1 Epilogue

Name: List Ellyn

Age: Twenty-two

Gender: Male

Occupation: Artist

Height: Six Foot One Inches

Weight: One Hundred Thirty-two Pounds

April 1st

Hey Mom,

I know it's been a long time, but I just… I don't wanna be the humiliation of the party at home ya' know? Dad and Jeryline were so successful, and all they do is laugh at me every time I come to see you. With what happened I don't know if I'll be returning. I know you'll miss me. I'm sorry. It's my fault. On the brighter side, I've got a job right now. This family wants me to repaint an old house with some of my art in the rooms to make them "distinct". I don't know why they don't want a normal house. They have a teenage daughter. She really wanted it. I don't feel up to it, but money is money.

Sincerely, List

I look out the window of my fourth story brick apartment; Jorah Condiments, to see speckles of water hitting it. Rain, it's a lot like my mood, going down. Tomorrow I go to Tionesta, Pennsylvania for my new job. Maybe it'll work out better than I think, I mean, I love art, I just don't have the motivation. I don't have the motivation for anything, I just wanna sleep. I put my arms out onto my oak desk given to me by my mother. She always did care a lot more than the others. I lay my head down and look up hoping for the best. Moments pass as I toss thoughts of what to paint in the home, and how to get the materials in the rural area. I get out of my cushioned office chair, of course, after a few Three Hundred Sixty degree swivels for my amusement.

I walk on the carpet feeling the tufts of faux fur on my bare feet towards my bed. I sat on my black satin sheets and covered up in my Heavyweight red velvet blanket. The cool cotton pillow cleared my mind. My oak bedside table has my Samsung Galaxy Note on it and an accent urn table lamp. I pulled on the string connected to the lamp to turn it off and the ambient light shut off. I grabbed my phone and entered the password: Vivus. It's "alive" in Latin, reminds me I'm still here, even when I don't wanna be. I got on my social media; Instagram and looked at my home page. Cats, art, music...A message? The arrow that shows messages displays a one and I press it.

A new message from an unknown and no username account. That's impossible, the website makes you have a username, right? I press on it and suddenly feel heat that is unbearable, I see a flash of white light, and it seems as if I have no gravity. Then something slowly starts to fade in; a crimson corridor. Then I see a young woman around eighteen screaming and then… Shot. She had black hair and piercing blue eyes, but I cannot remember the rest of the face. Who is it? What was that? How?... It's just a delusion or something, when I can afford it I'll get a therapist maybe. I mean, c'mon no one can see shit like that and it be real or anything. I audibly sigh as my stress increases to my oddity of a life. I roll over and see that my phone has turned off and examine the case. Black with paint on it to be red eyes all over it with the camera as an iris for one of the eyes. Black and red, chaos it seems like, like my life. I live job to job and I'm not even a well-known artist like I want to prove to everyone that I can be. Is there nothing out there for me?

I look down at my clothes to see my Aero New York black long sleeve and black distressed jeans. I look like someone with nothing for me, don't I? The tops are always so businessy and formal, and look at me, a casual shaggy good for nothin'. Whatever, stop thinking about it, tomorrow's a new day. Hell, maybe I'm worrying over nothing! I stretch my long limbs and cuddle up into the covers. Yeah, tomorrow is a new, day.