Now this was an interesting dilemma once more. Mure stood with dull eyes looking over the painted wall before him. To be honest he found the artistic touch very interesting. The artist obviously had some pain hidden within themselves. Mure could at least associate with such dark inner feelings. After all who would they express themselves to that would understand? So many considered it just a phase or a weakness but what damaged the soul does not tend to heal in time like the flesh. Mure himself had at least his friends the insects with in him to always keep him company. He was never truly alone. But this artist painted with pain and anger deep within their heart. Mure could not help but speculate that with out guidance and soon this youth would be lost forever to the darkness within themselves. Still he was tasked with stopping this method of relieving the stress for this youth. The idea of doing so burdened his heart deeply as he looked over the in depth details of the darkest parts of the soul painted in fashion across the canvas that just happened to be an old mans wall. Such expression was a beautiful thing.

With a pained expression he lifted his right hand which contained the pain brush with the dull paint color of the emptiness of the act he was about to commit. It injured him deeply that first stroke as the masterpiece was sliced by the paint brush in his own hand. He felt as if he where betraying the artist themselves as again and again he felt the pain as again and again the paint brush would rise and fall as slowly the art faded away to the cold grey wall of a cold home. No longer did the art seem to justify the soul within the cold concrete. It took only a short time and then it was done. The sin committed and the wall was plain once more. The life seeming to have drained from it. It was with an eager feeling that he threw away the gear he had committed to this in the near by dumpster. As if by doing so he could wash away the proverbial blood from his hands. He had just taken an expression of a young soul and with so little in the way of compassion tore it away with the colors that only bring the coldest rains.

But now he needed to wait. This was not the first time this wall had been painted. The kid responsible had been spotted before by the old man but always was just fast enough to get away. What cruelty the boy must feel to torment the old man over and over. Now with the wall blank once more and the old man out of town he was sure the boy would strike. It was just a matter of waiting for the artists to return to his canvas. In the mean time he flipped open a novel he had brought with him and began to read quietly to himself. Hours passed by before he heard the shuffling of a clumsy troubled young artist as he tried to sneak into the alley. Ahh the dark artist had returned to paint his soul once more. It was time to perhaps convince him otherwise. Rising to his feet Mure released his swarm of bugs. He decended with a dark cloud following behind him as his boots clicked the pavement the boy looked only to see a dark figure shrouded in the swarm of thousands. A voice muffled but loud announced to the terrified child in a cold voice.

"Leave this place and return to your loved ones. Confess your sins child and never return."

He watched the terrified boy running away screaming and wondered to himself if he had left enough of an impression. After all as the bugs returned to their home within him he thought he detected the smell of urine. Poor boy. Let it be that he stay out of trouble from then on.

Exit thread