Fiction: Works of Art

afro`puppy · 07-20-2009, 06:39 PM

"You sick fuck!" Art screams at the figure standing before him. The figure just stands there glaring back at him with clenched fists. It's deep brown eyes piercing right through his own.

Art turns away and bangs his head repeatedly off a wall in the lonely apartment, unable to shake the thoughts of what had transpired on this hot summer night. He turns back to the figure which continues to glare at him. A thin crimson stream beginning to run down the side of its face. Art stands there, face to face with the evil figure. Tears begin to run down his cheeks and the figure cries with him.

"Why did you do it?" he whispers to the figure. The figure doesn't answer him, because the figure doesn't know. "Tell me, you twisted fuck!" Art screams. Still no answer. There couldn't be. Not for something like this.

The quiet apartment suddenly fills with the sound of advancing sirens. Art knows they are for him. They must be. He closes his eyes and listens to the sirens. To his surprise, and even more surprising dismay, the sirens pass and continue into the dark night. Rushing to someplace to meet someone. Someone more important than him or the wicked figure that awaits him on the other side of his eyelids. The sirens disappear and the apartment returns to the silent hellhole it always was.

He leans on the wall his head became intimate with a few short moments ago. He leans there with his tears seeping out of his closed eyes and running down his dark cheeks as if to escape the haunting memory of what had happened. A memory which plays itself over and over again in his head. A head he can't escape, no matter how intimate it becomes with the wall.

Art opens his eyes to find the figure still staring at him, its face glistening from its own tears. He can't look at it anymore. He steps from the wall and swings violently at the figure and watches it shatter into countless sharp fragments over the washroom sink. A familiar feeling washes over him. It was envy. He envied that figure that once stood before him. He envied it because it got to disappear.

07-20-2009, 06:39 PM	#1
afro`puppy Junior Member Join Date: Jul 2009 Location: Canada Posts: 3	Works of Art "You sick fuck!" Art screams at the figure standing before him. The figure just stands there glaring back at him with clenched fists. It's deep brown eyes piercing right through his own. Art turns away and bangs his head repeatedly off a wall in the lonely apartment, unable to shake the thoughts of what had transpired on this hot summer night. He turns back to the figure which continues to glare at him. A thin crimson stream beginning to run down the side of its face. Art stands there, face to face with the evil figure. Tears begin to run down his cheeks and the figure cries with him. "Why did you do it?" he whispers to the figure. The figure doesn't answer him, because the figure doesn't know. "Tell me, you twisted fuck!" Art screams. Still no answer. There couldn't be. Not for something like this. The quiet apartment suddenly fills with the sound of advancing sirens. Art knows they are for him. They must be. He closes his eyes and listens to the sirens. To his surprise, and even more surprising dismay, the sirens pass and continue into the dark night. Rushing to someplace to meet someone. Someone more important than him or the wicked figure that awaits him on the other side of his eyelids. The sirens disappear and the apartment returns to the silent hellhole it always was. He leans on the wall his head became intimate with a few short moments ago. He leans there with his tears seeping out of his closed eyes and running down his dark cheeks as if to escape the haunting memory of what had happened. A memory which plays itself over and over again in his head. A head he can't escape, no matter how intimate it becomes with the wall. Art opens his eyes to find the figure still staring at him, its face glistening from its own tears. He can't look at it anymore. He steps from the wall and swings violently at the figure and watches it shatter into countless sharp fragments over the washroom sink. A familiar feeling washes over him. It was envy. He envied that figure that once stood before him. He envied it because it got to disappear. Last edited by afro`puppy; 07-20-2009 at 07:04 PM.