Art Becomes Life

My parents told me I was perfect. They said I could achieve anything I desired if I possessed enough determination. At thirteen I was given a personal computer and began writing at once. Over the next few years I penned stories religiously. Hours upon hours I would stare at the monitor watching characters come to life. My family helped me send my short stories to a multitude of publishers. Anxiously I would await their reply. The rejections were always the same, “Sorry, we have no use for this manuscript at this time.”1

My local library had a writers group which met every Wednesday. Five other writers and I would review stories and vent our aggression about not being published authors. They were my extended family and we shared a passion for writing as well as each other’s goals. One Wednesday, sparkling blue eyes and black blue hair graced us with their presence. Her name was Cayla. Her face was heart-shaped, and her unblemished alabaster skin was radiant. Her stories consisted of love, passion, and heroism. Standing at the edge of love’s abyss, I fell immediately.2

We became friends at once, as she too shared my passion for writing. As a twenty-one year old college student who spent every waking hour either writing or thinking of writing, I was socially inept. The advances I made to procure her as my own were unreciprocated. Realizing I would never hold the only woman I ever loved sent me spiraling down into a canyon of rage and self-loathing.3

My dreams were shattered. Doubt reared its ugly head and ensnared my mind. I could no longer concentrate on school and dropped out. I avoided my weekly writing groups at the library.Locked in my one bedroom apartment, I allowed madness to overtake me to the point of insanity. With a violent aggression, I whipped the keyboard into submission. I forced upon it my tales of horror and death. 4

Self-loathing gave way to bitterness and bitterness birthed revenge. Countless nights I plotted the death of Cayla in my stories. Before long, I had transcended mere fiction and contrived a plan of vengeance. Rational thoughts were swept away, allowing the plan to breathe and grow. 5

Wednesday, November eighteenth, I sat purposefully in my black Mazda Protégé. I watched Cayla exit her Ford Explorer and enter the library. My right hand held a gray butterfly knife with a four inch blade. In my left hand was a crucifix. Alternating glances from the knife to the cross, I asked God why He had shattered my dreams. He was to blame for the atrocious act I was about to commit. Sweat lazily travelled from my temple and forehead down my face. My heartbeat grew stronger as time trudged by. 6

Many of my stories held acts of violence in them. I struggled over these scenes. My mind could never fathom taking life. And yet here I was. Now I knew how the moments before a committed crime felt. The scattering of thoughts and the trembling hands were no longer mere words to me. I had become one with my stories. I had become the guilty antagonist destined to pay for his sins. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was not words on paper, but a living, active feeling. No longer would I spend countless hours searching my mind for the words to express. My art had come to life. And I loved it.7

Cayla walked out the library at eight fifteen. She carried a spiral notebook in her right hand. Her left hand held a phone up to her ear. Chatting into her cell phone, she opened the rear door of the vehicle. In this moment, with her back to me, I made my move.8

I opened my door and walked toward her, knife in hand. I walked quickly and quietly, holding my breath for fear of being heard. A few feet away, she turned and our eyes locked. A smile brightened her face as she opened her mouth to speak. The words were lost forever. Bringing up the knife, I buried the blade in her throat. Pushing her back into the Explorer, I continuously stabbed her. 9

I unleashed my rage upon her. This was for everyone whose dreams had been shattered. Everyone who had been cruelly denied the love of their life. I sought revenge for those who couldn’t do it for themselves. And then it was over. Chest heaving, I stood over her gasping for breath. Stab wounds covered her neck and face. Beauty had been savagely destroyed by hate.10

Sweat and blood intermingled on my hands and clothing. I turned to run toward my car, but nausea overtook me. Unable to control the emotions and adrenaline flowing through me, I vomited. Furiously I shook my head, while staggering toward my car, trying in vain to clear the dizziness. I vomited again and fell to my knees. Crawl damnit, I urged myself on. Then blackness enveloped me. I awoke in jail.11

The past two years have flown by. I plead not guilty by reason of insanity to murder one. My lawyer dragged out the case, but in the end a jury of my peers sentenced me to death. All the time in solitude allowed me to write my masterpiece, Diary of A Sinner. The novel is hitting bookstores in a month. 12

