Artistic Outcast Novels & Stories

I said. He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Outside, dawn crept slowly across the sky casting soft light over the yard. I walked around out of habit, waiting for something to make sense. As I approached the extreme end of the fence, lightning flashed and my eyes caught an inscription written on the wall with black spray paint. A mark every man in the club knew. Cartel sigil, a serpent coiled through a blade. And be neath it, in jagged letters that dripped like blood was written: WE WILL BE BACK, HE KNOWS TOO MUCH.

It was real. For a few precious days, Liam Gray existed fully. He was not a runaway pet, not a pawn in a conspiracy. He was an artist, and his work was about to speak for itself. He allowed himself to hope, to dream of a life where his past didn't define him. He knew it was a risk, a defiance of Marcus's orders. But as he stood in the gallery, looking at the space where his paintings would hang, he felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a very long time: control. It was a dangerous illusion, perhaps, but for now, it was enough.

People felt like his painting was a waste of time and energy and he struggled with getting an audience to even look at his art not to talk of even buying it. I saw what it did to him. Art meant a lot to him. It was all he had and being treated like an outcast just because of it wasn't fair. So I used an anonymous account and bought all his art. I couldn't place any of them in my room since he has access to it and even my office so I put some in my parents room and some of the are in my safe. I remember the way he was so happy when he came to me that day saying that someone had bought his paintings.

I also bought a new set of acrylic paints. Painting has been my way of escape for a very long time already. My mind is at peace whenever I hold paintbrushes. When things are messy, I just sit in front of my canvas and my hand will start to move on its own. In a restaurant in front of this art store, I saw someone familiar. Though it was his just side profile I am seeing, I knew for sure that it was Yuji. He wasn’t alone. I supposed it was his parents whom he is talking to.

My perfect world where nothing but my art exists. Cindy discovered my artistic talents early on and tried to send me to classes. They didn’t last, because instructors did not accept my unconventional style. I painted scenes of blood and death. Men, women, and children were the victims in my youthful sociopathic mind. I drew horrible scenes of destruction—the bloodier and gorier the better. Putting a tattoo machine in my hand changed me. The combination of blood and ink became my savior and ended the self-destructive course I traveled. It may be creepy, but forever changing human skin is what took me from a quiet, homicidal kid to a kid with a passion other than causing permanent injury. I’ll

Happy smiles on their lips, so bright that it is impossible to look straight. Everything is like the past has changed. The other woman took her mother's life, and the other girl took hers. Her father, it seemed, was no longer her father. Aurora feels like falling into a fog, everything becomes blurry, and there is no way out. Suddenly, a loud voice rang in her ear, pulling her out of her own world: - Hello, an outcast of time. Aurora widened her eyes in surprise, she turned her head to look at the voice. There was a clock floating in the white mist. The other watch even makes a body with dew, just like a human.

But this time… they felt different. Not a dream, exactly. A memory. She stood in a crumbling hall old stone, vines choking the walls, stained glass shattered into the dirt. A woman stood at the center, her arms outstretched as figures in black cloaks shouted, their faces masked, their voices cruel. “Outcast,” they screamed. “Breaker of laws. Betrayer of kin.” Samantha tried to run to her, but her legs wouldn’t move. She could only watch as the woman, a tall figure with hair like shadows and fire, was shoved to her knees.

“My… my name is Poppy Castano.” Poppy Castano?! Christan’s eyes flickered. The name sounded familiar. But he couldn’t place it immediately, so he stayed quiet and let her continue. “Miss Carter and I planned to teach that bitch Serena a lesson for always stealing other people’s men. So, we secretly found a homeless man, got him drunk, and even drugged the alcohol with an aphrodisiac.”

You good? Sara (mutual acquaintance): So… uh… Layla really did it, huh? He frowned. Swiped to open I*******m. And froze. There it was. Layla Williams – @LaylaLuxe_ A full-face selfie. Flawless. Not a tear in sight. Glossy lips. Sunglasses. The kind of photo you post when you want to look sad but untouchable. The caption made his jaw tighten. “Sometimes the hardest thing to do is walk away from a life that no longer fits the woman you’re becoming. After years of silence, I’m choosing myself. Separation isn’t failure—it’s freedom. #FinallyFree #Healing #Separation”

"We thought you're a good person, but we made a mistake in knowing you, you are evil, you're a demon!" Gregorio grabbed the girl's arms. "Yes, I'm evil! I'm a disciple of the devil!" the artist laughed out loud. "It's not true that Sofia and Miguel left. Because the truth is that they are trapped inside the painting!" When the artist confessed, the girl was even more scared. "And now you can be with them too, Daisy!" "No, I don't want to! have mercy on me, Sir, don't go ahead with what you're planning." The girl struggled. The painter let her go.