Breathing though I was, I felt dead inside. I felt the darkness of a soul in hide. I felt the rain in the ruins, I felt the storm of suffering brewing.
A man had died today, displayed on the school square for all to see. For all to glimpse the depth of cruelty.
I was balled up in wonder, why would someone do that? What would they gain? What was going through their head?
What was going through the victims head? Was he scared? Was he in panic? Did he see the reaper laugh at him before the anguish? Did his soul burn while still tethered to his heart? Did his will break as fear of the unknown tore him apart?
I stayed up all night unable to sleep. So I got some paint and decided I felt the need to release. I got a paintbrush and decided to mix them up. I opened the window and got a view of the great landscape work around the school.
A philosopher Michael Montaigne said: "To philosophize is to learn how to die".
I believed him.
One cannot realize how out of touch, how nonexistent they are unless they really think about it. And in that time that they contemplate, they are nonexistent. They are as Montaigne said, dead.
I released the brush from the board and take a sniff of the paints aroma. It smells like rusted coffee and unfixable mistakes. I love it.
Every moment of my life, I try to live without thinking about it. The death of a black man on a cross. Someone told me the French disregarded my colour but I didn't think it to that extent.
Before walking away, I stare at a great masterpiece I had created and sneered at the thought of how content it didn't make me feel.
I walked to my computer and it touched the pad as it deemed. I opened the Art registry panel and it was all everyone talked about. The dead man.
Some of them sent condoles messages to anyone who knew him. Most of them ranted about how living in the university had become dangerous. Indeed it had. There was a serial killer on the loose.
After all that, there was one text that stood out from the others because of the content and how controversial it was. An anonymous sender named iDieWithArt5687 wrote:
"Indeed it was a tragedy, human life is precious and sacred.
But this is an art school and that was meant as an art statement. A beautiful one if we're being honest.
From the hollow expression in his eyes down to the blood that rained on the roses beneath his feet. His back had scratches that formed into wings of sort. Signalling a black angel. And if you looked at it as the sun rose, it was in the perfect position to be viewed as, 'an angel in pain, whispering to the sun and hoping as it rises, it takes the stories of his anguish to God'. But I'm sick so what do I know?"
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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...
