The Tell-Tale Watercolors
I love painting. I love to be painted. I love watching the colors swirl together, kissing the canvas, forming a picture. It was a dreary Saturday when I decided. A lone art studio, owned by a middle-aged woman, was offering to paint someone's portrait for 150 pounds. Being rich, I decided to go and try it out.
I remember how my boots crushed the snow that morning, like it was crushing a roach. My light green eyes darted around the area, surveying it. It was a deserted area, for peasants, unknown to someone of my nobility. My hand went to the knife in its blade, hidden by my overcoat. You should be prepared for thievery and murder in shabby old London. Many didn't carry weapons around, and when I told them I did, they thought me mad.
Mad. Distraught. Crazy. Paranoid. Mentally instable. Those idiotic fools! I am sane, perfectly sane. I walk like a sane person, I talk like a sane person, I eat like a sane person, and dress like a sane person. Why am I then mad? I'm normal, as normal as can be!
The art studio was a footstep away. I was about to rap on the door, when a woman opened it. Her kind face was etched in a happy smile and her face lit up. She had dabs of paint on her tired features. She held a bandaged hand. Even in the cold, I could smell it. Her blood.
"Good day, Madame," I tipped my hat politely, ignoring the scent.
Ha! How was that for mad?
"Good day, sir. Are you ready for your portrait?"
Her voice sounded like smooth velvet. It was comparable to an angels' and I could not think of anything to describe it more. I almost keened inside my soul. Never had I heard such a sweet tune, dripping from anyone's mouth. My heart raced as I replied.
"Yes. And I've been ready for so long,"
She smiled at me and her mouth dropped a few golden threads of words.
"Come right in. Your stool is ready," she said, each word reaching my ear slowly and sweetly.
Once more, I almost melted at her doorstep, but proceeded to walk into her studio. I stared intently at the back of her head, begging her to say something, anything. I wanted to hear her voice again, and I wanted it to be ringing in my ears.
She led me to my stool and I sat, facing a blank canvas upon a rickety wooden easel.
"Now sir," she ordered me. "Turn your body to me,"
"How so?" the words barely left my lips for I did not want to hear my own, demonic voice. Hers was a thousand leagues sweeter, better and it danced in my mind like fire.
"Your face should stare right at me, and your body should be pledged magnificently,"
"How so?" I asked again, cursing inside my mind for speaking.
"Let me move you to the desired position," she jumped lightly off her stool and walked over to me. With her angelic fingers, she moved my head slightly to the left. She then twisted my torso very, very gently to the right.
"Now throw out your chest," she sat on her stool again, eyes twinkling.
"Of course," I nodded to her, boasting my chest.
"Perfect," her delicate fingers picked up a small brush. A liner brush, I knew. If I was mad how would've I known what the brush was called? Hmmm?
My breath caught in my throat as she touched the brush to the canvas, slowly and seductively.
"Oh!" she jumped. "Forgot the watercolors!"
My ears opened at the sound of her screech. Oh heaven above, let my ears be sweetened with the melody that is formed in her throat!
I started to sweat. Everything about her was suddenly becoming beautiful. Her eyes, blue as the sky, her lips as soft as feathers, and her rich chocolate brown hair. How much longer could I stay still?
Heaven above, I call on you again to state that she was indeed Aphrodite incarnated! Perfect in every way, I say! A goddess in flesh.
That's when I saw it and froze. Everything stopped. I could even feel my heart hesitantly beat slowly when my eyes fell upon it. Colors of every kind. Blues, greens, yellows, blacks, and that wasn't even half of it. And now, my heart started throbbing. It beat so loudly, I was sure the woman could hear it. Silence, horrid thing! SILENCE! Colors. So many of them. She dipped the liner brush into the black paint. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
"W-what is your name, madam?" I asked, trying to forget the paint.
"Julia, sir, if it pleases you," she smiled at me.
"Beautiful,"
"Thank you sir,"
I didn't nod to her, but nodded mentally. I was sure there was not color left in my now dull, gray lips. My mouth was dry and I almost started to pant.
"You can get up for a few moments as I paint the background. I've already outlined you," she said, grabbing bigger brushes.
I got up gratefully, her soothing voice calming me down slightly. I looked around the studio. A few lone paintings hung on the wall. Unfinished canvases littered the left corner of the room. Four candles at lit up the room at every corner. My eyes lingered to a few pieces of bandages and a couple of long pieces of rope. I saw Julia pick out a color. My eyes strained, darting wildly around. I knew that color. No one could ever get it right! It was purplish, but the dominant color of red took its place. I slipped the pieces of rope and bandages into my pocket.
