Dead Famous

A horror short written by Kate Bowyer

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Vincent van Gogh, Edgar Allan Poe and Galileo Galilei were masters of their crafts. They were the companions I wished to spend eternity with. All lived to create beauty for the world, and died not experiencing the glowing love for what they unleashed.

I was a slave to my art and like my companions I just mentioned, I died with no thunderous applause for my creations. When I was alive I let my emotions carry me away. The small vagabond group that I surrounded myself with grew tired of my dramatics. Strangers looked at me and whispered that I belonged in an insane asylum. I became an outcast and my creative giant was the only campmate who would stay and listen to my rants.

My soul became my art and my art shouted out to be seen, touched and loved. This is why I laid out an assortment of tools of self execution. In my death my art would live on forever.

With care, I let my plan stumble around in my head for days. At night, I would stand twisting in circles seeing the piles of my work scattered around me. In colorful binders, it slept untouched. On my hard drive, it waited to be discovered. My thirst for its survival was much more then my own.

I awoke one morning knowing that it was the final day for my human existence. A child’s like excitement propelled me out of bed.

By mid afternoon that day I sat watching the sun stalking me across the floor. I sat amongst my art, soaking in the last rays my body would ingest. There was a small movement of wind causing a stirring of dust particles which twinkled in the swirling air. Falling into invisibility the dust settled on to my life’s work and my death devices.

Coming closer to the end, I lined up plastic bottles of pills from doctors long forgotten. A shiny blade framed my face in a distorted way as I looked down at it. A long nylon rope laid curled up like a rattle snake. I sat waiting for one of the devices to call out my name. By dusk, the decision was made. I felt giddy with anticipation.

I undressed and stood above the tub as it filled with warm water. I reflected that the end of my life, will be like the start of it; within a sterile white room, blood, water and the unknowing of what comes next. At last the tub was filled. I dipped my fingers in, caressing my deathbed.

Before slipping into the warm water, I took one last look at my loved ones all piled around the tub. I wanted to make sure, that whomever found me, saw the reason for my ultimate sacrifice.

I slid into the liquid causing a rippling. The blade felt cold and light in between my fingers. My slices tore into my flesh, causing a brief flash of pain. After the second cut, I let go of the instrument and it clattered to the floor in its final act within my play. For a while, I watched the blood dribble down my arms in a steady stream, mixing in with the clear water turning it pink. A coldness crept around my insides, the end was near. I closed my eyes, listening to the last slow thumps of my heart.

Then forever struck, claiming my body and soul.


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