Sketch Me
by orange sodap0p
It started with a friendly chat - he was a new student; she wanted to help him out. Everyone else in the class ignored him, and each day he sat all alone. So she talked to him.
He proved to be an interesting guy. He moved to Pittsburgh from Mesa, Arizona. He played the bass in a band with his friends - well he said he used to, but now that he moved, he has yet to find another group. He also had a talent for drawing, and carried a sketch book with him wherever he went.
Flipping through his sketch book, she found detailed pictures of many young girls who looked her age. All were clothed, and each one looked different - long hair, short hair, black, white. Not one looked similar to another. The drawings were beautiful to say the least. Each line was carefully drawn; the textures of the clothing looked real. He asked if he could draw her sometime. She said sure.
The next day they talked again. She asked him why he moved east. It was then he revealed that his parents died in a car accident, so he was to stay with his only other living relative - his aunt in Pittsburgh, sister to his dad. She felt bad for him and didn't know what to say. Not only did he lose his family, he lost his friends, his school, his home. He told her not to worry, though. He said he'd make new friends and he still had his aunt.
The following morning he asked for her AIM. From then on, they talked online each night. She enjoyed their conversations and figured her friends would like him, too. But when she tried to introduce them, he said he didn't like them. He only liked her, and reminded her that he still needed to sketch her. She gave him a strange look, but brushed it off. He was probably just shy. He kept smiling.
It was that night when he started to ask more personal questions. He asked about her family - about her parents, what they did for a living, when they got home. He asked if she had any siblings. She told him no and that she was an only child just like him. She didn't think much about his questions; she figured he was comparing her family to the family he lost.
In school the following day, he approached her. He told her that he was going to draw her after school, and that he had to draw her at her house. When she looked unsure, he claimed that his aunt would never leave them alone. He said he needed to work without distractions. Her parents would still be at their jobs.
After school, she let him in her house. He ushered her to the couch and sat her down. He played with her hair a bit, pushing a few strands behind her ears, making some fall over her shoulder. Once satisfied, he told her how to sit, cross-legged, hands on her knees. She looked up at him, waiting for the next order. He was staring at her, not moving, just staring. Snapping his fingers, he made for the window. He pulled the curtains shut, cutting them off from the outside world. With a click, he turned on the lamp next to the couch. Half of her face fell in shadow. He was ready to begin.
He talked to her while he drew. He told her about his life back in Arizona, and how he got girls like her to pose for him. She asked if they were girls from his old school. He said they used to be.
He talked about his family, about his parents. He said that they didn't like his art. They told him he needed to quit. They tried to keep it away from him, but he needed his art. He needed it. So he hated them. He hated them for trying to take it away. Then he ended it.
She didn't understand. What did he mean? End what? But he said no more. He just kept drawing.
When he was happy with his quick sketch, he got up and told her that she needed to sit again tomorrow. He said he wasn't finished, but needed a break.
This continued on for a couple more days, and each time, he revealed a little bit more. He told her that it wasn't an accident. The wreck was planned. He told her that he was to blame for their deaths. But he said no more. He just kept drawing.
By the fifth day, she told herself that this was going to stop. Why was he telling her all of this? He was starting to freak her out, no, she's been freaked out. But she wanted to know more. So she sat silently, watching him draw.
He was talking again. He kept telling her that it wasn't completely his fault. He said his parents brought it upon themselves by telling him not to draw. He said they shouldn't have interfered.
She took a moment to think. Why did they tell him to stop drawing? Clearly, he had a wonderful talent - his pictures were so detailed, they looked like photographs. Finally, she asked why his parents were so against him and his artwork.
He didn't answer her right away. He remained silent, shading here, erasing a spot there. Then, he stopped, eyeing his work. Standing, he turned his sketch book around to show her. It was like a mirrored image. He captured her form so accurately, she was stunned. So stunned in fact, that she almost missed his response.
"Because," he said, "I killed each one."
A.N: Inspired by the Movie, Red Eye. And just as something to throw out there, when I wrote this for my creative writing class, my art teacher gave us sketch books andI carried mine around with me. My friends were slightly concerned, haha.