My Apprentice

 

Today is Kylie’s 14th birthday. I believe all parents want to pass along their wisdom and knowledge to their children, pass along the best parts of them.

Sometimes, they get the worst part of you. Well, THIS IS A STORY like that.

Sometimes the mind goes where the mind goes.

Happy Birthday Kylie.

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I discovered I was an artist at the age of fourteen. At first, I was really nervous and scared and would only practice my artistry every six months or so. I was shy and did not want anyone else to see my work. I made many mistakes when I first started out but luckily the gods were in my favor and I was able to continue my artistry as I grew older, and wiser. And braver.

As I became more confident, my art work became more frequent. Every four months to two months to weekly, until I met a woman I would fall in love with.

Since my art did not pay the bills, I joined the working world. I was miserable. I had no time to practice my art or to continue working towards perfecting my skills.

But I was in love. And then I found out I was going to be a father.

I prayed for a son. A boy I could train to follow in my footsteps. It had taken years for me to be almost perfect in my craft and I wanted to pass down everything I had learned to a son. Every mistake, every lesson learned, every victory. The satisfaction of a job well done.

It was not to be. My daughter came into the world full of life, screaming and crying to the world, I am here.

The pressure of being a father and paying the bills became too much. I needed a release. I needed time to myself. I needed a “night out with the boys” every couple of weeks, at least that’s what I told my wife.

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But what I really needed was my art. I needed to get back to what I was best at doing. I needed to perfect my craft. I needed to keep practicing my art, to create the perfect masterpiece. I could not make any mistakes.

As my daughter grew, I would come home “after a night with the boys” and would watch her sleeping. I would feel guilty for going out, for doing what I was doing, but I kept telling myself it was for my own sanity. I could not stop. It was in my blood and I was very good at what I did.

But I wanted to be the best.

To be the best, I had to keep practicing my skills.  As my daughter grew, she became more curious, but there was no way I could show her my work. As my daughter grew, so did the world. Technology was changing and I had to keep in touch with it in order to keep making my art. It was becoming a chore to stay one step ahead but I was still very good at my art, and I could not stop.

However, doubts started to creep in. One mistake, however small, could lead to my art being ruined. What if my wife found out? I still was not ready for anyone to see my work. How much longer could I continue? Could I stop if I really wanted to?

I must stop. Even if I was miserable, it beat being discovered. I must stop, I told myself over and over. I must stop.

I tried to stop, I really did.

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I kept telling myself one more time. One more night. One more masterpiece. But that only lead to one more time, one more night.

It was the eve of my daughter’s fourteenth birthday. I remembered how I started my art skills when I was fourteen. I wondered if it was in her blood also.

I didn’t have to wait long.

One week later I went out for my one more last time.

Little did I know she followed me.

I slowly walked the streets, looking for the right inspiration to be part of my next masterpiece. After all, I had become a master artist. It didn’t take me long. The objects of my art were always easy to find. Some people enjoy being the center of attention. It’s not hard to convince them to come with me so I can “paint” them. The centerpiece of my gallery.

I took her back to my gallery and as soon as I started to carve her up so slowly, I was a master craftsmen after all, my daughter came running into the room.

I was terrified and relieved at the same time. My secret was finally out of the bag. After all these years and all these murders, it was my daughter who caught me.

But she wasn’t horrified like I thought she would be. A smile of relief crossed her face.

It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

All this time, she had the same urges as me. All this time I had prayed for a son to pass my artistry onto but instead I was given a daughter who was every bit an artist like me. Now I could pass my expertise down to her.

Every mistake, every lesson learned, every victory.

For my daughter was a serial killer, just like me, and I could not let her get caught.

Disclaimer: Neither Kylie or I are serial killers, just so no one takes this seriously. Even though at times feel like I could…

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Pyschopath Killer by Slaughterhouse, feat Eminem-

RIP by 8 Graves –

Monsters by Shinedown –

Monster by Skillet-

Monster Is Loose by Meatloaf –

Releasing The Demons by Godsmack –

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