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The Masterpiece

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Night's a stur, not yet sundown. Along day, yet again alone in my art room, still continuously searching and masquerading around, hopelessly in denial with the belief, I'll never find what I'm looking for. I seem to constantly linger in these moods, something so small can feel so big. I decided to surround myself by prosperity, poverty and average people to possibly track down the answer to my biggest prayers. As i triumphed down that wretched path, flash backs were hitting me like lighting striking in-adamit objects. I was seeing my younger years; images, shocking memories i was trying to forget. But remembering myself as a child i could only help to remember how i was, a frugle inadequate confused youngster from having been put through so many catastrophes i sorta forgot what it was like to even be a kid. I tackeled myself from my thoughts to a feeling something was going to happen. With it creeping indefinatley, i could only help to wonder, is this what im looking for.
Night was creeping, the city was growing more and more still. I felt a chill and decided it was time to head back to my slow insecure life. I passed alleys and with one final glimpse noticed a figure so broken yet so peacefully beautiful. I collapsed in horror because of the sudden emotions that came over me. Not even a second passed midnight yet another malicious murder had been made. She was a little girl, blonde curls, a red bow so neat in her hair, face of an angel, eyes bluer than the ocean. Her body lay so limp yet so dainty on the ground, her complextion glistened in the auburn turning sky. A face so beautiful, made it hard to turn away, i became obsessed with her. Five horrible breathes I breathed and knew she was that masterpiece i was looking for. I felt i needed to tell her story.
Facing a blank sheet, drawing in every last feature she had, Then i noticed I've been here before, when my brother died. I once had the same desperate eagerness to tell his story to. They both died horrible deathes making them seem so masochistically wanted. What garganchuan is this; evil swept over me. I got more sucked into my work dipicting it like a real artist would, I seemed to believe i was painting the future, a dreadful on at that, but which i give complete credence too. The characteristics of my face looked so terrifying that i froze. I flashed back again so fast i almost lost my balance. When i came forth from once again, those shocking images, the room was thrashed. I was stunned, whats happening? Then i realized everytime i reminice about the death corrupted past something unexpected and unwanted allways happend. when i turned my head i knew. The painful truth hit, my heart pounding so hard made it hard to hear my thoughts. I was the successor, the garganchuan, the malicious destroyer. I commited those terrible acts, i was the future and the present. The art piece i wanted to make, to show what true prodigy i was, was myself. I'm the murderer, I'm my own masterpiece.




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Healing_Angel said...
Jul. 16, 2010 at 11:00 pm:
I thought at first you were talking about a painting in the room, not about the analysis of the person. Great twist!
 
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hanksa said...
Oct. 8, 2009 at 4:02 pm:
I liked this story. The few spelling errors I caught were the use of "to" when it should have been "too." The other grammar error in this piece I caught was when you said "sorta," instead of "sort of." Other than that, as soon as I started reading I got hooked on this piece. This was a great story and i loved reading it. Except the two grammar errors, this piece would have received a perfect score if I were grading it.
 
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novacekn said...
Oct. 8, 2009 at 1:27 pm:
I liked this story. The few spelling errors I caught were the use of "to" when it should have been "too." The other grammar error in this piece I caught was when you said "sorta," instead of "sort of." Other than that, as soon as I started reading I got hooked on this piece. Except the two grammar errors, this piece would have received a perfect score if I were grading it.
 
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