Painter of the Night
There once was a boy,
Who would paint in the night.
All over his arms,
And his thighs too.
He had to hide his art from the world,
Because they would think different
About his art style
Then he did.
I used to know this same boy,
Who would paint in the night.
And once he knew me well enough,
He showed me his art.
Thousands of paintings,
Covered his body.
But he was so shy,
To even show me.
I was shocked at first,
But not because of his art.
But because I finally realized,
He was no longer in the dark.
I lifted my sleeves,
And rolled up my pants.
Revealing thousands of drawings too.
We were one in the same.
When you are someone who is experienced in jobs like this, you wouldn't expect a mission to be so difficult. Nearly impossible. I looked up, staring in the eyes of the infamous murderer, Ted Bundy. I panted, wondering how I could have lost control of the situation so fast. I felt my hands go numb as I tried to raise them in an attempt to stop him from whatever he was going to do. My attempt was practically useless as he effortlessly tied my hands together with a rope.
"Don't worry," he cooed into my ear, fiddling with my hair as I stay sitting on the floor where he left me. "It's going to all be over soon." He grabbed me by the shirt, flinging me onto my bed like I was nothing. I frantically searched the whole area, looking for something I could use to stop him. Why did this girl have to be so God damn neat? I gritted my teeth as tears rolled down my cheeks. Any other girl would have been fine, but no. Lucky me.
"What's wrong love?" he asked, splitting my shirt down the middle, exposing my bra. "Am I to much for you to handle?" My face turned red, and I used my tied hands to cover it. Ted threw his head back, laughing at my expression. He looked back at me, then hauled himself on top on me. He forced my hands back down, forcing us to look at each other. Our faces were now inches away from touching. And for some reason, I wanted those inches to close a distance. I kind-of wanted him to do something to me.
"What are you going to do to me?" I mumbled as he unbuttoned my shorts and slid them down my legs. He smiled, exposing surprisingly white teeth.
"I'm going to do," he paused, getting closer to my face than he already was. "what any other rapist does to their victims. But I am going to make sure I am remembered for what I do to you." My brow raised at that last part, then I remembered how he raped his first victim. With a bed post.
I began to scream and kick at Bundy in an attempt to free myself, but it wasn't worth it. It was too late. I fell into his trap, like many of his other victims did. Giving this murderer a chance was wrong, and I should have realized that from the beginning. I failed the mission, and was going to most likely die from either Ted or my boss.
As the bedpost was pulled out from under the bed, I cried. Ted hauled the bulky post onto my body, and placed it on my torso. He looked to me and smiled. "You still want to blush at me now?"