"Madam Julia,"
"Yes sir?"
"Is that…by any chance…red?" I asked casually.
"Why yes, sir. It is," she nodded and opened the lid. The aroma instantly hit my nose and I smelled the very faux odor. It was not real red. And when someone couldn't get red right, I had to finish the painting.
"Madam, that isn't red,"
"Sir?"
I walked up behind her, my hand on a piece of rope. She didn't turn but stared attentively at the color.
"Do you know how to make real red?"
"…sir?"
Her pleading voice, dying for an explanation, hit my ears. The sweet, sweet voice.
"Miss Julia?" an alien voice said.
We both turned, and I hid the rope behind me. A teen aged boy with ruffled black hair smiled at us and said, "I'm going early. Mum's birthday,"
"Of course, Jeremy! Tell her hello for me!" Julia smiled.
The boy nodded and as he shut the door of the studio behind him, I could feel my hand throb with rage.
Why did he have to hear her voice? Why did he listen? Why is he working with her? He should cover his ears, that fool! Her voice was mine, and mine alone!
"Now, sir. What were we saying?" she turned back to the paint.
"Red,"
"Ah, yes," she nodded slightly. "If that is not your desired shade, then tell me, what is?"
"It's simple, really," I laughed quietly. "But it requires…some sacrifice,"
"Oh?" she asked, letting the question hang in the air. Her blue eyes were questioning my own green eyes.
I gulped. Sacrifice. Her voice. Did I really want to sacrifice that?
"Yes," I nodded. She turned again and got out a separate brush.
"What do I need to mix it?"
"Nothing. I will do it,"
I put my lips to her silky hair and kissed it softly. I could feel her stiffen, but not to worry, my dear Julia. All will be well and you will be in peace. I could hear her rigid breathing, scared and confused. In a quick motion, I grabbed both of her hands and took the rope. I spun it in a tight knot and she started to scream. I shook her hands. They were tied stiff. I winced at the sound of her scream. It wasn't beautiful like her normal voice, which I had come to decide I could not go without hearing.
"Julia…" I whispered her name and took a bandage instead of a rope. I didn't want to choke her.
"YOU "-
I tied the bandage around her mouth and her curses and cries became muffled. I smiled happily. I have done it! She sat, writhing in her chair. She suddenly jumped up and towards the studio door. I chuckled as I idly walked after her. She banged her head against the door, completely mad. Now that is crazy. Mental. That. I therefore state, I'm NOT mad, nor was I ever. She was, my darling Julia.
I grabbed her hair and dragged her to the stool again. She tried to scream, but was muffled and quiet unheard. My darling Julia. How sweet she looked when she was crazed with fear.
"Sit," I ordered. She started to stand again, so I brought out my knife and put it close to her face. Julia sat slowly as I grabbed another piece of rope from my pocket and put the knife next to my foot. Her once calm eyes stared at me hatefully. And I loved that look. She looked godly, angry as Ares, but as stunning as, once more, Venus. I took the rope, swung it under the stool, and grabbed the other end. I measured both so they were of equal height and tied it around her thighs. She started to squirm. I quickly took up the knife and swayed it in her face. She froze, watching it, as if hypnotized.
"Perfect, love," I whispered and stared at her eyes. "Listen to me Julia. You may think me mad…I assure you love, that I am NOT. Not mad. Do you know what real red is? Hmmm? Do you love? I suppose you don't…its blood. That is my secret…yes. I love you. I love you more then Romeo loved Juliet or Marc Anthony's passion for Cleopatra. I love you more then the passion of a thousand burning, piercing suns. And your blood, which so stains your bandage," I nodded to her left hand. The blood was starting to slowly seep through. "It is perfect for my painting! You do not believe me; I presume…you think I lie! I assure you, I do NOT. I know nothing of lying to you, fair, exquisite Julia! Nothing! I repeat, NOTHING,"
Here eyes widened at my revelation and I could see it…she thought I was not normal. She thought I was a thing, not a person! Curse it all! How could I make her see?
That's when the idea blossomed into my head. I took my knife.
"Our blood will be together…for always, my Julia," I made a small cut on my hand. I then took the knife and sliced a small section of her cheek. She howled through the bandage, and I stuck my bleeding hand to her cut.
