The True Artist

Posted: November 29, 2012 by Ankur in Writes...
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Since my childhood, I wanted to attain fame and always be remembered as a true artist. I wanted my art to have a long-lasting impact & what better way than personally drawing the line between life and death.
My art was murder.

Each of my murders was very carefully and precisely planned, all loopholes taken care of. Even the person murdered suffered the fastest and least painful death. A bullet straight through his brains. It was because of this kind perfection with which I handled my work, I never had a police record. It was as if I never existed.
But I did. Every artist wants recognition for his work. I was no different. So I left a picture of Da Vinci on the dead body with my signature.

It was my way of showing to the world that I was a true artist just like Da Vinci. Today had been my sixty-seventh murder. A darkroom, a sleeping mafiaso, one muffled shot and then silence. My only regret was that my family would never learn about my greatness. The door opened and my eleven year old son ran into my arms. He was excited about some prank he had pulled on me and wanted to tell me about it. He said, “Daddy, today I saw you put a picture of an old man in your pocket. I replaced his picture with this picture.” In his hands was a group photo of my family with my signature. I had two of them- one of which was with my son. The second photo lay drenched in the blood of a 60 year-old mafiaso.

I had made a mistake.

Rafaa Dalvi

M. H. Saboo Siddik College of Engineering, Mumbai

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