My Begining

A mans decent into madness? or did he find the truth. How a man came to view death as art.

Dec 15. 1878

Some people call me evil, demented or even a monster. I rather call myself artistic, brilliant and also a perfectionist. I write this journal so that those misconceptions of my work will be rightfully idolized through time. This will most likely be found after I die, I write to tell you about why I am brilliant until I draw my last breath.

All my art is already portrayed throughout the world, in every news paper. I have been all over this planet leaving art behind. Although I cannot claim credit to this as they do not know my name or face, but in due time. When I reveal my master piece the world will remember me. All you need to know is that I am not as mad as the papers portray me to be. I am rambling. Let me tell you how god himself came to recognize my existence.

It was nearly five years ago. Christmas day, I was a mere teenager, a boy. I had always been interested in the arts, so that day my parents bought me two tickets to see the new opera of Faust; a story of a man who sells his soul to the devil. I was only young but I decided to invite a friend of mine, the darling Victoria. I knew her since I was even younger, we played together as kids, neighbors and now we were there in the opera house. She was impeccably beautiful that night, her long blonde hair flowing down her ocean blue dress which kissed the floor. I was entranced by her beauty whilst the carriage took us to the opera. However in love I may have been with her before the play that was washed away when it started. The play was memorizing. I can hardly remember blinking. I paid no attention to my darling Victoria throughout the beautiful and outstanding performance. It was inspiring and it filled me with euphoria like nothing I have ever experienced. I almost wish that I were Dr. Faust himself, my eyes were poised on it and towards the end I could only describe it as a state of hypnosis where I felt complete. Unfortunately it had to end at some point but when it did I was in a state of ecstasy. As I regained sense I remembered that I was with the most amazing woman, I stood in the front gates of my manor home starring deeply into her crystal blue eyes. I grabbed her with a thoughtless embrace and kissed her upon her her soft red lips. That night I took her into my house and we made passionate love, it was perfect but all I could think about was the opera and how that filled me with true euphoria. I never wanted it to end. That night was the first night Victoria and I were truly together despite my neglect talking to her throughout the night. For that one night I was in a true state of love.

For the following two years I found myself repeating the events of that night. I would go out to the opera and watch Faust, find myself enthralled with a passion and pure clarity. I would go home and take the darling Victoria in my arms and repeat the event of that night I first embraced her. At that point however she had stopped accompanying me to the opera. I couldn't blame her I had lost count of the amount of times I had gone myself. Towards the end of this second year of indulging myself in this flurry of passion and beauty I was slowly getting bored of it. It slowly but surely was losing it's charm and I knew that soon I would have to find a new source for this pleasure.

This my friend is where God smiled down on me and showed me the path to true fulfillment, a place I can become in a constant state of euphoria. This is where my journey began, this was my rebirth.

One day after coming home from the opera I felt almost completely numb from it and felt close to no pleasure from watching it. I came to the wrought iron gates of my house, they were partially opened to the garden path of my manor. No light illuminated my house. It was covered in the darkness of the night. A solemn night where the air was cold and the stars were clear. A solemn night which made my heart raced with excitement. I entered my house and could see just a nether of darkness. I took one of the candle stands by the entrance and lit it. It created a crimson illumination. Not a soul lived in this house. My first thoughts was that Victoria had left me. I wouldn't be surprise, I never treated her correctly nor would I particularly care since the feelings of excitement I once had had faded. Normally I'd be greeted by something when entering the living room, that time all I was greeted with was the purest silence. The large, empty room which houses a place for comfort in the form of two armchairs in front of a stone fireplace. A large mirror hangs above it with a golden border, hardly useful. It merely reflected a dull and dreary room.

