The blood dripped off the blade of my knife as I took a step back to admire my handiwork. I looked at the swirls, curls and spirals that now covered her once pristine body, I bet she took great care not to get a scratch or a scar on her perfect body. I've noticed that girls don't like scars, scratches or cuts; they try to cover them plasters or ointment. They see scars as imperfections and things to be erased; they try to hide them from the world because they think that people will find them ugly. I looked at my work that now adorned her skin; the deep red drops blossoming like flowers against the paleness of her chest, the cuts seemed to look like vines that had grown across her body. Now this was perfection!
I quickly put on a pair of gloves and then my fingers traced the cuts that ran along her body; I followed the patterns like a path before coming to a spiral where I took my finger off. I looked at the clock on the wall, it read 11:45 pm, I had started my latest piece of work at 9:00pm. Two hours and forty-five minutes was all it took to transform a blank canvas into a scarlet drenched masterpiece. Her name was Felicity Daniels as I recall, she was a young woman who worked as a receptionist and she liked to do yoga and go shopping with her best friend Hayley on the weekends. I had met her a week ago in a Starbucks; she was buying a coffee and didn't have the right amount of money so I offered to pay for the rest. She responded greatly to this act of random kindness and we became friends…well, she thought we were friends, I was merely shopping for a new canvas. We met regularly for coffee and sometimes for lunch until one day, after a night out together, she asked to come back to my place. I had told her that I was an artist and she wanted to see my work, I had never let her before because I was working on another piece.
He was a young man named Chazz, I had met him three weeks before I met Felicity and he became my new wax statue. It was fun watching him scream and cry in agony as I poured the hot wax down his throat. Then, whilst he was clutching his throat in anguish, I covered him in a layer of wax, which would preserve his look of torment and despair. It was a shame that I had to kill him…I found him rather cute. His body was discovered by the police when I had placed it in the park about two weeks ago. Nearly all of my works have been displayed to the public; I had left them in various places around Gotham waiting for some passer-by, or the police or even Batman, to find them. Sort of like an Easter egg hunt or a present even. When they were found some people thought they weren't real; a sick joke left by some prankster. They were positive that they were fake until…they touched their skin and an overwhelming look of horror spread across their faces as it dawned on them... they were dead. And ten maybe fifteen minutes later a police car would arrive and inspect the scene. A crowd would gather and stare at my masterpiece as it stood in the streets, or the park, or even the centre of the city.
Felicity was now gonna get the privilege to be my next work of art to be unveiled to the public. I bet that she never thought in a million years that this was going to happen to her, one day she's laughing with her friend and drinking a coffee, the next she's dead, lying naked on my table. I bet she never thought that when she walked into my apartment, she would never come back out. She expected to look at my paintings, sketches and drawings. Maybe she expected me to draw her naked like in Titanic when Jack draws Rose wearing the necklace on the sofa. Maybe she expected a glass of wine, a chat with her new friend, some snacks and maybe a kiss. Who knows, maybe she wanted more than a kiss. Maybe she wanted my body just like I wanted hers. She wanted a passionate night of sex whilst I just wanted to slice into her skin. All I know is that her pointless life has now met its horrifying conclusion.
I looked at my blood stained floor; art is so messy! I went in the kitchen and brought back a mop and a bucket full of water. Dipping the mop in the water I began to mop up the blood, it was like painting with a giant brush. The blood and water blended together before being swept away by my mop. Just like that the remains of her life had been washed away. I picked up the bucket and took it into the kitchen where I poured the mixture down the drain. Now there was only one thing left to do before my work was to be unveiled. Like all good artists do, I had to sign my work.
I grabbed the knife which lay at the side of her body and cleaned it to get the excess blood off, my signature had to be perfect. I selected a piece of skin on her stomach and gently pressed the knife against her flesh. The blood seeped out of her skin as I carefully carved my signature into her pale, lifeless skin. But my mark had to legible, how else would they recognise that it was my work? I finished off the "O" in my signature before I took a cloth and wiped the blood off her body.
And now it was time to hang up my work in the streets of Gotham City. Then just as you cover a picture before it's unveiled, I covered up her body in a large, black cloth. I got a black bin bag from my kitchen and folded up her body so she would fit in the bag. To unsuspecting people it looked like a bag of garbage but to me it was much more than that. I quickly washed my hands from any excess blood so I wouldn't look suspicious before I picked up the body and exited my apartment. A smile plastered itself across my face, the thrill of murder was intoxicating and the thrill of someone finding my work was like ecstasy. I had already picking the site where I was going to set up my work, a bench near the Starbucks she once visited. I suppose the markings on her body could look like the steam that rose from her coffee that she drank everyday before disappearing off to another mind numbing day at work.
I looked behind me to check if anyone was watching, turned the corner and saw the bench just a couple of feet away. I could barely contain myself as I walked hastily towards the bench. And then, carefully unfurling the bag and I pulled out Miss Felicity's body, my grin was about the size of a Cheshire cat's as I peeled back the black material and unveiled my beautiful artwork. Gently and graceful, I laid her body on the bench and positioned her carefully in the pose I wanted her to be in. Then stepping back I admired my final piece in all its glory, it was breathtaking. My eyes fell to my signature on her perfectly slender stomach; it read "Picasso".
A gleeful smile painted itself on my face whilst I turned and walked away. Tonight was a good night, my plan had gone off without a hitch and my latest piece of work was going to be unveiled to Gotham City. Looking up, I noticed that the moon looked particularly beautiful tonight, it made the atmosphere feel so tranquil....
Wait...
What was that?...
Footsteps.
I froze dead on the spot, my blood turned cold as my feet were rooted to the ground. I should be running by now, I should have been halfway to my apartment by now. My breathing became frenzied and my palms were slick with sweat, why wasn't I running?! Strange, usually by now the person should enquired about me or at least shouted. But I heard no shouting or talking, nothing just complete silence. I was tempted. Tempted to turn around and look at this person in the face. Who are you stranger? And why are you here? People always say that curiosity killed the cat, maybe it would kill me too. Slowly, I turned my head and then partially turned my body. I saw a flash of purple and green in the pale moonlight before my feet became unstuck and I made a quick getaway.
Safe and sound in my apartment I collapsed on my bed as I tried to catch my breath. My mind was filled with questions and my body was exhausted, I needed to sleep. I longed for morning until then I will sleep and then in the morning, I hope to be awoken by screams or maybe even a police car or two...