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"God, you guys should hear the stuff on the news tonight."
"What's going on?"
"Some freak... he... he cut an entire family apart and painted an alley with their blood."
"That... that's awful."
"That family... oh my God, that was Josh's family! I was hoping that son of a bitch was just sick or somethin'... nothing like this.."
"Look at that... A whole goddamn scenery... That bastard used their organs too..."
"What kind of a monster... What kind of a man..."
My co-workers chatted endlessly, while we sat for our first break. It wasn't too much of a pity, the man had hardly done any work in his three years in our office.
People die everyday, who cared? It was just another promotion waiting to happen.
My name is Damian, I work slave-labor(no, not literally), and the only thing that makes my life worth living is the ability to escape through painting. If I could have done anything else I'd have been an artist. My family makes me feel better through casual cynical humor, "Hitler wanted to be an artist, look what happened to him!"
It doesn't bring me much comfort; I'm just generally unhappy.
With the news of our lovingly deceased Josh, they released us from work for the next three days. It was likely the single most useful thing he had ever done for us.
It was 11 p.m. when I left; I usually left at around this time every night so it wasn't anything special. I have to walk since my license has been confiscated for the next three years due to my excessive reckless driving.
It was particularly dark that night...
I could smell something in the air as I walked. I couldn't describe it as anything less than vulgar and absolutely unbearable. I had to hold my breath and walk because I had no idea where it was coming from, this is the only way to my home.
A block later the smell faded. I felt sick, noxious even. But I could hear it.
I could hear breathing and footsteps. Was I being followed? I didn't know, but I knew I was nervous because of the recent murder.
What if it was the killer?
What if I was next?
I walked normally like nothing was going on then ventured into an alley I more commonly used as a shortcut.
They were still following me...
I didn't stop in my tracks; that would give them an opportunity to strike. In one motion I pull out my hunting knife and whirle around, I manage to slice the stranger within the dark. They grab me and I lunge the blade forward, they yell in agony and squeeze my arms before letting me go and attempting to punch me. They miss my face narrowly and hit the wall, I laugh out loud and shove them against the opposite side of the alley.
Adrenaline was pumping heavily in my veins as I pulled out my knife and then stuck it back in, holding them to the wall with my knee. I was laughing so hard I almost couldn't breathe, my limbs shaking harshly as tremors raged through my body.
I woke up in my bed.
My body and limbs ached as though I had had a seizure, but nonetheless I got up. I walked past my mirror and stopped.
Something was off...
I turned back to it and expelled a breath; I was covered from head to toe in red paint! My clothes were stained, my face was stained. All I could do was look at myself and imagine the huge amount of artwork I must have done last night. It's funny because this is the second night in a row I've woken up like this.
"Tonight on the 10 o'clock News, another gruesome murder victim was found early this morning. More information to be revealed soon!"