How can dying things be this beautiful?

The crimson liquid splatters in every direction, and the innocent citizen's face contorts with pain and terror. That expression! Ah, I cannot say that this isn't the very blend of art and beauty I've longed for. Only when his final breath finally ceased did I wake as if from a dream to catch that fragrant, metallic scent.

A single life crushed by my hands. Truly, shouldn't I be proud of myself? And my creation is only just beginning. I carefully, yet haphazardly, apply brushstrokes to the red liquid coating his entire body. This is the aesthetics of death and the joy of my life. Isn't it the very reason for human existence? Furthermore, the fact that one can remain this beautiful even after death—it's perfect.

I take out the high-end paint set I always carry in my pocket. Without even using a palette, I squeeze the paint directly onto the brush and layer it over various spots. It's colorful and vibrant. What a novel and original world of an artist! This must be the moment where my unique genius—progressive and forward-looking, beyond anyone else's understanding in this world—is truly unleashed.