The Artist

• Thara Karthik, Grade 6, Blacktown South Public School -
• Short Story
• 2018

Excellence Award in the 'Horizon of Dreams 2018' competition

The artist watched with lifeless eyes as people had fun and danced in joy while the artist sat in his pit of misery. The Artist was in dire need for some sort of love and joy in his life. His family were treated as outcasts.This pain was too much for most of his family, as they had committed suicide years ago. He simply could not bear this pain of countless Christmas & New year nights alone. He had been only since he was a child, it was not going to stay this way. “People shall respect me, I’ll show them I have power!” he thought while clenching his fists.

Suspiciously lurking around on the quiet streets of Seoul the Artist looked around seeking his next victim. In front of him, was a lady; she seemed to be coming home from some sort of night out. Long brown hair cascading down her shoulders, she wore a bedazzled black dress, and had glossy black heels. He followed her closely watching her every step, and the longer he did so the clearer it became that she was not sober. Reeking of alcohol, she approached an alleyway, making him smirk. “Now’s my chance,” he muttered as he ran towards the youthful woman who was doing things for her own accord. She turned around and said slurred words, “H - Heyy, What are you doing -g?”

He looked at her sinisterly, a psychotic grin spread across his soot covered face. His fetish was murder, he pulled a small but dangerous swiss knife out of his torn pockets. Pocket knife glinting in the moonlight, and without remorse he plunged it into the drunkard’s stomach. Paralysed, she could do naught but wince in pain. Gathering the sickening liquid, he filled a jar to the brim. One of the many he used to fill with his favourite scarlet paint. “Perfect,” he muttered, plotting the murder of another innocent.

Arriving back home the artist sat, staring at the blank canvas the same way he did when he was a saner man. Dipping a brush into the jars of blood, he painted a piece of art, a dark isolated island with a little dead person resting on it. He held this ‘blood painting’ close to him. He had continue his immoral actions, he felt like he should be secluded from this harsh world so he went and hid in a hole for days. Starving.. Lonely.. Insane… All words that described this sick, broken man.

Something did not seem right, his countless sins had driven him completely insane. “Where did I go wrong, why am I feeling remorseful,..?” He questioned while starting to finally feel emotions insanity. He held the knife to his neck and slit it open, the knife that had taken the life of many had now taken his… Maybe, he still seeks revenge as a spirit, but we will never know..