Only this time, on this specific night there was something to reflect in the mirror, something worth a million portraits. I entered with the flame of the candle by my side showing a path to the vacant room. The electric lights were off but the fire place still lit up a small circle around the chairs. As I walked closer in the dark I could hear a squelching sound as I stepped. As if there was a leak from the ceiling. Creeping towards the fireplace I noticed the carpet was stained red. As if someone had wasted a fine wine on the floor only this wine was thick and was the purest of crimson. I knew what had happened, I'm sure right now you can guess too. It was a miraculous sight indeed as I saw what was laying there in my armchair, with a crisp glow from the fireplace. Silent, pure, softly and peaceful did she lay there. Her eyes were poised on the flame, entranced by it. Mesmerized by the flickering embers. She was more beautiful then than I have ever seen her. I dropped the candles on the floor in glee. Victoria was outstanding. I didn't care that her blood covered my shoes. All I cared about was savouring that moment. Her pale white face. The dripping red life source which had stopped leaking from her slim figure. It had dripped from her neck down to the floor, covering her body which was covered by a ripped white sheet. Almost as if someone tried to cover up her naked body before killing her. She was killed and there she laid preserved in a state of purity. A humans few moments of truth is in their eyes the moment they die. I could see that in her, in her expression. I could tell how and why she was killed and also her last thought based on the way she was in the end. Victoria was killed by her lover. When telling him she could no longer keep seeing him he burst out with anger and slit her throat taking off with all the valuables he could carry. The expression on her face was one of regret, and sorrow. I accept your apology Victoria, you have shown me my true calling in life.

Now you'd think this is how God smiled upon me but his wonderment didn't end at that. You see I have no use for my expensive mansion, useless trinkets and old family paintings. They bore me and now fate had struck a cord to release me from my life. In first by showing me what I should plan my life to do and in second by burning my house and my life away to nothingness. It was the candles I dropped, the flame, the soft carpet and the useless trinkets and books which caused my rebirth. I didn't notice at first I was to much of a state of awe to care about such frivolous matters.

When I came to, the flames had yet to reach the doorway for my leave, they were waiting for me to take my exit from that life. I decided that I would need a few things to start my new life, so I took a few bits of junk that would sell and a family rapier which was on the mantle piece.

I stood then looking back into the blazing living room, my darling Victoria was being immortalized in that room by the flames caressing her body and shedding away her physical constraints and ascending her truthful soul to another plain. The golden mirror reflected the burning room and in it I could see myself on the other side of the flames. I actually liked that mirror. It was the only thing that didn't lie, all it did was reflect the truth.

That was my doing from dropping the candle. They thought I died. Alas I live on and I then followed my passion. I followed the art of the dead. The beauty in which a human says in it's final moments. What their eyes tell me when they are most scarred. That's not as monstrous as they make it out to be. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I am going to show the world the beauty of macabre.

Author's Note

Just something I thought could turn into a deeper story.
I hope to hear what you think

Reviews

[KAOlmsted]

A few spelling errors, but nothing that can't be overlooked--they didn't take away from the tale. If you do decide to turn this into a deeper story, I might suggest some editing hints, but as a short story, it's fine...you've presented us with a well and truly mad protagonist, one who clearly believes he is on a journey to some fulfillment in which his desire to witness the purity and beauty in death will justify his murdering...so, well done there. Unfortunately, books and stories don't get a whole lot of attention here at the Cafe, but I am always interested to read these pieces, if they are interesting. Yours was, and I'm pleased I read it. Thank you for posting it.

-kimmer

[Dylan Evans]

Thank you, well I'm glad they can be overlooked, I know at some point I will need an unbiased editor for my work

[River Page]

This would make a wonderful book. You've created a Gothic tale of a mad artist. It reminds me of a poem by Robert Browning...also Oscar Wild. But nevermind that. There were a few grammerical errors, but that isn't really a bid deal. The main problem I have with this is that you have given away too much in what amounts to a quite small chapter. Consider revealing this story in a non-linear way. Bits and peices throughout the novel. Eventually you will have told the story in a way that seems less obvious, more mysterious. But I think you have a fanstastic idea going. Keep me posted.---River

[kimmy]

Oh wow this was great..I think this could be a real deep story and there is so much you can do with this:) The joy of something in life like that is something we would love to have. I could feel his passion for art and the way he would let it fill him with so much passion. His beloved being killed and he could see what happened in her eyes, that was so sad that he lost his love, no matter what happened.
I loved that this and would love to see what you do with this:)

[Dylan Evans]

Thank you very much! I loved writing it and I'm glad it's a good read too!

[kimmy]

No problem, if you do add on to this I would love to know:)