A flash of light.
A searing pain.
An unconsolable grief.
An abyss of self-pity and hatred.
A brush with death.
A sudden betrayal.
A reality turned nightmare.
And my brother stepped out of the shadows.
"You may have gotten away once, but you will not get away a second time."
Lance's melodious voice showed not sign of malice.
"Why?! Why did you do it?!" I asked, fear freezing me in place.
"Why? Easy." He spun around a large, blood-stained knife while responding. "I craved art. Didn't you hear me? My best masterpiece. Not even the best Da Vinci or Picasso can begin to compare to the beauty and perfection that is death."
"Lance..." I trailed, shaking my head in disbelif.
"What? Are you scared?" His words stabbed into my very soul. I was trying to act unafraid, but Lance obviously saw through my facade.
"You... You always told me that killing someone is wrong and that if you do, God will punish you. You repeated that to me over and over and over again." I glared up at him. "So what gives you the right to do this?!"
"I don't need any right." Lance ran his finger down the edge of his weapon, drawing blood. "If anything, I have the right to create art."
"Death isn't art! Listen to yourself, Lance!"
"Art, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder." Lance took out another knife. This one was even larger and more intimidating. This one was a bloody meat cleaver. The same one he used to chop up our family. "And all I want is for you to be beautiful."
The twin blades shown in the pale moonlight. All I remember after seeing those instruments of death was my brother's pure black hair flying, dotted with patches of blood and his once innocent green eyes tainted with evil.
And then, I knew nothing.
END
