Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Artist Chronicles: Chapter 1 - The Artist wants to inflict his pain upon you.

My dear Detective Tafal, and to those who seek to find me,

You shall never enjoy that pleasure. Your own arrogance will completely blind any pursuit to apprehend me. Humorously I entertain your notions of my inner workings and whereabouts, as they are absolutely ridiculous. Absurd! Common horse sense couldn’t help any of your criminal investigations in the least. Such blunders among the ‘men in blue’ can’t be helped as it requires little or no education to join the ranks. Overweight buffoons, who waste their time reading lewd magazines and leisurely arriving to the scene at the pace of a snail. It should be no wonder the corpses don’t up and walk away before the dedicated arm of the law arrives. Yet you try to understand me. Allow me to enlighten you.

I want my pain to be inflicted on others. The innocent people who dress themselves up in deceit need to take hold of the truth that lives within. It is my job to bring the discomfort to the surface of my victims. The families that I tear apart deserve the judgment my hand deals. These casualties are like alarm clocks bringing about an awakening in the minds of others. Lessons taught by the suffering hands of the weak. Punishment for daring to live in the guise of a marriage and home; Lying in the name of God. Absence of Fidelity. The women I deliciously cut into pieces after I’ve strangled are common trifling whores. Mothers, daughters, and sisters are all insignificant creatures that lured filth into their beds. Lurid men that are attracted to these devilish fiends deserve no mercy at my hands. Husbands, sons, and brothers are all insufferable and weak men that hunger for the debauchery that these ladies offer. Castration and removal of limbs are a method of torture before the agonizing slow death experienced at my discretion. These despicable men and women deserve to be gutted and mutilated beyond any recognition. No recognition for these souls when they depart to the gates of hell. The Damned are cursed to act out the sins of life in purgatory for eternity. Faceless monsters.

As by now you have realized that I have my affinity for souvenirs. There are reports of my keeping Betty Sue Watson’s head. I did not. As for her blood, yes, indeed I did bleed the young woman dry before I cut off her head. The torso and head can be found buried in the flower bed nearest the east side of the church. The thought of placing her head in the rectory did cross my mind, but I felt that to be quite sacrilegious and inappropriate in conduct. My intention was to return this harlot to blessed ground where her soul might know the comfort of peace once more. As for her blood, I’m hoping you enjoy the color of my ink as my quill rather fastidious. By my recollection, I’ve kept the eyes of the last three boys, and the ears of the last two women. Further it is misunderstood as I do not eat the organs or look for quiet moments with the dead. These women and men are wretched mortals lacking in any virtues. Truly such filth could never provide the proper company for an artist such as me. I’m a lost genius, drowning in my own immaculate brilliance. My work is gifted to me from the divine and it is my mission to return these infidels to the Hell that they emerged from. The pain of this life that I endure can not end until my undertaking has come to an end.

For now gentlemen, good luck in your flawed investigation. You will not find a better adversary than I. Detective Tafal I remind you that you walk a fine line of good and evil with an army of heathens behind you. Do not trust your ‘men in blue’ so entirely. Most of these lawmen have broken the rules set forth by your own society and live the life of animals outside of the day. Behind closed doors in the dark hours of the night you will find there are few innocent among them. Soon enough my hunt will continue beyond those who lie in the eyes of God. Do not find yourself in the path of the damned dear sir… as an artist’s work is never finished.

Yours humbly,

The Artist

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