I've never trained as a professional surgeon, so please forgive the rough edges. I spent as much time as I could making things tidy, perfect, but if I sought utter perfection then I'd be at this forever and never finish it. That's where so many go wrong, they get caught before their work is complete, forever seeking perfection. Not I, no, I thought it better to complete my first draft and show it to the world as it is and then perfect it later as a new piece. Art must be seen to be appreciated.
I'm not insane, not one of those psycho killers in the movies or on TV. I'm an artist and the human condition is my canvas. Some people get paid millions for flinging their faeces at a canvas but for this masterpiece I'll get nothing but a cold needle or a hot chair. Life isn't fair. That's why I'm not an idiot, why I wont be caught. I'm not looking for attention, I'm not some dysfunctional reject who was abused as a child. I'm not some traumatised, broken toy living out his revenge. I'm just an artist who isn't afraid to push boundaries. It's the art that needs to be seen, not me.
The note I sent, ten fingerprints on it, one for each person in the piece, each member using a different finger to complete a full set, they found the piece very quickly to their credit, not hard to find really, the address was plain to see on that white, embossed card.
Ten people for ten commandments. I'm an atheist actually but religion throughout the ages has always inspired great works and it seemed a shame not to tap into that. Ten bodies twisted together to tell a story, a collage of flesh and bone. It's incredibly moving, deep and beautiful. It's intense and speaks to the soul on a primal level so deep even I can almost feel God's message echoing in my bones. It's not perfect though it isn't bad for the first draft. I should enrole in medical school, learn the trade. Ideally, I had wanted to keep them alive, but the changes I wanted to make were too drastic and I didn't have the expertise to make them work.
It's my secret shame.
Instead I incorporated their suffering into the piece and I think, despite not following my exact vision, it turned out very well. Not bad for a first draft.
I can hear them asking now, why did he do it? What sicko could have done this to these people? Idiots. They'll ruin my piece trying to understand it, trying to bring some measure of respect to the dead, those small minded philistines. I wonder what the art critics will say. I sent the message to them as well, a special invitation to an exclusive viewing. Not entirely true I admit, but the work deserves to be seen by more than one pair of decent eyes before the police tear it apart.
They'll never realise why I did it because I wont fit into one of their profiles. I did it because I can, because art must be seen and people are a beautiful canvas to work with. I did it out of frustration with the stale, dull, stagnation of art held back by fear. I did it because everything is permitted, I have artistic license to interpret the rules, though I doubt a jury would see it that way.
Anyhow, forgive my musings, I've just seen a wonderful canvas walk by. The perfect component for my second attempt. I don't want to kill her so I follow her down the alley and ask her what the time is. I'm a friendly looking chap and so she answers unfearfully, the enclosed, privateness of the alley not even registering as a threat. She truly is perfect. I thank her and as she turns the cloth reaches around to her mouth and nose, clamping down until the chloroform takes hold. I drag her to the van and head back to my gallery to finish the work, she's the last piece.
The people moan when I return, the ones still alive anyway. Once again I failed to keep them all alive, though I think in this instance I rather like it, the contrast of life and death in the piece lends itself particularly well to it's underlying metaphor. I ignore them though, except the man who completes this particular section. I position the woman with him, stitch her in place and remove his eyelids now that I've got his sight lined up correctly. There, brilliant, it's even better this time. It's still not perfect, though I really am liking the combination of death and life and so following that theme I cut the woman's jugular in such a way as to spray the 'Thou shalt not murder' section with her blood. Perfect, really, really good even if I say so myself. I then sterilize the scalpel, heat it until it's white hot and put it in the murderers hand, the heat welding it to his skin. I break his knuckles for good measure, just so he doesn't think about trying to use it for escape, not that he could with the metal pins I've inserted into him in the right position.
Taking a step back I can't help but admire my work, truly a grand design, a work of art.
Not bad for a second draft.