Red

(TRIGGER WARNING: I made this a little fucked up. I mean that, seriously.)

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Milo backed up, wiping the corrner of his mouth. The object in his left hand felt heavy as it swayed there. He looked down at the scene in front of him.

One man, one woman, two girls, and a baby boy. Milo crouched down, inspecting one of the girls fingers.

It was pale, a paper white, almost. Her fingernails were a cloudy white, hiding the soft muscles behind them. Her skin wrinked around the joints from how many times she flexed her fingers.

It was... beautiful. Milo found every detail that went into a lifeless body so appealing. How the figure stayed still. How he could analyze every little detail, every little creves in their skin, bones, and organs.

Milo stood back up, gripping the object in his left hand. He raised it above his head and swung it down into the younger girls chest, the saw splattering blood over Milo's already stained trousers.

He pulled the heavy tool out, taking in the art in front of him.

He saw the pool of blood that soiled the floor, splattered over the windows as if it were red paint. The man, his jaw hanging from his head, looked petrified. The thought sent shivers down Milo's back. The woman, her large intestin spilled and tore. The little girl, her small chest now ripped open. The other little girl, her fingers and toes spread throughout the room. The youngest of them all, the baby boy without a spine.

Milo's face flushed, finding the artwork so devine. He had the urge to roll in their red inners. To bask in such glory.

He could never attempt such a thing though. Never in his right mind would he ruin such a master peice.