Image credit: Stokkete

Two weeks ago I killed a woman. I did this deliberately. I knew precisely what I was doing and I planned and executed it all. But there is no evidence, any way that I can ever be held accountable for her death. While I assuredly did the deed, while I stepped out across her fate and re-wrote its ending quite consciously, no jury would ever convict me, no policeman will ever come to call, and even those who ask me to mourn with them for her passing will never suspect.

I am a painter. Some say a great painter; some even say the last great painter of my generation. I create. Now it seems I also destroy.

Does this make me a god? Perhaps, but what happens when the god finds the inevitable flaw in the makeup, the essential pieces of the jigsaw that it has missed? When confronted with that, the sum total of what is outside the god’s control rather than what is within its scope, what of the god then?

A god with a flaw is a monster. I lurk in fairy tales with my deceptively kind face. But I am a monster nonetheless. Let me tell you. Let me explain.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved