The Last Painting

The word drowsy doesn’t fully describe how tired I am. I turn my head to see the clock. It’s 10:23 pm. I just need to finish this last paragraph…..Finished! Now what do I do?

My heart begins to beat faster as my fear rises. “I need to watch YouTube”. I don’t but seeing “his” face is the last thing I want to do. I don’t know who “he” is but he looks exactly like me and wears the same clothes I wear every day.

Why does “he” keep following me? Before, I would see “him” in my dreams but I feel as though I’m beginning to see “him” in real life, always pointing at me.

“No more thinking about this”. I get up from my desk, open the hallway door and proceeded to walk downstairs.

I swear I just saw “him”.

I get to the kitchen, opened one of the cabinets and retrieved a paper cup. I then walk to the fridge to retrieve some ice. The cold air against my skin felt so relieving as it was dripping from sweat. I pour my water into the cup and proceeded to walk back upstairs to my room.

Walking past a threshold, I see something in the corner of my eye that made me almost drop my cup. I should’ve turned on the lights. I run upstairs, skipping every other step, and closed the door behind me.

I can’t take this anymore. What do I do?

I take a huge sip of water before I laid in bed. My body feels limp now. My eyes forcing itself shut. I thought I could stay up a little bit longer, but fighting my sleep is draining me even more. I laid on my back and ease my head on the pillow and shut my eyes. A minute later, I open my eyes to a dark room with the only light beaming from my window above my desk.

My heart starts to beat faster than ever. I can’t move.

Surrounding my bed, multiple figures began to form. Their faces morphing into images I didn’t recognize at first.

Oh my God…no...this isn’t real. There’s no way…

I still can’t move my body.

Another familiar figure walks from the door, the surrounding figures shifting out of its way to let it through. It’s “him”!

The people around me continue to stare at me; their expressions are as if they all have no soul, no emotion. All of them still dressed in their wounds. I felt their anger, sorrow, and, surprisingly, joy.

“He” starts to crawl on my bed ever so slowly. Every step was sinister. Tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Pay...Pay...Pay..” they chanted.

“He’s” now staring in my eyes on top of me. I’ve never known nor experienced fear until this moment. It feels as if my soul is being sucked into “his” eyes. “He” leans his lips to my ear and whispers, “Your time is up. You can no longer run.”

I closed my eyes so tight they could bleed, and when I opened them again, everyone was gone. My lamplight was on again. The emotions I felt, however, still lingered.

I walked out of the room, downstairs, and opened the basement door. Each foot descending down the wooden steps, creaking. The smell worsened. I turned on the lights and it was still there, my creation, my masterpiece. I take a moment to embrace this last painting: blood in every crevice of the floor, dismembered bodies in the shape of my name, and their heads beautifully displayed on the wooden work table. I walk over to one of the heads, my favorite one, and kissed her forehead. “This is goodbye my love.”

I laid on the floor appeased. I can feel them surrounding me again. I turned my head to the left and I see “him” again in the corner, for the last time, but this time smiling. I closed my eyes with a cheerful grin, and the next thing I knew, everything was black.