I was swimming in the feeling of ambrosia. Serenity filled me, as I smiled in absolute joy. The smell of metallic iron permeated the humid air. It overwhelmed my senses.
I worked diligently over my muse who was laid, spread eagle, on the steel table and strapped down securely. My favorite scalpel was in my hand as I painted on my newest masterpiece. Blood trickled down in delicate rivulets, painting out the picture. It was so pretty. My newest muse would make a statement. Telling to the world that they are all puppets led on strings, that they are but mere sheep being herded.
I chuckled as my scalpel sunk into the soft flesh then drew down his upper arm. Fresh blood spilling, dripping. Bright red blood swirled with secret sins. It would be so easy to just empty this man of his life essence till he was just an empty husk. But I had to be careful. I had to be more precise than ever.
Perfect! No more, no less. Perfection is a must.
My last masterpiece almost didn't make it to her placement hanging. I had to make sure this one did. I had to. The world needs to see my art.
Looking up, I chuckled some more as Detective Barthlow's face grimaced in his unconscious state. This one had been a hard one to fool. To lead astray. But human nature wins time and time again as their instincts to be led swallows them whole.
What pitiful people.
Sighing, I concentrated on my task at hand. I was in my element. Crafting cut after cut, creating a picture and tangible evidence that I was an artist of exemplary standards.
A soft groan of delicious pain drew my attention to my muses face.
Going back to my painting, I drew beautiful letters of red across his chest. His skin easily tore and split to the side, making room for my painting.
My statement.
"It never troubled the wolf how many the sheep may be," I whispered, reading my art work aloud.
Oh how gorgeous! How mighty!
I was breathless and giddy all at once! My masterpiece was almost complete. Feelings of happiness filled my being. It filled my empty soul.
Walking away to only come back with the dolly, I carefully unstrapped my masterpiece and placed his body onto it. We strolled outside to my vehicle. Opening the door and placing him in his seat, I carefully buckled him in and put a cloth under the seatbelt across his chest as to preserve my painting and not ruin a single thing. There. Perfect. Just perfect.
Walking around the vehicle, I got in and we were off.
"I know the perfect place for you Detective Barthlow. You'll absolutely love the place you are to be unveiled," I said to the man sitting peacefully in the seat next to me.
Humming under my breath, I listened to his shallow breathing. Each breath filled with pain. With alluring tragedy. It was such a wonderful tune. It made me conflicted. As an artist, I wanted to share this beautiful melody with the world, but I was greedy. Far too greedy to share this one thing, as I wanted to be the only one to know of this.
When we arrived, I set to work with a skip in my step. For him, I only used the best material. It took me almost a whole hour to completely string him up, but in the end, it was worth it.
Sitting in front of my masterpiece, I deliberated on what to do next. That choice was taken from me when Detective Barthlow started to awaken. The groans that were spilled from his lips from the agony he must have been feeling excited me. It had dopamine rushing through my system.
That sound, that singular sound, of absolute torment is why I did this. The human body and all of its flaws were vulnerable to me and I loved it. I was the master, I was the puppeteer. And no one escaped from my strings.
YOU ARE READING
The Master Puppeteer
Terror| "The human body and all of its flaws were vulnerable to me and I loved it. I was the Master, I was the Puppeteer. And no one escaped from my strings." | Warning: Explicit content and language
