Life is art... The chaotic build of color, with a dash of mystery, a long message, and a dark hue to make it bold. Art last long; it may have missing pieces, a few smudges, and fading colors; but you can still see the message, that chaotic theme that makes you stare at it for more than five minutes. Life held it's own theme, it last long, it's chaotic, may contain missing pieces or faint colors, and it makes you step back and think about it more than five minutes.
You may say my life was a Picasso painting; no form of a clear message, bold, chaotic, odd, with no sense of warmth. Many times before my world shattered, I watched the pieces go missing, even tried to glue it back together again but it wouldn't work. I sometimes even try to add color to only watch it fade away again. Nothing could fix my art... it was chaotic and cold, a big canvas of mess that only used blood as paint; red or blue- anger and sadness. There would be lucky days when I didn't want to fall into self-loathing, but those days were when I would bathe my hands in other's blood for money.
What happened to me?... I stopped asking that question a long time ago, it would keep my humane side from jumping out the window. I knew this occupation would end in nothing good; either me dead, in prison, or too far gone to the pint of no return. I wasn't there yet, down that dark pit where my beast rested, I haven't lost my soul. However, I could feel myself slipping, my color was fading out, all the pieces were falling off. If only someone caught my hand, colored me in, make new pieces. Maybe... just maybe I wouldn't slip.
Too bad I was caged, in the large room that looked like a palace- to fool me in thinking I was safe and free in Viper's care. The darkness surrounded me, the eyes in each portrait glowed to the point of seeing demons deep out the wall to drag me in. I couldn't sleep. Not because of the job, I can do that with my arms tied behind my back. It was just the forbidden fruit sleeping across the hall, I can't stop thinking of her petite frame, fair skin, dyed black hair, those hazel eyes, dimples cheeks, and that smile that filled in that color- that kept me from slipping.
I had many lovers before I became committed to this occupation, many I would actually die for, a few that I didn't give a shit about, and some that got away before I could actually give my heart to. None, in which, finished filling in the faint lines, fixed that chaotic build, glued the pieces back together, and put light on my artwork. Emily... I could see the hue of pink and green mixing in with my blue and red, the opposite hues always seem to work out if one put them in the right spot.
Why did she save me?... That I asked so many times before, it has not been answered clearly yet. I knew she was holding the actual answer back, afraid I would die before actually come up with a choice or even reject that answer. What can I do? Run away with her in Mexico? Live in the apartment owned by the same woman that wants me killed and play house for the rest of our days until I'm actually taken down? Who knows when that'll happen; a year, six months from now, or even in two days.
I sat up in the large bed, feeling the empty beer bottle brush against my leg. It was the only thing they gave me after dinner, a distraction from everything that's happening. Slipping out of bed was the easy part, but sneaking out my room was its own battle; not that they kept me locked up by putting guards by the door or even keeping the actual door locked. It's what I'm about to do make the whole thing a challenge. Still, I love challenges.
I opened the door to face the dim lighted large hallway, the cameras on each end made themselves noticeable from the sound of them zooming in on me and their red light blinking. At that moment I should turn back and forget everything, but my feet whisked me away across the hall, my knuckles tapped on the thick wood, and my breathing became shallow from nervousness.
The door opened after seconds of waiting, at first I didn't see her, but when the lamp turned on to show her tired face- I melted, my art work gained a sun and a clear blue sky, the pieces was immediately glued back together and the chaotic form became neater.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Trap
Action"Count backwards from ten." The words escaped my mouth, echoing off the walls until they hit the old man's ears. He flinched, I could smell the sweat pouring out his pores, along with the shit he just dumped in his slacks. "Ten," He finally spoke o...
