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Murder Is like a Painting

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Blood Hammer

"Come over here, shit-stick," I sigh and look at the ground. It's the best I can do.

"I said come over here!" I complied. I may as well not aggravate him further. Walking over to him slowly I made sure to maintain eye contact, I wanted to see the look in his eyes as he punished me.

"What makes you think you can come here without giving me something, eh? Your bag. Empty it." I pull my bag off my back, undo the zip and emptied the contents on the floor.

"No, no. This will not do at all," he says, a disappointed and almost mocking tone in his voice. He looks up at me and smiles slyly.

I turn and try to run, but his fist connects sharply with the side of my head. I fall to the ground, dazed and light-headed. He pulls me up by my hair and swings another powerful punch at my face. I fall to the ground once more, this time with blood pouring from my nose. He places several sharp kicks into my gut and I cough, spluttering a pink liquid all over the floor.

The pain that flows through me is unparalleled. I tried to fight back the tears, to show strength against the horrible person that stands over me, but I fail. I curl into a ball and weep.

Every day, the same routine.

"Fucking miserable." He walks away with a grin on his face, as if he had just trodden on a cockroach.

I lay there, curled in a ball.

My mother asks how I got my wounds. I say I got them from a tough game of Rugby. She does not have to know about the vile person and what will become of him. I march up into my bedroom and sit in my bed, scratching at my thigh.

All the fear of that person was bubbling into hatred, and all the torment I had received was turning into strength. I plot in great depth as to what I will do, planning every single detail. It will be perfect.

He shall suffer.

I awake the next morning and gaze out of the window. The bitter cold had gripped the skies, and snow is pouring down from the heavens. A tranquil setting for what is about to take place. We see the peace in the strangest of things.

I continue my day at school like any other, the teachers and my friends unaware of what I have become. Even I was not truly aware of my potential. I enjoy my lunch with my friends, savouring every minute of it for this would be the last time they would see me for who I was. We are all monsters inside.

I keep on running over the plan in my head, building up all the adrenaline I would need. It felt so good to have that chemical running through my body, warming my breath and stimulating my brain. We are nothing but flesh and chemicals.

I leave school at the end of the day and approach the area where the disgusting person "hangs out" with his equally disgusting friends. He notices me and tells his friends to go on.

I smile.

"The fuck are you smiling about?" He says, aggression building in his voice. I remain quiet.

"Come here." I stand still.

"I said COME HERE!" I raise my middle finger at him.

"You little shit." He charges towards me and I charge away. The snow crunches satisfyingly underfoot as the white surroundings zip by me. I have a goal and I am running to it.

I hear him following close behind me, shouting curses and threats at me. He has no idea of the strength I have gained.

I see my goal and I run towards it. The snow flattens out as I run out over a frozen lake. I stand still, facing away from him. I can hear his heavy breathing behind me.

"You really are making this difficult. Oh well, more pain for you." He charges towards me and I wait, wait for the perfect moment. Before he has a chance to tackle me to the ground I swing around, my elbow smacking his cheek with force. He stumbles to the side, shock and anger on his now bruised face.

I smile at him. He snarls and tries to throw a punch but I dodge lazily, smiling as he stumbles forward once again. I take a step forward and grab his arm, pinning it behind his back.

"Let go!" He screams. Nothing can help you now. I bury the back of his head in the snow and place my knee on his throat, pushing down hard. He winces and chokes, trying to push my leg off his neck, but his attempts were petty. I grab his flailing arm and force his elbow outwards. He screams but I push down hard, silencing him. The arm groans and eventually snaps with a satisfying pop. I lean forward and whisper in his ear, "Shh."

A tear falls down his cheek. For once he feels fear. I pull my bag off my back and withdraw a hammer from its depths. It has a decent weight to it as I roll it in my hand. His breathing speeds up and he flaps his limp arm around like a chicken wing. I smile tenderly at him.

I raise the hammer above my head and he yelps. The first strike knocks him unconscious. The second sprays blood into my face. The third cracks his skull. Forth, fifth, sixth. With every strike his body twitched. More and more blood sprays into my face and a large grin spreads across my cheeks.

His pulverised skull spilled out its contents into the snow, staining it crimson red. I remove myself from his neck and look down and my work of art. The ribbons of blood splay themselves out across the snow, making beautiful patterns against the white. They grow lighter as they spread out further, like sun lighting the darkness. I look around the lake only to see tall pine trees surrounding me. I was alone.

Beautiful.

The wood chipper and the jigsaw were difficult to drag to lake, but I eventually manage. The outcome would be worth the effort.

I approach the undisturbed work of art that lay in the snow, and turned on the jigsaw. I try to cut through the leg, but the clothes just grind into the blade. Frustrated, I strip the corpse naked and start again. This time, the blade penetrates the flesh, and slices through it like butter. Any blood left in the femoral artery spews into the snow; condensation flows off it into the air.

The rest of the limbs are simple enough to remove, and the result is a beautiful limbless torso surrounded by a mush of bloody snow.

Time for the wood chipper.

The bitter cold stings my fingers as I grip the foot of the leg. I ram the limb hard into the wood chipper, savouring the crunch of the bones shattering and spraying back out into the snow.

The leg begins to shake violently as the blades hit the flesh, the vibrations sting my hands extensively. In my rage I push down hard on the leg, and blood and flesh sprays out, littering the snow with bits of gore. The leg shakes even more violently, and the blades grind painfully.

I step away from the wood chipper and watch it devour and excrete the limb. Large chunks of warm flesh litter the floor.

The rest of the limbs get devoured in a similar demeanour, the broken arm being the most enjoyable to grind. Watching it flail around as the blades grinded on the bones was particularly amusing. I smile with satisfaction and look over at the limbless torso that lies behind me.

To get it into the wood chipper I decide that I must dissect it. I fetch the jigsaw and dig it into the rib cage, dragging it across, slicing through the spinal cord. I take the halved torso and the pieces into the wood chipper, which trembles violently and sprays gore everywhere.

I laugh manically, my voice booming throughout the frozen surroundings. No one was there to hear me. It was time for the final stage.

I fetch the jigsaw and place it slowly into the ice. I sigh at the thought of destroying this work of art, but it must be done. I turn on the saw and slowly carve out a circle around the pile of gore.

The ice slowly gives way and begins to sink into the chilled water. I wander over to the pile of gore in the center of the ring of descending ice and lie down, one sack of flesh to another.

I think about all that had taken place throughout my life, and how drastically it had changed in the past few days. My realisation of the human nature had destroyed me, and I was now drained.

I lay in the flesh and finish it how it had started. I curl into a ball and weep, the freezing cold engulfing me, taking me into its embrace.

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