The Serial Killer Artist

Sketching.

Drawing.

Coloring.

______________________

Creating art under the heavenly moonlight, I stop as the moonlight hits my scalpel resting on the table, shooting a shine into my eyes, causing me to reach out and grab the old friend I used to carry while walking the streets of London. Oh London, how gorgeous your streets were laid out while I made them run with the blood of those diseased humans who were corrupting the very life we were all breathing at the time.

______________________

Looking at the scalpel in my hand, admiring the instrument of death that took many lives, I can’t help but smile as I remember the screams and the pleading of those I chose and how it felt taking a life while the blood ran crimson and thick down my hands.

______________________

I turn around to my opened bag to place my old friend within where it belonged and turned back to my art. I used to kill every night and as far as history is told, I killed only women, but truth be told, I killed both men and women. And I love it. Though, since the law failed in arresting or killing me, I decided to put away my killer personality and to wake up a creative side within myself. And I would’ve never thought that these hands that have killed so many would be able to create art full of so much life.

______________________

But every now and then, I do love taking a night stroll through old London to see if there’s any corruption that needs to be dealt with to feed my nightly bloodlust.