Sarah who had gotten one eye gauged out because she didn't stop screaming in pain. Sarah who had lost all her nails, one after the other, because she just couldn't stay silent. Sarah.
"She didn't have to suffer, why did you...why did you do this"
"Because I wanted to have a birthday present for me. And, I wanted to give it to you too."
The figure, face sealed in a black mask, with a black hoddie and trousers with suspenders, stood over the now live less body of the little girl, a dark grin in its voice.
"I love me a good present"
He vomited, repulsed by the...everything.
The sight of the now rotting loved one, with her blood filled eye sockets, her splintered teeth and torn skin. The black bruises under  her eyes, all over her body, up to the short underwear and probably underneath. And the cuts, spread over her entire skin, ripped of prices and open blood vessels, pulsating under the amalgamation of flesh and bone, laying before him.
He vomited again, no he was vomiting still, like she did, probably because of the pain they feel. They felt the same pain, she lived through it and he saw it, saw the bones snap, the eyes melt, the teeth shatter and the skin get flayed.
He fought for words, fought against feeling her horrors. His empathy was wrong, he should not feel it, or at least so he thought.
"I call it, Sarahs dream"
The person behind the face mask smiled, but the smile, that was so alina before, now was something kind of familiar.
"Oh, you just thought about it, I mean me, not my breathtaking piece but...me"
"The fuck are you"
"No one likes to here that, but I understand. Who the fuck am I? I am an artist, you know. Art is something that evokes emotion, performance art for example. They don't care about blood, tears, the horrors of humanity or what they can and can't do. They just care about the emotions. So, why is 9/11 lesser art then the Mona Lisa, or hemlet? Just because you think it is lesser, why? Because someone dies? People die in performance art to, or better they nearly did, before the real artist, the person holding a gun up to someone's head, had been stopped. I'm just a little different. I AM unstoppable. I work of something far more human and the real question is, what is that?
The horror of the human mind, the things we're capable of, the darkness within us, or something far more familiar? Maybe the..."
"You are SICK!"
"Sebastian, be quiet or you won't be my magnum opus"
"I don't want, no, I AM not yours! You are a sick man with the wrong influence, that twisted your mind in such a way that you ended up like that. You killed Sarah for fucks sake, die, abomination, die just die and let me live in peace!
He didn't know where the words came from but he just screamed them out, hoping that there would be any reaction. He knew that he was somewhere where nobody could here him, like an abandoned complex on the outskirts of the city, right in the industrial area.
"Sebastian, don't say mean things. Or at least be more grateful to your maker. You said something about my bad influence, you know, I had one. I told you about him once before. His name was Jason. He was my brother."
He remembered, there was a conversation he had, with John, right after Sarah went to sleep. He looked at the figure standing before him, the smirk face, concealed with a mask and a hood, a hood concealing the long dark hair.
"John?"
"Right, remember what I told you about my brother? That he..."
"He was in many different psyche wards, because every time he was free,horrible things happened"
"Yes, such a bad influence, because of him I learned to wait, doing things only when no one would notice, or someone else could be called responsible. And now, you just showed how good am a with patients. Because of me, of my work, you thought you were safe. And so, after following you, I started to love you more and more and that made me choose you as my magnum Opus, my final piece."
"Why the fuck are you telling me this?"
His mind started feeling numb, thinking about the lost trust, the danger of John, the danger of this monster before him, it all was just too much.
"I just can't, I don't know, I...I am just done"
"A broken mind, is the first step, now, we can start with your body"