I like to take pictures. I like snow. I like when the snow turns red with the blood of my art. I know that no one wants to see my art. They all contribute though. Always.
It had been two years since Erika vanished. Her little brother, Ollie, says he saw her leave, but won't say where she was going. They are still finding frozen bodies of the kids who said she was bad at photography. Ollie was sitting on his front porch enjoying the dying sunlight when he heard her speak from somewhere near the house.
"Do y-you s-s-s-still be-lieve that I-I-I a-m g-good at a-a-art?" The voice was broken and bloody sounding, Ollie took a minute to answer, "O-o-ollie? O-o-oliver?"
"I still believe in you," Ollie said firmly, he didn't think his sister was very human anymore and was very fearful of her, "You are the best in town," She made a short chortling that invoked a forced down gag before slinking away into the fading light.
-I want to write more of this but I don't handle scary things like this very well so I might just ask someone else to take it from here.
