The Perfect Medium

The scent was rancid, but the color was beautiful. I coated my brush with more of the warm liquid, and transferred it to my canvas. One couldn't get this vivid shade from any store-bought garbage. It sucks that it only came in one color. I tried adding food coloring to it, but eighty percent of the time it turned into a nasty brown. Not to mention, the cheap coloring messed with the consistency. I loaded my brush once again. I had to get this medium directly from the source. I had tried bottling it once, but it had gotten all chunky and had been a mess to work with. The door to my room suddenly creaked open, and in poked the heads of my younger twin siblings. They quickly slammed the door, and I could hear them stampede down the stairs, along with their annoyingly shrill screams.

"MOOOOOOMMMM! TERIA KILLED SOMEONE AGAINNNNN!"

I was soon forced to leave my painting, and instead sat at the kitchen table in front of my concerned parents.

"Sweetie... I know you like painting and all... But can you please use actual paints?" My mom asked.

I rolled my eyes. "How in the world do you expect me to work with that crap?! The texture is wrong, the color is off, and to top it off, it isn't warm! And don't bother telling me to heat it!" I said, referring to a fairly messy microwave incident.

"I know, but this needs to stop! Do you know how many times we've narrowly escaped police investigation?"

"but mo-"

"Enough Teria. Listen to your mother." My dad said, standing up. "No more killing. At all. If we find you do, we're turning you in."

Even my mom seemed shocked by this. "But Steve! Isn't that a bit harsh?"

"Yeah dad! How about letting me off with a warning or something?"

Dad simply shook his head. "No. No warnings. One strike, and you're out. And that's final."

After disposing of the body at around 10 o'clock that night, I sat on my bed, slumped against the wall. How was this going to work? How was I going to paint now? I looked over at the paints my parents gave me with disgust. Those were going in the trash, first thing in the morning. I walked over to the cheaply made paint, and picked up the jar containing the red garbage. I actually liked the jars though... I could put them to good use. I'd have to put the paint in something else though. My eyes rested on a blue rectangular box.

"Bingo." I smiled, grabbing a few Ziplock bags. I opened one , and dumped the red paint into it, zipping it closed when done. It looked like a poorly made blood bag. Blood bag... I snapped my fingers. There was a blood drive tomorrow at school! Perfect!

I woke up unusually early the next day. My family looked pretty surprised when I was out the door and walking to school by 7 am. I had heard my dad whispering something to my mom that "the reformation must be working". I guess it could be, in a way. I mean, murdering night after night can get pretty exhausting. Maybe he had my best interests in mind when he banned murder. I snorted. Yeah right.

When I arrived at school, I realized that I miscalculated horribly. The drive didn't start until 11. I sat down at my first hour class, groaning. I could have slept in way more! I glared over at the clock and willed it to go faster. My willing didn't work, as per usual, and even seemed to go slower, just to spite me. I buried my head in my arms, waiting for the magic of sleep to speed up time.

Eleven am. Finally. I made some lame excuse to get out of class, and snuck down to the gym, where the drive was being held. Already, the bags of my precious medium were being piled into boxes. Unfortunately, the boxes were being watched over by some Red Cross volunteers. Dangit. I had to find some way to get them distracted! My eyes wandered and landed on a stretcher near me. A girl was laying on the stretcher, needle deep in her arm. A nurse was in the process of putting tiny metal clamps onto the tubes, but was being distracted from a conversation with another nurse.

I army crawled to the stretcher, and stealthily arranged the clamps in a pattern that would spell trouble. Quickly, I crawled off so I wouldn't be caught in the bloodsplosion. A few seconds later, I heard a pop, accompanied by shrill screaming. The volunteers were immediately called over to the bloodbath, leaving the boxes unprotected. I made a beeline over to the blood bags, grabbed as many as could fit in my sweatshirt, and headed directly home.

To add to my impeccable lucky streak, no one else was home. I quickly emptied my pockets, and counted my loot. 14. Not bad, but not great either. I might be able to get a few paintings done, if it doesn't clot too quickly. I'd probably have to keep searching for drives as well, so I don't run out. Killing people was much easier... I poked at a bag. Not to mention, the body was like an oven in a way. It kept the blood from getting too cold too fast. Something that these bags were utterly failing at. I glanced over at the my red microwave. A few seconds wouldn't hurt, right?

A few seconds was all it needed. No not only was the microwave red, it also smelt like carnage. Perfect. Dad was going to be absolutely thrilled. I sighed, grabbing my laptop out of my room and searching on how to get rid of the smell of burnt blood. In the process of procrastinating on researching, I stumbled upon an interesting page.

Assassin for hire. Will do all of your dirty work for you. Low cost, will accept trades.

... Dad said I couldn't kill anyone, but he didn't say anything about having someone

else doing it for me... I smiled, picking up my cell phone and dialing. I wonder if he will accept artwork as payment...?