The Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

The palette is all darks with Prussian blue, burnt umber, alizarin crimson so deep it looks like dried blood. I load the brush and attack the canvas with strokes that splatter paint across the floor, the easel, and my arms. The image that forms is violent and shapeless, a battlefield rendered in oil, and I don't care what it looks like because I'm not painting for beauty right now. I'm painting to survive what Baker just told me. My father is innocent, Ryan's parents were murdered, Tasha's father paid for the cover-up, and the boy who destroyed my life was a puppet on strings held by the same man who destroyed his.

he continued, ripping my clothes with his bare hands, exposing my erect nipples. My breath came in sharp gasps as my eyes met the ground. Deep down, I didn’t want to go through the pain of another master, yet I still wanted to be sold. I pressed my lips together. “She’s pretty, truly, she can be useful in bed,” a man suddenly said. “I will pay two hundred grams,” a man bid. My hand clenched hard as the bids continued until it fell on the round-bellied man. “Going once, going twice sol-”

“Right’ but I'm going to ask you to look a little closer’ tell me what you see l. There is meaning behind this painting.” I sigh silently, then take a closer look, I look at the splashes’ the direction they're going in’ how they splat on the canvas, and I couldn't help but feel myself tearing up. “He's angry or sad. I could see it splashes in the direction they go in the clumps of paint.” “This painting was made by Daniel Knight’ the night his mother died, he went to three basements and started throwing paint over a painting he had already done. Look closer and tell me what else you see.”

I will not cause her pain if I can avoid it. Pain. Emotional pain leaves scars and gaping wounds on the inside where no one can see. Gaping wound. Dried blood on the knife that was embedded in my chest that nicked my heart. What was his name? I touch the scar on my chest. I swear I can feel it burning through my shirt. Growth? Growthman? No Grothman. Razor Grothman. The man who killed me on that warehouse dock all because we killed his older brother and forty of their crew members. We only killed the bad seeds in that gang, the ones who were beyond saving to make room for the new blood to do better. That’s it! That’s the color this needs! The color of dried day-old blood. I mix the colors I

I fought against the darkness that threatened to envelop me, desperate to find solace in the haven of my room. But my body had other plans. A violent convulsion seized me, and a primal scream erupted from my lips. With a rush of horror, I realized that I was vomiting blood. Thick, crimson liquid cascaded from my mouth, staining the floor with its grotesque presence. Tears mingled with the blood as I crumpled to the ground, my strength sapped by the sheer intensity of the pain. My beloved paintings lay forgotten, scattered haphazardly around me, as if mimicking the chaos that now consumed my body. I gasped for air, the taste of iron overwhelming my senses.

He started panting hard, trying to grasp air as much as he can due to immense pain. "Thats remarkable. Isn't it?" I asked his wife excitedly. I grabbed a knife and started slicing his body parts amusedly. He used to cry out of pain as his body parts were being cut. I stabbed two pocket knife in his every eye. After a few more of my creative drawing on his body, his screams died. The cry of his wife had stopped a long time ago and was presently looking with tear-stained hollow eyes towards her husband's lifeless body. I hanged his body upside down from the ceiling with the help of his four legs and admired my beautifully tortured painting. While cherishing my work, I got a twisted idea. "What

I had thought the first time we met had to be an accident. I tried to pay full attention as each painting was called and bid on. Until my painting was called, sitting in front of these strangers was a painting of Bloom’s scan, only that it was masked in red and blue. Red signified my loss and the disconnection between us now. Blue stood for the hope her once-existing love had given me—that my baby had chosen me as her mother. She was the only love I knew. “This painting is by Phoenix, called The Unending Love. It is going for a million dollars.” Mr Billy informed.

I remarked and Kyler chuckled. “The pictures you sent me through the mindlink were wow ! Are you an artist in painting bodies with blood ? The precision of the cuts and the streams of oozing blood were too accurately done !! I could swear you were sending me the images of a painting if I had not seen your victims walking and talking for real ! The artwork was beautiful but gory,” Kyler said with a shudder. “I know you paint red better, babe,” I snorted as I thought back about Kyler’s victims tonight. All of them had been left hanging on a tree and I swear, I would have loved to turn that tree into a Xmas one if he had used actual decorations instead of corpses.