O but i Can, and Will

I'm an artist. It's not a question of if. All my life is spent in plotting. Life and Death.

I have set my trade upon the Who, the What, the Where and all the usual Motif, that sharpens the Why. I don't know, and neither does he, or she. And they will look upon us, with slanted heads, and one eye squinted to the side, well-appointed from hair pin to tie, in best impression of the Intelligent, turning papers, looking for clues in our past. They will say, "this body... This Body..." sigh, and elaborate upon the paper doll, with such emphasis that the thin 3D will take on a central sign of the cross, an "X" exclusively penciled for the stake of criticism.

That is if the life is to be Immortalized; taken out of my hands, no longer "killable," with impunity. Set in the public domain, as artifact of character. They do not realize that That is my mummification that has been passed on. The deed is done.

In private, my creativity is mine; and I can murder any one protagonist in my time, with no consequence, in that their very existence is mine. Breath of my breath.

To give or deny.

In my own artistic realm, I am god.

I have only to stop. Stop creating (drawing, painting, sculpting, reading, writing) and another Body dies. A natural, inconsequential murder. Premeditated or manslaughter. A story ended prematurely. Or never taken up.

That is not a threat. It is a fact of my life. Characters live, and die by the hand of the Author, who sits outside the Law: a free killer.

10.03.2023

A Free Killer @Melpomene