MASTERPIECE

Ren

The same thrashing voice roared into my ears, uncountable drops violating my solitude, and rooftops that felt like they were about to cave in at any second were no different from prior rainy days. My eyes, however, remained firmly fixed on the television rather than pleading for the rain to stop. I was unsure of what to get my mother because of all that she has done for me. So I figured watching some television could help me come up with something unique for her birthday, which was the next day. What would be useful? No, something basic? Nothing specific. ... I continued changing the channels in the hopes of finding something lovely, special, and indicative of her heart-something kind and pure. One channel attracted my attention as I quickly and impatiently changed the channels. To watch an auction for an abstract painting, I stopped pressing the remote's buttons. Something so ludicrous yet so smart cost twenty thousand dollars. A picture with a plethora of strange forms and colours cost twenty thousand dollars. Yes, a painting-I was sure she'd appreciate it. She was constantly looking for something to liven up the dark spaces in our outdated home, which was solely packed with cracked and damaged walls. I had no idea where to look to find an artist who would sell their work now that I had the idea. specifically for a more affordable pricing. A female news reporter with enormous fonts and bold was panning from one edge of the screen to the other when I first changed the channel. She continued to speak with intense solemnity. Almost the entire screen was taken up by an image that was blurry. On the side of the road, surrounded by cops, I could see a small crimson puddle of blood and a white corpse bag. A blue car that resembled a pancake and was squashed into a thin sheet of foil was depicted in another image. In the brief video, additional police officers could be seen loading the deceased person onto a van while the camera panned to the wrecked car. Another image appeared, showing a man who appeared to be in his forties and had a long nose, black hair, pale green eyes from lack of sleep, and a grim attitude. His name was Norman Glass, and he was a husband and a father of three. I think he was the person being brought in the corpse bag. only to pass away completely in this horrible auto accident. We have no control over when we pass away. Therefore, I felt awful. With every choice we make, it all amounts to a game of life or death. As the news came to an end as I was contemplating something, the flow of advertising began. One of them happened to be a painting studio. Brightly coloured fonts and a trail of various art forms could be seen behind the text, along with a very joyful woman who appeared to be about to burst with excitement. She was gleefully advertising her art gallery. She concluded her little speech, and then her shop's address and phone number appeared. Wow, I thought, "Why am I such a lucky person? Her shop is not far from my neighborhood-just a short stroll away." I wrote it down right away after swiftly grabbing a paper and a pencil. After getting what I needed, I turned off the television with satisfaction, and for the first time, I enjoyed the atmosphere of the pouring rain.

It was close to four o'clock when the rain finally stopped. I told my mother I was about to go get some groceries, but I was lying. She gave me $20 since she fell for my story. I didn't know if it would be enough to purchase her a good painting, but I didn't want her to feel doubtful, so I agreed to the budget she gave me and left the house without waiting. The streets still have water puddles since my shoes were covered in them with every step. I shivered from the cold mist that the rain had left behind and went to the painting supply store as instructed in the advertisement. After a five-minute stroll, I finally arrived at my destination, but as I approached it, my eyes grew dimmer. It appears deserted, dismal, and spooky, all adjectives that define a haunted house. The sign caught my eye as I looked up; it somehow appeared to be brand-new. Naturally, I was reluctant to look it over. I began to get an odd sensation inside of me that seemed to be telling me that I didn't have many options. It was my best opportunity to demonstrate how much I value my mother. I forced my breath and went into the shop. When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was a wall covered in a variety of portrait paintings. But it wasn't simply any regular, artistic, or sculptural item. I came to the realization that there was not a single instance of happiness depicted in any of them as I continued to study the entire wall. I see suffering, blood, and all manner of horrific things. Looking at them caused my spine to tingle, and I began to get whiplash from frantically scurrying around in search of something suitable for my mother. Am I in the proper art store? My eyes were drawn to a woman who matched the advertisement's model exactly as I moved through the paintings to the far right. She was sitting on a small stool and sluggishly painting on the canvas in front of her when her contagious smile vanished into oblivion. I shivered and said, "Hello," hoping to catch her attention. Her head didn't budge, and her eyes didn't flicker in my direction. Even though I knew it was a horrible idea, I inched closer to her. "Do you have any more artworks that aren't quite creepy?" Even though I had no fear, my legs were trembling in anticipation of her response. Again, she remained silent; all of her body parts were still, with the exception of her left hand, which was painting the canvas. She had dry, upside-down curled lips, and her eyes blinked every two minutes, which irritated me. I focused on the next wall, where there was a row of what appeared to be more recent canvases that had just been painted. When I approached it to get a better look, one of the paintings-of a crumpled blue car-made me go back to earlier that day. Added blood. A body.... A recognisable face was lying on the pavement-Norman glass. I stared at the terrifying painting until my eyes were pulled into oblivion.

