I stand before my greatest creation, and I gaze at its glory. The elegant brush strokes matched with the beautiful array of colors sends shivers to the tips of my fingers. The instant release of completion, the opiate that is art. The release is near orgasmic as I lift my brush from the canvas, my body trembling from what I\u2019ve done, what I\u2019ve created, and you must admire it. My art surpasses natural beauty. It explains that which you did not know existed. All will understand, but none will know. They want what I provide, and so I provide. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A knock comes from my door, I feel my face loosen from its tightened state, as my teeth pull from my lips slowly, taking skin along with them. It is strange, I do not often get visitors, especially at night. I begin to walk to the door, feeling the dried paint on my skin peel as I stretch my arm towards the knob. I crack the door to see a small young woman, a beautiful creature, long light brown hair, blue eyes that pierced mine. Those eyes widen as she stares at me, and her lips crack open as her jaw lowers into a face that expresses only terror. She screams and begins to run, leaving me in shock at my door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Poor woman, it\u2019s awful to think these poor people have to live out in the world, scared and alone. They don\u2019t know they\u2019re crazy. But sometimes there\u2019s no helping them unfortunately. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turn and close my door, locking the chain. I push a deep breath past my lips, and walk to my bed. The night has come quickly and I have to rest, creation tires me. My work is almost entirely done, and closure is on my way. The thought of completing my life\u2019s work takes me away, and carries me into my sleep, to dream dreams of fame and love. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
My sleep is interrupted quite abruptly by a knock at the door, it is probably but 3 a.m. \u201cThey\u2019re here for my art\u201d I mutter to myself, \u201cThey\u2019ve finally come for it\u201d. I make my way to the door, and gaze through the peephole. There are five men with blue uniforms on, holding handguns staring back at me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turn back to my apartment, and gaze at my beautiful creations. Pieces strewn across the room, cold arms and legs sprawled out on the floor, the couch, the bed, the bathtub, cold eyes piercing the ceiling. The wonderful brush strokes carved into their canvas, their essence leaking onto the ground. I still feel the paint, pulling my skin. I bite my lip and my hair stands. I feel the cold barrel enter my mouth, and squeeze my hand as the sensation overtakes me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
My final creation. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
By: Sean Phelan I stand before my greatest creation, and I gaze at its glory. The elegant brush strokes matched with the beautiful array of colors sends shivers to the tips of my fingers. The instant release of completion, the opiate that is art. The release is near orgasmic as I lift my brush from… <\/p>\n