"See? I do not lie to you! And now, that you have my blood…I can paint," I was sure a crazed look came into my eyes, for I felt a TAD crazed then. I didn't look at her eyes; the crystal tears that were spilling out of it and no avail against my bitter judgment. I went behind her and grabbed her tied hands. She twisted and turned but I hushed her softly. I undid the rope and tied her hand to a leg of the stool instead. She had to bend painfully, so I dragged her towards a wall, where my darling could lean. Her bandaged hand was freed, and she was lashing at me.
"This might hurt, love. But I need red,"
I took my blade and grabbed her hand. It lashed wildly still, trying to claw me. I chuckled at its vain tries. There, there Julia, I told myself. It will be fine. It was so quick, I hardly knew I'd done it! The blade sliced Julia's index finger clean off. She screamed through the bandage, her eyes becoming blood shot red. A small rush of blood oozed from the stump. I ignored her pleas and cries, staring at it.
"More. I need more!" I snapped, grabbing the knife and slicing at her wrist. Something connected with my knife as it pierced the flesh, but the blade quickly cut it. Her wrist flopped, hanging from a last piece of skin. I grabbed the wrist and tore it off. A sickening sound came forth as the skin ripped. Julia's face was pale, as pale as death. My poor, poor love. I told her it would be a great sacrifice. Was it my fault she did not care to listen? A river of blood gushed then, splattering the wall as she moved her handless arm around at me, spraying my suit with her sweet real red.
"More," I snapped again. It just wasn't enough! I cut off her shoulder. It was hard, I'll tell you, and quiet messy. When my blade sunk into the skin, it was stuck. It wouldn't move. I shook it, damaging her collar bone area, which distraughted me. I did not want her to perish so quickly! I grabbed the hilt of the knife and with a furious attempt to cut, I pushed it down. The arm came off, toppling to the floor next to me. The blood sprayed into my mouth, and I swallowed it. Rusty. Sweet…better then I'd imagined. But only vampires drank blood, and I was not a vampire. But it tasted amazingly good, like an unquenchable wine. I should not get drunk on real red, for I needed to paint! But as my lips moved to lick the remaining drops that were around my face, I almost dipped my finger into her empty shoulder for more. But I didn't, for I was quiet sane at the time, and that would be an insane thing to do. I dared to look at her face now. It was pale. So very pale. Her eyes rolled in her eye sockets. Was I doing too much? I still didn't like the amount of blood that was coming out of her. It was too little!
"Sorry, my Julia…" I whispered in her ear, my lips moving to the middle of her neck. I don't think she stirred, but I could hear the beating of her distressed heart. I bit her neck, first lightly, then hard so it drew blood. Again, the sweet liquid flowed into my mouth, being unquenchable. I drew away. Her eyes were fluttering open slowly. I blinked, grabbing my knife. I cut off the bandage from her mouth and stared at her.
"Say something," I ordered. I must admit now, my voice was agitated and completely calm. It almost sounded…cracked.
"I…I…" Julia panted, her eyes slowly closing. "Can't,"
"I see," I nodded. I grabbed my knife, knowing I might regret this. But try as hard as I might, I could not keep her from witnessing any pain. I plunged the knife through her throat, where I had bit her. It went smoothly and the tip of the blade bulged from the other side. Her eyes flew open wide, the life and memories fading from the precious blue. It stayed like that, her mouth slightly agape. I shut her eyelids. This would be her eternal expression.
The blood poured onto my hands, gushing like a steady, never-ending river. I must admit to myself, I did not cry, even though the angelic voice was gone. She was gone. My Julia, my Aphrodite.
"I'll make it so you always live," I whispered, proceeding to paint the canvas, only using blood.
For different shades, I mixed the blacks, yellows, and blues. It was a beautiful, gory painting, which I signed our name in black.
I turned to her corpse, which was almost unrecognizable because of my unearthly deed. Blood was all over her, you'd think it was her actual skin color. I had extra real red. I looked in her brush box and took out a huge brush, the one you'd use to paint walls.
I went over to her corpse and dumped the brush in the empty gape of her neck. Withdrawing it, I started splattering the walls with her crimson liquid, making it look like drops of rain, some more evident that it wasn't rain drops. Julia. I doodled her name all over every wall, and every inch of the room, on my portrait, now ruined, and I even repainted her corpse. I am not mad, I say. Why? Why would you call me mad? Because I painted with real red?