Bloody Canvas.

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Inviting my brother for a beverage at my house he arrives as expected with a beaming smile filled with happiness. The fact that I didn't see him for months due my work makes it hurt even more. We talk pleasantly while we drink pineapple liquor, our favorite.

Knocking my brother out with the bottle once it's empty, I drag his unconscious body with teary eyes. Putting it on my desk in my workshop I can initiate the persecution for my bloody canvas.

Before getting my tool box I check if my twin is inert. After searching for the case, I go into my private torture collection. I bring out a head crusher, four meters of rope and six Spanish spiders.

Preparing two segments of rope measuring half a meter I attach a spider to each end. Ending this I lodge one into one of his wrists, wrap the rope around both and then lodge the second one in the other wrist. Verifying how tight it is I repeat this action with the ankles.

After a few pained expressions he finally gains back his consciousness, the worst time possible since I'm install the head crusher. Beginning to struggle I just hammer his hands with horse nails.

With every cry of suffering that belonged to him, my heart tightens with sadness and regret. Once reaching my limit, I down a bottle of pineapple liquor. I drowned these useless feelings at the very moment which kept me from realizing the act . But now the field is free and no obstacle will stop me.

Now that my thirst for blood has surfaced, I can begin my sanguine work. I climb on a ladder and pass the rest of the rope through the ring that serves to suspend my chandelier. The rope tip over my brother I split it in half to hang the remaining spiders. Of course, I fixed the other rope tip outside the crime scene just before doing the latter operations.

I clung one of the two spiders to the abdomen and the other to the throat. His suffering is perhaps horrible since he regurgitates blood, but not enough to satisfy me, needing more than a few sobs and a few drops of his crimson life liquid, especially to start this cursed canvas.

The lust growing all the more when in his eyes one finds only pity, towards me and what I have become. But I do not want his compassion, especially not from him, not from the one who abandoned me when our parents died a year ago in a tragic accident. It is the time or never to make him pay, he who is the source of my suffering, I will make him pay his debt forever.

By pulling on the rope, his skin stretches leisurely under his weight. The wounds become so severe that they can no longer stop the bleeding. These can be fatal. I don't want him to perish so promptly because I just started to play.

I loosen the rope and the body falls with a dry thud on the table, a groan of pain which leads one of my most sadistic smiles escapes from his lips. I snatch the spiders from his body, then his hands from the nails just to worsen the wounds.

Pulling on the dull body that survived this far I place it the head under the top cap and the chin above the lower bar of the head crusher. After activating the device the surplice resumes smoothly I savor the moment.

The first step consists of destroying the teeth, due to the pressure exerted they burst into his mouth. Then his eyes come out of his cavity that I retrieve carefully. And finally the brain escapes through the fractures of the cranial case. This magnificent show finished, I commence my painting.

Piercing the eyeballs I use the black liquid within to paint the trees. I use his blood to trace the river that crosses this wood and with the gray matter of his brain that I have just dissected, I mark the shadows in the snow. As soon as the details are placed, I look at my canvas satisfied.

Imagining that after drinking the blood of Alastor all my torments would cease, was a serious mistake because it only got worse. It is true that I no longer see all these abominations, but the death of my brother still haunts me.

I see every scene so detailed that it makes me sick. To drown my sorrow and my memories, I drink the vanilla liquor until losing my conscience. As soon as I lose it I make new victims, even if my paintings are different, the process remains identical to the one used for the death of my brother.

A few months later, I can't take it anymore. Every single one of my victims comes back to harass me day and night. Not only the exhaustion is strong, but in addition my existence is in pieces, it is to the point of wanting to die. This is what I decide to do because suicide seems to be perfect compared to my current life.

I take all the bottles of alcohol and white spirit to pour them on the floor in my workshop. I take my lighter and two apple-cinnamon scented candles. Once seated I put them in front of me on the ground then lighten them. At the moment when they are completely consumed, the liquids ignite around me. And these magnificent flames dance a last time just for me before devouring me return.


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