He splashed the red paint onto the canvas. He had to work quick. The paint he was using seemed to dry faster than he wanted, but it gave such a rich hue.
He worked for hours. When he began to sweat profusely from the exertion, he decided to take a break. He went into the kitchen for a bite to eat.
Sitting on his couch later, he let music fill the silence. Before he knew it, he’d drifted off.
A nightmare jolted him awake a few hours later. Stretching, he looked at his watch. He might be able to squeeze a few more hours out of that paint.
He walked over to the bucket. It had congealed. Damn.
He might as well get ready for his date. He was going to have to be extra charming tonight. He needed more paint and he needed his date to be receptive to his advances in order to get it.
Picking up the bucket, he walked into his bathroom. The body he’d harvested blood from a mere day ago still lay slit open in his tub. He had a lot of clean-up to do before he got his next bucket of paint. Art sure was hard.