I work with the other Reapers
In a way you could call me one of Death
I preserve the memories of the dead
The moments of their lives
I paint their memorials
I paint their triumphs
Their pains,
I paint their faces into art
Forever collecting who they eventually became
The changes in their lives
Every piece one of a kind.
In some cases I even keep their souls
Forever trapping them in art
It all depends on the orders given
Regardless,
I paint them well…
My latest creation
Something about it doesn’t feel quite right
The orders I was given
…Well…
They make me uneasy
To say the least…
The Painting I create now
Houses the many faces of a soul
One that relished in the murder they wrought upon their world…
The eyes are dark
Their face twisted in glee
Their soul is trapped within the painting
Sometimes though…
…I can hear him whispering to me…
I’ve sent my complaints to HR
They’ve told me there is nothing they can do
I must continue to paint this portrait
Till it’s ready for departure
Lest I be consumed
At least that’s what the latest notice says
Something isn’t right…
So here I sit,
Painting his face between other works of my art
Lately though,
I’ve noticed
I can see the souls image
Slowly bleeding into my other works
I can hear the souls within screaming
…Endlessly…
Every time I come back to paint
Be the painting old or new
The paintings grow a little more twisted
More nightmarish than before
They speak to me too…
HR told me to paint faster
I needed to paint more than before
If I didn’t
I’d be consumed…
I’ve painted worlds
I’ve added whole new pieces
Yet the painting that houses the demented soul
Its influence is growing
Every moment I work
I hear their screams & cries!
Still, I must keep going…
I hear his twisted laughter
He tells me how they died…
I’ve tried to keep the other paintings safe
I’ve tried to keep up
I’ve given it my all!
His voice continues to whisper to me
Telling me who will soon be up!
He knows who’s next
He knows how they all die
I’ve begun painting with my blood
He says…
“It will really bring them to LIFE!”
I hear him now
Even when I’m not in the room…
The man of many faces
He speaks of the end,
Of things to come
He speaks of suffering
Of eternal doom
I feel his touch upon me
Before I know it
…I’m no longer in the room…
It’s become another piece
A painting all its own
Signed in my blood
I paint his works
…From now on…
-The Painting-