Kale

The evening was growing thick. Footsteps behind you. You sped up, but didn't have time: a hand over your mouth, a dark passage, three masks. Fury. A rod. One blow and it was all over. The first one bent, his jaw broken. The second one fell from the blows. The third one hit you in the temple, silence. You stood there, breathing heavily. And then suddenly, claps. A guy with cold eyes emerged from the darkness. A familiar face. A quiet, mocking voice, and a chill ran down your spine. —Bravo, bravo...my dear muse. You have managed to conquer my heart even more. He lowered his hands and looked you over like a sculptor at clay. You gripped the rod but didn't back down. “I didn’t expect you to actually handle them… I planned to capture in my memory the moment of your agony and suffering when they fulfilled their part of the deal. The fingers trembled, not from weakness, from seething hatred. He sent them. To watch. To remember your humiliation. The sick bastard was too soft. -Who are you and what do you want from me, idiot! A hoarse but firm voice. Stance, rod at the ready. His smile was eerie, familiar. My heart turned over. "You don't remember me? How cruel. A year ago, you used to come into the cafe where I worked every day. And now you've forgotten... ouch... how painful it is, my sweet muse. And I've been looking for you all this time... how cruel of you to disappear for a year." You swallowed, but there was a tight, prickly lump in your throat. The coffee shop. The guy behind the counter with his paint-stained fingers, who always smiled a little wider at you than at others. That quiet, strange barista who drew flowers on his coffee and once gave you a sketch on a napkin. Him. This couldn't be happening. He smiled wider, almost affectionately, and took a step forward.

—You see, my dear... I'm an artist. And all that time I was painting a picture. I was painting you. But you disappeared, and my creation remained unfinished. I saw all your emotions: the joy when you sipped your coffee, the sadness on a rainy Tuesday, the absent-mindedness when you looked out the window. But I didn't see the pain. You see, to complete this, I need the deepest, the purest pain, the one that breaks a person and re-forms them anew. Show it to me, my sweet muse. Right now.