Dark, damp and cold... the alley way striped with only the
faintest of the shallow silver moon light that glowed above the
great city of New-York. The smell of putrid meats and half eaten
foods eroded the soft clean windy atmosphere, into something that
would make any man or woman feel physically sick. A scream like a
mad man past the gap between the two buildings that formed the
alley way, knocking over or pushing tin cans and discarded
cardboard boxes. The ruckus disrupting the tramp who had been
trying to sleep amount the trash that night, for the comfort of
the many corroded meats that he spilled in a heap from a emptied
He coughed and wheezed, tears held back still trying to hide from his bitter reality. Suddenly, a light flashed through into his 'chamber' lighten his small mound of trash and his half hidden face in a smooth round disk of light that punched the darkness like a spike. "wh...who are you?..."he asked, his voice sounding dry and bitter from the years of alcohol and cigarettes.
The mysterious figure holding but a single torch approached silently without a word, still cloaked in darkness he strolled across the damaged concrete path each step echoing in tune with the tramps very heart beat. Looking with a squint he could just make out the outline of the stranger who approached, long thin and tall with dangling hair that dropped past the shoulders. This was no man, but a woman. "WHO ARE YOU?" The tramp screamed his voice trying to frighten the woman but to no avail.
He got up threateningly; from a strange fear that had rose in his heart something about this woman was not right as she got within striking distance. Filled with terror the tramp tried to launch a punch but within moments his entire fear ran dry as his eyelids felt heavy, his body felt woozy and he collapse in a heap on the floor.
The woman smiled, a creeping smile that seemed almost not human, as she returned the pin from the skin of the victim with a tug, still oozing with the sleeping drug like thick blood. Ever so slowly she dragged him down deeper into the alley way, trailing him along its rugged path into the pitch black darkness beyond...
An ear pricing shriek runs on and on like trains upon his ears, his back tingling with what feels like a frigidly cold stone, his body sprawled against it like a cross, he groans and coughs fighting to regain consciousness. Head aching with a miserable un-relenting pinch right on the back of his skull as he tries to recall what happened to him. Last thing he remembered was a woman with a light... He tries to move but only winces at the tight pull back of solid frozen like iron, locking his arms, legs and head with rust that causes his arms and legs to bleed slightly. Slowly his vision returns and he realizes that he is stark naked, exposed to the harsh winds that seep through cracked window of what looks like a factory and the icy iron that he feels deep within his bones. "Wha... What going on...." He moans bitterly trying to get used to the extreme temperatures of the factory.
"Don't worry dear... I'm just doing some art" the dull almost emotionless voice of a woman echoes across the factory, imposable for the man to detect.
"WHO ARE YOU!" he cries straining against the iron that firmly holds him in place, thick sweat beginning to pour from his fore head and drop of his noses tip.
He does not see her, but he hears the footsteps of the lady directly behind him strolling closer and closer "I, am an artist." She speaks once more in the same tone; the man squirms as he feels her breath drift down his neck.
"What do you want with me I haven't done anything wrong to you!" he cries in a frantic burst, no pause till he finishes. He stops abruptly taking deep breaths from the dusty air of the factory, coughing violently.
Silence greets him, slitting the atmosphere like an edged blade into something that causes him to shiver. 'tink' he strains his head left as much as he can, The noise that grabs his attention is from a object scraping against the table as it is lifted, only from his peripheral vision can he just make out a dull light reflection of many of the small strange instruments laid out like a surgeon would prepare his tools. He cannot see what they are exactly though, only the shine is in his sight. "What...what are you doing..." he begins to sob lightly, his body tensed from fear of the unknown.
'Tap tap tap' what he now thinks is most definitely high heels move around his table and into his view. There she stands, a woman, from his view all he can see is her long sleeved jet black jacket and white shirt. Her hair a mess of chocolate colored brown tangled hair, this to his own terrified thoughts, would only happen after years of pulling and ripping. Some parts of her hair were even so shredded that they revealed her dry pale skin... The face though... 'Oh god the face' It was something so calm a collective like any normal person would, but in this situation it was so satanic and wrong, with eyes brimming with a emotionless gloom that loomed over him like a shadow.
From behind her back she pulled out some kind of stick, on its end a sharp cleanly washed silver of metal no longer then 2 centimeters pointing outwards menacingly with a smooth edge on one side. "No...No, no, no, you're not right... PLEASE" the man begged as the woman bent over his body blank faced without hesitation.
She plunged it sharp edge into the middle of his chest piercing the flesh so smoothly not a drop of blood spills. She smiles at his wince and slowly draws it down and down across his chest causing the man to scream with agony, tears streaming from his eyes, with no hold back or recent she draws out the instrument of pain coated in thick blood. As blood begins to ooze out the thin sliced flesh she moves to the other side and repeats again with much screaming of the man once more, drawing another line and making a cross against his body.
"Whyyyee!" the man sobs, sniffing with a uncontrolled panic attack as his heart beat increases only making more disgusting blood ooze from the crevasses of his flesh, breathing becoming short, and frantic.
There is no answer, just a soft pang of white rubber gloves snapping around the woman's hand as she lightly presses a rubber covered finger into the center. Then the over hand follows, lightly pressing against the cut the man watches terrified to talk. With a blood agonizing filled cry of pure pain the woman digs her finger into the cut grabbing hold of the flesh underneath, the pain so unbearable that he no longer can make sound he just stares eyes bulging almost popping out there sockets as his jaw desperately tries to scream with agonizing effort, just the silent drips of tears drip across the floor and a sickening squelch as the woman open ups the flaps revealing the man's insides, all throbbing with pain from the outside world. Gloves of red eyes of grey, she strips the man of his guts throwing them into a plastic bin bag. Finally the man takes one last breath eyes roll into the back of his head and, he flops motionless... dead. "Not done yet sweaty" the sickeningly calm voice says...
Later that evening, a man in his late twenties walks down the high street. Something with a disgusting thud hits something against a wall. A reek of rotten flesh makes him gag as he looks up and covers his eyes and drops to his knees sobbing like a mad man. Hanging mere centimeters away from him a mutilated corpses decapitated, flab's of triangle shaped skin flop in the breeze of the empty body, the words 'this is my art' cut into his stomach . The man sobbed bitterly to him on the cold floor, curled up in a ball he cries. A shadow looms over him of a woman...