“Why is art so painful?” he asked, as he was preparing yet another victim for his twisted show.  

I tried to run, escape, or even lift my body but I wasn’t successful; my legs didn’t work, and doing the slightest of moves made me almost cry in pain. There was nothing I could do to save myself from this horrible situation. This was my end. The only thing I was able to do was to watch this sick bastard move corpses around and use their blood for something. It looked like he was painting the walls but in a strange pattern that I have never seen. I tried to analyze the situation for a plan but I failed. I couldn’t move at all, and felt sick by the many corpses that were put near to me.  

I started to remember my childhood, how my life was before I was put in such a vulnerable position, how happy I was as a child when I had nothing to worry about. Then a sudden cry made me go back to reality. I looked around the room because I thought someone besides me was alive, but it surprised me to see that the person crying was the psychopath. He was crying over a corpse; I didn’t know how to react, however, I felt like he has realized what he did to all of these people and will let me go, but oh I was so wrong!  

Suddenly he started kicking a corpse’s head, smashing it with his right foot, with anger as if that one victim was responsible for this bastard’s misery. I was in shock; now I couldn’t even react or think about anything for that matter. There were no thoughts on my head other than the look of this person’s head on the floor. I was horrified; I have never seen anything like that in my entire life. This twisted psycho all of a sudden started laughing, in ecstasy. He didn’t stop in a long time. It felt like hours, and the only thing I could hear was the twisted, and maniac laugh of this killer. He stopped laughing as he continued to prepare his beloved “show” as he said. He was talking to the corpses as if they were “pieces of art”. Then I realized what he was doing; he wasn’t just moving around corpses, he wasn’t just making random patterns with blood, he was making a scene. He was making what he called “the perfect composition”.  

I figured out that he left me alive for a reason; I was the only one “alive”. Everyone else that I looked at was dead and in a strange position that I didn’t understand. Suddenly he started to walk slowly towards me as if he was doing a little dance. Immediately, my heart started racing; I felt tense, hopeless, and knew that I was going to die. The killer looked at me right into my eyes; his face was covered with a strange mask but I could see his eyes: his right eye green, and his left eye was a light blue color. I felt as if he was staring into my soul as if he saw my entire life just in that brief moment that we made eye contact. I looked away but he grabbed my chin and made me look at his mask, and he said, “Don’t be afraid. The most important piece should never be, it should be exciting, don’t make me regret my decision.”  

I stared at him while he said this. I didn’t have a choice and I knew that if I did a random move, I might die instantly. He grabbed me like a father grabs his child to put it into his bed. The only thing I could think about was what was about to happen. I started crying in silence and tears started to fall from my face but he was unbothered. He put me in the center of the room, and I was surrounded by the corpses he had been moving this whole time. I was somehow the most important part of his project. A tree was painted on the floor and I was in the middle of it. He put me in a position showing as if that tree was growing from me, from my heart. The psycho felt every possible emotion, and as I was staring at the ceiling, he grabbed what looked like a sword, not the kind from medieval times. This sword looked “fancy,” as if he had made it because I have never seen such sword in my entire life. He started to walk while repeating the phrase: “I will touch your heart.” 

I looked at him while he put the sword on my chest, right on top of my heart, and yelled “You will be remembered. You are part of my perfect composition. I am perfection, and so are all of my creations,” and he lifted the sword, and with such force he penetrated my skin and went right into my heart. I had only some seconds to live. I didn’t feel pain. I felt relieved. I felt as if something huge was taken away from me and I could now rest peacefully. Even though I was bleeding out, I had a smile on my face. The last thing I saw was this killer looking at me in catharsis. He felt every possible emotion: he was mad, sad, happy, furious, and joyful all at the same time, and then he started dancing to a sweet melody while I was there, in the center of a massacre, bleeding out.