So here I go.
***
Vera stared at my latest painting, a clove cigarette smoldering between her elegant fingers. I hated the smell of her cloves, had told her I hated them, hated how they made my studio smell for days after she visited, but she never listened to me. She never listened to me about anything.
"This is dark," she said finally. She dressed to match the cutting edge of the city's social circle, which this week meant hair purposely messed up and a pastel jogging suit. I hated it, hated that I had to kowtow to this bitch. I refused to believe she and her parasites knew what art was, but I knew I needed to sell my soul to them to get anywhere.
It was a savage circle that I couldn't break from.
Finally, she turned her soulless eyes to me. "What made you think of this?" She took a long drag from her cigarette, and I wanted to grind the ember into her face.
Killing those thoughts, I shrugged. "Dunno. It just came to me."
Lies. All of it was lies. I knew exactly what had inspired this painting. After Vera's last gallery opening, when one of her faggot friends attempted to lecture me on what art was, and what the pure angst of a soul was, I'd lost control. I'd wandered the streets for two days, unable to return home, growling and muttering to myself. Some asshole had pulled a gun on me, wanting to mug me, and I'd beaten him to death with my bare hands. Only after that could I come home.
I'd kept the gun. It was on my nightstand, the barrel pointed right at my pillow. I went to sleep staring at it, and it greeted me every morning. I liked it. It reminded me that humans needed trappings to feel powerful.
Except me. I needed no trappings. I created with these hands, and I destroyed with them. Since that mugging, I'd found three more lives to take. It was empowering, and I wanted more.
I wanted Vera to take me to one of her little groups again, so I could show them all my new power.
"Well, it's excellent, Darling. Everyone must see it. Can you bring it by the gallery tomorrow?"
"Of course." I kept my voice low, but I was excited. The single bullet that had been meant for me was going to blaze its way amongst the social elite.
And I would follow, and show them an artist's true angst.
"This is dark," she said finally. She dressed to match the cutting edge of the city's social circle, which this week meant hair purposely messed up and a pastel jogging suit. I hated it, hated that I had to kowtow to this bitch. I refused to believe she and her parasites knew what art was, but I knew I needed to sell my soul to them to get anywhere.
It was a savage circle that I couldn't break from.
Finally, she turned her soulless eyes to me. "What made you think of this?" She took a long drag from her cigarette, and I wanted to grind the ember into her face.
Killing those thoughts, I shrugged. "Dunno. It just came to me."
Lies. All of it was lies. I knew exactly what had inspired this painting. After Vera's last gallery opening, when one of her faggot friends attempted to lecture me on what art was, and what the pure angst of a soul was, I'd lost control. I'd wandered the streets for two days, unable to return home, growling and muttering to myself. Some asshole had pulled a gun on me, wanting to mug me, and I'd beaten him to death with my bare hands. Only after that could I come home.
I'd kept the gun. It was on my nightstand, the barrel pointed right at my pillow. I went to sleep staring at it, and it greeted me every morning. I liked it. It reminded me that humans needed trappings to feel powerful.
Except me. I needed no trappings. I created with these hands, and I destroyed with them. Since that mugging, I'd found three more lives to take. It was empowering, and I wanted more.
I wanted Vera to take me to one of her little groups again, so I could show them all my new power.
"Well, it's excellent, Darling. Everyone must see it. Can you bring it by the gallery tomorrow?"
"Of course." I kept my voice low, but I was excited. The single bullet that had been meant for me was going to blaze its way amongst the social elite.
And I would follow, and show them an artist's true angst.
***
Here's the Blog Chain, as it is now. Enjoy, and check out some other interesting pieces.
My prompts for LostWanderer are:
- Jake
- seeking
- garden
Fokker Aeroplanbau
Truelyana
RavenCorinnCarluk
Lostwanderer5
LilliCray
Aimeelaine
Claire Crossdale
bsolah
Angyl78
FreshHell
Lady Cat
ealexis
Crayonz
Razibahmed
Proach
Tara McClendon
MGraybosch
shethinkstoomuch
