Each piece of art will be paired with a short story of 200-1000 words. The art will be at the bottom of the chapter.
The prompt list I'm using can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CUSzT18LbFp/?utm_medium=share_sheet
You know, I sincerely believed David loved me. He's always been so attentive, so kind, all throughout the year we've spent together. He's bought me flowers, we've gone hiking together, he'd even taken care of me when I got sick.
Especially recently, he'd been really enthusiastic about us. Thinking back on his smile now, I just feel anger.
I found out he's been cheating on me through a friend of mine who goes to many of the same parties as he does. I'm not much of a party person, but he's a social butterfly, so he often goes with his buddies. And there, in a frat house, my friend had happened to catch him making out with another girl in a back room.
She had asked around. This wasn't the first time.
She waited a week to tell me this, mostly because she had been conflicted.
I had looked up the girl's Instagram out of sheer curiosity. Weirdly, we kind of looked similar. Guess my boyfriend has a type.
The newest post was a memorial, set up by her family. This was the reason my friend had waited to tell me. The girl my boyfriend was cheating on me with had died the day after the party.
The police hadn't commented yet, but the rumor was that it was the Midnight Slasher, a serial killer who's been operating for a few years around the city.
This news had made me even more upset. David hadn't been grieving at all these last few days. Hell, he seemed practically chipper. It's bad to learn your boyfriend was cheating on you with someone, sure, but it gets disturbing when you realize he didn't even grieve her death.
I didn't want him in my life anymore, let alone my home. He's obviously some sort of sociopath.
So that's how I ended up going through his stuff in my guest room, stuffing it into trash bags to take outside. I may or may not have been crying.
I eventually came to a shoebox under his bed. I'd never seen it before, so I was curious to what was inside. My angry brain automatically went to love letters, but I took a deep breath, sitting back on my knees. It was probably nothing. But I still wanted to know.
I opened the lid of the shoebox, exposing a pile of printed photographs. All of them were pictures of him, but in every picture, he had a different girl with him. I knew he had dated before, but this was ridiculous. There must have been at least seven other girls in these photos.
And they all had something in common. Curly hair. Which is just... so weird. Was he really so attached to a type? It made me feel slightly ill to do so, but I turned one of the photos over. It had a name on the back. They all did. Bianca, Cathrine, Jasmine, etcetera.
Well, I might as well. I looked up the girls on Instagram.
I almost threw up when I saw the last post on Catherine's page. A memorial. I looked for Bianca. She hadn't posted in years. All the girls in these photos were dead, missing, or hadn't posted in at least ten months.
I shot up, my thoughts racing. I needed to call the police. I needed to lock the door. I needed to hide.
The voices in my head became quiet, as I heard something that made my heart leap out of my chest.
Someone was knocking on my door.
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