|
The woman paused to think. She knew quite well that her contentious behavior toward Snoddy wasn’t because of the medium he picked to create his art, nor was it the third nostril, nor the mess that he made when he worked. After all, she too was an artist and she had her own peculiar ways. Besides, she had worked with artists her whole life and she was well accustomed to temperamental, idiosyncratic creative types. No, the reason she found him so maddening was that she was jealous of him.
The first time she saw his work, she marveled at the rich hues, the complex textures, and the exquisite techniques that he used to display his passion. When she first saw his masterpiece ‘Nasal Decongestion,’ she felt that it had been dredged from his eternal soul and not just from his nose. Later, when she first saw his Andy Warholesque, ‘I Can’t Believe It Snot Butter,” she knew she had to meet him.
That was a long time ago and her feelings had changed since then. Although he was yet to be truly appreciated, she knew the time was coming when the world would take notice of his talent and all eyes would be on him, not on her. It was then that she decided that she had to kill him.
|