[SHORT STORY] Art is an Explosion

[GOAT[ ★ ]]

In my english class, we were given the assignment of writing a short story of 2 pages with double line spacings. This is mainly because we're 31 students within his class so thats 31 stories and 61 pages to correct. The story was meant to be either horror or mystery. It's not obviously scary, but it basically plays on human's occasional exaggeration of revenge, and slight insanity. It's based of Deidara's character as you can see by the title and some of the lines used but I'd say this is original more or less. I'd appreciate some constructive criticism or anything of the sort :]

Art is an explosion. People worship artists such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo and Raphael for their work. Those people do not know what true art really is. For some reason or another, those people have come with the conclusion that art is something wonderful that lasts long into the future. That conclusion was simply a hypothesis. My factual belief is that art is transient and departs rapidly, it’ll be there for a second and the next, it’ll be gone like the wind. That is true art. That is what people should be studying on in those educational facilities. People always hate you for your talents, they feel jealous, envious, either that, or they don’t truly appreciate it, I was a victim of those sinful feelings. Just like my art, my life left just like the wind. The government took everything away from me, simply because of mere suspicions. Because they believed I had the qualities of a terrorist they felt they had the right to arrest me! Arrest me! Anyone amongst our society knows that once the word gets out, you are looked upon differently, people fear you, hate you... they want to kill you. Because I found a thrill in fine art they find a thrill in detesting me and move on to claim my art is no art, that my art is in fact horrifying. Evidently they are just like those people, just like the general population. They’d come to regret it too, no one would take away my life, my passion and get away with it. It’s funny too, twenty years ago; a psychic once told me that I’d die young. I guess that psychic was right. I was going to die young, but she was wrong about one thing, that I’d die alone. I wasn’t going to die alone, no... Those people were going to die with me; they were going to hell with me! The wires had been connected and the explosion neared closer and closer.

Soon that single fleeting moment of greatness would occur, and no longer would I simply be creating beauty... this time I’d be a part of that beauty, I would be that beauty. Pulling open the door to my hotel, I stepped out of the room for the very last time within my life. Every step down the hallway, down the stairway, down the doorway... they were my last. As the entrance of the hotel opened, the sun shined towards my face, it was a fine beauty... of course, this beauty did not compare to the art I’d be creating. It seemed I lost control of my feet, it felt as if they took this journey on their own and me… well I was simply going along for the ride. Entering a taxi, the driver and I exchanged fake smiles; he simply wanted his money while I hid the fact that he was driving a future serial killer towards his own crime scene. Pulling the last bit of cash left from my last pay check, the male smiled with greed and grabbed the money from my hands. Although pointless, I spoke up ‘Keep the change!’ It wasn’t like he intended on giving it back either way, but within it contained one of the three explosions that’d be occurring throughout the day. Of course, if he had simply waited for the removal of the rather small explosive attached to the green, he wouldn’t have ended his life with such a sad fate. This was what sinning brought you. Finally, after a fifteen minute ride that felt like an eternity, we had arrived in front of a rather large skyscraper. It was scarcely believable that this had been my workplace once upon a time.

My feet brought me out of the car and as I turned to nod, the cabdriver had already departed with both our last pay checks. Once more I took a deep breath, feeling sweat slowly roll down my chin. Quickly, I wiped it off, what was this feeling? Hesitation? No. It could not be. Even if it had been, it was already too late. Furthermore, the only valid reason for my sweating was nervousness; soon, I’d be creating the world’s finest art in the history of mankind. These passer-by’s would be witnessing the greatest single fleeting moment to have ever struck this world. Again, my feet took control, bringing me before the large doors of the building as I pulled out my keys and entered the building. Fortunately, there would be or at least should be no suspicion of my presence. My office needed to be emptied and that was the justifiable reason for my attendance. To the left was the recipient’s desk, the secretary, she didn’t bother looking at me, raising her head or anything of the sort, it was the same old conversation we constantly had every morning at work. ‘Hello Jeff!’ She said. ‘Hello Mona!’ I said. Then we parted ways and as I lengthened the distance from myself and Mona, I shortened the distance between myself and my office, which was nicely situated at the center of the building. It wasn’t long before I stood within my office and despite the number of former co-workers situated around me, I felt completely isolated. ‘It’s normal!’ I told myself, after all, for that single fleeting moment of fine art, I’d be abnormal. I wouldn’t be on equal levels with these people. No, I’d be perfect; I’d be on a completely different status quo. Looking towards my watch, I noticed 30 seconds exactly were left till that single moment of fine art. Till that single second of perfection. Not only would I die a perfect death, but those people would die one too. One could say I was giving them a favour. Another could say, those people would suffer the consequences of belittling my art, of ending my career for petty suspicions. Insane? I think not? I was simply being ambitious.

In less than thirty seconds, that hotel room would explode, along with it, those people that looked at me with eyes of disgust during my arrest. That cab would explode, along with the greedy driver and anyone with him. That building… this building would explode, along with it, me… and all those people. Five Seconds Left. Times for thoughts are over. Four Seconds Left. Times for regrets are over. Three Seconds Left. Times for memories are over. Two Seconds Left. Times for compassion are over. One Second Left. Times for living are over. Zero Seconds Left. Time for perfection has begun.