My Creativity By D.I. Jolly
Janet crouched naked and afraid, locked into her small cage, barely able to look up at the man standing over her. His voice had been the only thing she’d heard for a week and it’s sound pieced her sanity, which hung by a single thread.
“The doctors tried to tell me once that it wasn’t my fault, that I was simply born this way. Personally, I don’t like that way of thinking. Makes me feel undervalued. A lot of work goes into my little art projects you know.”
He was walking ahead of her pulling her cage on a trolley down a brightly lit hallway and then suddenly stopped.
“Here we have Berniece. We met at a bus stop, I asked her for the time and she looked at me in disgust and shifted away. So, I followed her home, took her in her sleep and turned her from a horrible woman into this lovely painting.”
He gestured up at what had once been a human body, now stretched out over a canvas with the internal organs and bones arranged into a grotesque bus stop.
“I was actually quite disappointed, she died of a heart attack just as I started working.”
He continued his walk pulling the cage along, only to stop at the next monstrous art piece.
“Not like Michelle here, she hung on for hours. We met online, I sent her message after message with no reply until finally, she had my account banned from the site. But I made a new one, used some other pictures and lured her out of hiding.”
The image showed what could have been a street corner, with the spinal cord as a street lamp. As the tour continued, stopping at every piece, Janet felt her sanity fray and warm urine run down her leg as the desperation to flee turned into a desperation to die. The sound and smell caught the man’s attention and a faint smile slipped over his face.
“What’s the matter, don’t you like my artwork? Does it not please you to see how I express my creativity? Some would say I’m ahead of my time, but personally, I think I’m a true purist since before there was paint, there was blood to smear on walls.”
“W…w…w…why me? We, we’ve n…n…n…never met.”
He crouched down so he could look at her directly.
“Because you look like someone I used to have a crush on in high school. I killed her with a shovel and always felt like it was a wasted opportunity, now I get to make it up to myself.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, causing her to start screaming uncontrollably at full volume.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m much better at keeping people alive now, you’ll get the whole magical experience. My hope is that you’ll still be alive when I hang you.”
She continued to scream as he led her into his studio at the end of the hall, she continued to scream while he worked, and in his proudest moment, she even screamed when he hung her on the wall, across from a mirror, so that she could see herself. As the hours slipped by she was forced to watch him pleasure himself twice before all of her life had finally leaked out, and then just before her eyes closed, and before the police broke down the door, she watched him shoot himself.