This was a bad idea, I knew that. She's no ordinary person. She is skilled at painting the tragedies of others. The deaths of the victims were depicted in every single painting that was put on the walls. I was aware that I needed to leave this place immediately. As I carefully moved away from her, I could see the canvas she was working on. To my horror, the person she was painting resembled me identically, down to my outfit. I gasped as I turned fully white and rushed out of the art gallery without stopping as I saw stab wounds on my chest that were shooting blood like a fountain and a silhouette holding a knife covering the edge of the canvas outside a grocery store. With my mind fixed on what I had just witnessed, I ran and ran for my life without even turning around. I stopped at the side of the road because I was out of breath and thought, "I'm going to die." I'm going to die, but I have no idea when. Am I dreaming, or is this reality? I hastily stuffed my hands into my pockets and took out $20. Even so, I became aware that I needed to acquire groceries before my mother reprimanded me for lying to her. It's only a sick joke, and keeping my mother's trust is more important than it can possibly be. I pulled my arms close over my waist and started going towards the supermarket, glancing carefully to the right and left. I arrived there; fortunately, nothing bad has occurred to me yet. There was nothing but the wind blowing through the deserted streets and me, standing at the grocery store's door. Before I could move further, I heard a frigid breath, but it wasn't mine. I twisted around and took a combat stance, throwing my hands up, but no one was there. Are my delusions real? Although it was obvious that the streets were deserted, I could still feel breathing. My neck began to ache from all the movement as I twice checked my surroundings. I admitted to myself that I had been thinking too much. There was a loud crack under my foot when I took my single step. It was only a twig when I leaned over to inspect it. There is nothing threatening about this twig....However, I spoke too soon, and the same air engulfed my entire body. This is not a delusion; I was merely doubting myself. My teeth were clenched, my eyes were narrowed upward, and I was breathing so heavily that even astronauts could hear me. I'm actually going to die at this very moment. I ought to return home. I turned away from the grocery shop, but immediately in front of me, someone was in the way. It gave me the shock of my life. It's my destiny; this person will kill me right now....But what if I disobey the lady's prophecy?

I made a wise decision and steered clear of the silhouette, but as I did so, I had a burning ache in my chest. The extended arm of the shadow stopped me from moving and rendered me motionless. With tears starting to gather in my eyes from the excruciating pain, I glanced down at my chest. It's pouring blood, and it won't stop. The figure started slowly turning the blade as it was still entering my skin, and I could feel the insides of my body twisting. As I collapsed to the ground on my back while screaming in anguish, my legs grew weak. As I was gradually losing consciousness, I could no longer feel anything, but I could still make out the silhouette of the person with the bloodied knife approaching me in my last vision. My last impulse was to stand up and go home to my mother, but I was unable to do so because of despair, and as I breathed my final breath, I was falling into the abyss. The woman knew my fate; I couldn't escape death. The...artwork.... was a MASTERPIECE-

-I'm sorry your birthday gift- is loneliness for the rest of your life..