Ars Moriendi (The Art Of Dying)

By An Ode to Creativity Blog - January 07, 2021


Laughter emerged from the center of the modern checkerboard like lobby. A boy, twenty-four,  who wore sweatpants with mix matched bright yellow fabric to patch up the holes. His white top was splattered with a rainbow of paint blotches and tangle brown hair to match.

This boy was twirling around the New York’s best police men. They were stumped, dead ends were all around them and the floor turned into a graveyard.

“This is fun, look everyone, look at what I’ve done.”  The boy, whose name was lost within his bent mind, shouted with a smile to the dead air. While waving a pistol around.  

The lobby was silent and he stopped.

“No one,” the boy shook his head. This was the exact reason why he hated the dead. They didn’t realized that it took months to decide that a single bullet was the way to go, nothing fancy or messy. Though maybe slowly carving them into decorations was the best way. It was like trying to pick purple or pink paint to start off a sunset.

However if the days as a painter. Trying to sell works on the streets in front of the train station. Taught him anything was that no matter what type of art, if it was a realistic painting of a friend or a bunch of mixed shapes and colours most people wouldn’t notice.

He looked at the white walls with a smile.

I knew it would really tie the room together.

Guests from the small unknown hotel generously donated blood so that the white walls could be repainted with bright crimson.  

He begin to walk over to the front door, while looking around at the art. Making sure that the memory was burned within his mind.

The bodies were propped up to make it looked like they were still alive. Some were paying for a room, while others were sitting on the couches have a cup of tea. The windows were shattered so that the morning light would hit the room in the right angle to illuminate the walls.

The boy wondered what the critics would say about the latest creation. Maybe there was too much blood on the walls or maybe the idea of turning the lobby into a dollhouse didn’t sit right with them.

He was starting to think that he should start over. Yeah, that’s what he was going to do. The hunt to find a white canvases was on and when one was found  he was going to paint it red. 

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