.TheBricks
I am an artist
A cool room, almost too cold. There are smooth cement brick walls and two barred windows. The cobblestone floor is flaked with dried blood. Harsh lighting floods through the windows and flourescent lights on the ceiling, revealing the grotesque scene below.
The "artist" speaks, fingering his tools. He speaks more to himself than to his victim.
"I am not insane. I am misunderstood. Society calls me a monster, but it is they who are monsters. No one understands art."
Somewhere, the sun shines on green grass, oblivious to the events transpiring.
Everyone else is doing the mad scientist thing, so I figured I'd grab that last seat on the bandwagon.
I am an artist
A cool room, almost too cold. There are smooth cement brick walls and two barred windows. The cobblestone floor is flaked with dried blood. Harsh lighting floods through the windows and flourescent lights on the ceiling, revealing the grotesque scene below.
The "artist" speaks, fingering his tools. He speaks more to himself than to his victim.
"I am not insane. I am misunderstood. Society calls me a monster, but it is they who are monsters. No one understands art."
Somewhere, the sun shines on green grass, oblivious to the events transpiring.
Everyone else is doing the mad scientist thing, so I figured I'd grab that last seat on the bandwagon.