My parents did weep for me, my siblings too. They lent me their hands but for a moment they
knew I wouldn't hold on.
I was through, with life and all else.
The cancer had spread, I didn't even ask how far it had dispersed. All I did was choose death and feel depressed. Get my feelings repressed, hope the ending is best.
After an elevator ride not at all uplifting, I stood at the penthouse door with my thoughts shifting. My heart drifting and my body drilling from the cold of these gothic walls.
The art design and architecture, it was something to behold. Something that I felt belonged to the artist designing it.
It must have been a part of him.
As I thought out, to the unwavering random patterns that weren't so random, thick paint stack, streams of black carved like a statue of freedom. Like an unearthing of wisdom, like the palace of a forgotten kingdom.
As I sat there illuminated by darkness, yet to breath from the sadness, a mind in madness and a-
The golden doors slide open, on the other side, he stands. Something draws me in, I don't think till my foot lands, past the threshold of the door.
His face is away from mine as he stares at the wall. There is a portrait, portraying his rise and predicting his fall.
It is purple, with red mixture like blood diluted. A being is in the air legs up and limbs down, with a silence like all life has been muted.
He is tall, and artistic in his adornment. I sense a soul in motion the room was lit up with unspoken torment.
I pause, he turns were he stood. I see his face, mouth with beautiful teeth and eyes hard as wood.
He says, "Tell me, and how long have you waited to see me"?
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Killing You
Mystery / ThrillerNatasha is an African girl in love with Art. She can't take that she is in the last moments of her life because she has cancer. She travels to Paris to live out her dream of becoming a recognized painter before she dies. There, she meets Ian. And ge...