I feel the prick of a needle, and then a burning sensation spreads throughout my forearm. Sweat drips off my brow and onto the floor. My heart races, my hands tremble, and my thoughts are jumbled. I laugh. In these few moments before death, I am flooded with the exact sensations I experienced before I murdered Cayla.13

I close my eyes, welcoming the arrival of the afterlife. Cayla’s unblemished face smiles down on me. Radiant light surrounds her body. Her smile fades as tears stream down her alabaster skin. The image fades and cries of anguish pierce my eardrums. Oh well, maybe the devil needs a biographer.14

A contest entry

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1 - 6 of 6

  • TheCrimsonPetal
    January 30

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    I love this line: "Standing at the edge of love's abyss, I fell immediately." Well said!

    But then you use the word 'abyss' in the very next paragraph, which seems way too soon for it to be repeated. It threw me off a little bit.

    Also, if I'm not mistaken, if he had been found unconscious wouldn't he have woken up in a hospital? Not jail?

    I love the whole idea of this. Your character seems frighteningly real. It reminds me of instances like Columbine or Virginia Tech. He's socially awkward, he gets rejected, he exacts revenge. And then, true to character, he doesn't seem to have any remorse for killing her or even for being in jail! But is that because he's religious and looking forward to the afterlife or just because he really enjoy seeing his work "come to life" and have actual consequences.

    There are a couple small mentions of religion(the cross and the welcome afterlife), but I'm not sure how it relates to the big picture.

    And of course I think the last line is just straight out clever. Your character really is obsessed with his own work. Do I sense a little bit of blame being placed on the parents in the beginning of this piece? They told him he was perfect, which may be why he didn't handle rejection very well later on in life...? I can't see any other reason for the parents to mentioned at all. But if I'm right, maybe that's an aspect that could be explored a little more.

    Overall, I liked it. Very different from anything I've read.


  • voldo
    December 16, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    "Blackish"

    **Why is that capitalized?

    "Realizing I would never hold the only woman I ever loved, sent me spiraling down into an abyss of rage and self-loathing."

    **Delete comma

    My weekly writing groups at the library were avoided.

    **Maybe say "I avoided my weekly writing groups at the library"

    "I asked God why"
    **... kind of weird to me... like... you never mentioned his religious devotion earlier and now he's carrying a cross..... Maybe earlier mention how he felt god wanted him to be a writer and destined him for great things and god inspired him to write.... and now this happens and he loathes god

    Okay so...

    On the pros,

    - your writing has great weight... great impact. Very serious, very dark, very tense leading up.

    - I like how you say that ... this guy has been a writer all his life, experiencing worlds, murders, love, death vicariously through his imagination and now he experiences it for real and it is the end of him.

    - I like how he is at first upset with his own deficiencies and turns that into hatred and the need for revenge. He feels wronged. I like that... very strong driving force *nod nod*

    Cons

    - As I mentioned above, sometimes I thought the active voice would be better than "was, were" etc. Also mentioned about the religion thing. It feels like it's thrown in. You talk about religion once... when he's committing the crime, and didn't mention it before or after the crime was committed.

    - I was kind of hoping for a realization... i don't know. Like.. he starts out positive writer, then goes negative. I like a three step process. Maybe he starts out positive, goes negative, and then is given the opportunity to turn positive again and instead chooses negative, condemning himself. Like... the victim's parents want to bale him out because really the girl was in love with him and they believe that he is insane... and he's about to be baled out... when he decides not to for some reason (choosing negative again).

    - Maybe talk more about his inability to socially relate. Like... when he was little, or in his stories the lovely girl falls in love with the guy... where in this situation it isn't happening and he's mad for that reason. you briefly mentioned that his inability to relate was because how he shuts himself up writing in college... maybe develop that more because it is kind of the driving reason he's going through all this. He never asked the girl, so hes going on the assumption that he is inadequate. Explore the inadequacy.

    Overall, I like your tone and think this has potential.




    • jayesnb
      December 16, 2008
      Edit | Reply

      great review

      thank you for an in depth review of my story. It is appreciated. Your points are on the mark and will be used in the next draft of the story. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.You open my eyes to pieces of the story i never saw or thought of.


  • brittany.geeze
    December 4, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    I love it, absolutely love it!
    Thank you for the entry and good luck!

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