Smiling Stitches ¤REWRITE¤ (discontinued)

Chapter Three

Jeff the Killer's POV

I yawned as I plopped down on my blood covered bed, pondering what to do next. The girl from earlier had interested me to a remarkable extent! Maybe I'll try to get BP (Quick A/N: Jeff calls Helen, BP, because he's most commonly known as Bloody Painter :).) to draw her. He's pretty good at drawing. Well, he is if you can get him to look away from his paintings or catch him right before he leaves to get some new "pigment."

On the way to the studio BP shares with the more art-loving pastas that live with us, such as the Jacks, with their masks and mutilated child drawings, and Puppeteer, with his weird contraptions that are supposedly things he uses to control his victims when he's busy,  I spotted BEN outside his room.

"A-Aaaagh..." he groaned, clutching his blonde head, "Why is Splendorman here?" I muffled my chuckling as I passed by. Whenever Splendorman came, he kicked BEN out of his room and confisticated all his "happy grass."

This started after he overheard BEN talking about his "therapy" and wanted to try some since it was "happy." When he found out you burn it to smoke, he flew into a rage. He's worse than Slendıck and Offendy COMBINED. Ok, maybe not combined; Offendy is pretty bad. But we couldn't find BEN for days.

That was how the kid died, according to Slendy. Splendy had apparently tied a boulder  (yes, a boulder, not just a rock) to his neck and thrown him to the center of a lake. That's why BEN is so scared of water now.

I continued to the studio so I could get BP to make me a painting. When he had enough details, his paintings were more like photos than plain drawings. They were pretty damn awesome! Although he never used any colors besides red. (.-.)

And here we are!

Third Person POV

Jeff stepped into the art studio, instantly in awe of Bloody Painter's most recent picture. It was a large, two piece painting of the whole entire creepypasta family, complete with weapons, blood, et cetera on one side. On the other side was a completely different picture. It showed their past selves.

On it, Jeff was the innocent boy he had once been, with short brown hair and a cheeky smile. There wad no evidence of the pale, crazy person he was now. Beside him, with an arm around his brother's shoulders, was a face he knew all too well. Behind him, in the picture, was Liu.

Jeff felt tears sting his lidless eyes. His breathing quickened. He fell to his knees, covering his face, murmuring incoherent words of reassurance to himself.

"No. No, Jeff. L-liu didn't die. If course not! He's too awesome to die! Right? R-right? Liu's not dead... No w-way."

Inside, his subconscious thought he was lying to himself. But he didn't care. He just wanted to feel better. So he kept telling himself Liu was alive, which he was.

Liu was actually just taking a short nap after coming across a dead body on his front porch. He had just finished hiding the body and cleaning up the mess.

Bloody Painter caught Jeff in his state of despair from seeing his older brother. Sighing, he sat down cross-legged next to him.

"Sorry you had to see the painting," the artist apologised,  pointing at it, "I'm planning on destroying it later." Jeff looked up, eyes puffy.

"No, please don't d-destroy it. That's probably the only thing left of him for me. But... How did you know what he looked like?"

Bloody Painter wanted to say something cool, like that he saw Liu in a dream, but he knew better. He knew he shouldn't tell the truth, either. That being that he had seen somebody on the streets saying Jeff's name that looked kind of like Jeff. And so he said nothing.