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my own texture
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Hanging in the shadow-filled corner of the museum's gallery was one piece that confused & startled many of it's viewers; a painting titled as Lips.
Now, every year, a group of sixth graders would go to this museum for a field trip, & this year, the consequences of those eyeing this painting were devastating.
"Now students! You must behave in this place, & by experience, I have the feeling that hardly any of you are going to listen." The eleven & twelve-year-olds snickered. "Be respectful to the paintings that hang in these halls, & do not touch any of them. Got it?" None of them nodded in response. "Okay then.." the teacher snarled. The kids followed behind the pest, glaring at all of the artworks because none of them interested the curiosity trapped within the confines of their brains. But at last, there was something so haunting & mysterious that none of them could resist to lay their gaze upon. "T-this is a painting by.." The 'teacher' sorted through her index cards, but the one that she had for this masterpiece had simply disappeared... or did it? A blank card was the last one in the deck, & somehow, ink seeped out of the paper! She stammered in utter shock. In scrawled handwriting were the words:

Lips. Unknown Artist. Unknown Date. Fun fact. GET OUT

The elderly woman adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose, & the text that followed the previous set went like this:

Do you see the red lips of the lady in the portrait? Well, I'm sure you see that, it's the centerpiece. Anyways, tilt your head to the left. It's just blurred grayscale! No. It's not. In the VERY left is her ghost. Ooh, be sure to look at her before she drifts off! Just kidding. She can't drift off; she's trapped within this painting. And she has waited a LOONG time for this moment. What moment, you ask? The moment to have someone else take her place. And oh! You seem perfect for the job. How? Well, you're gonna die tomorrow anyways, you're so frikkin' old. You could last an eternity in this hell, it's rather dark in here. The only thing she can see is your pathetic face. Wrinkly, pathetic face. Now raise your head.. look into that ghost's eyes... & let her consume you.

Letting out a shrill that could be heard from space, the woman lifted her hands into the air, her index cards fluttering about the room. Second by second, her body slowly disintegrated into powder, resting upon the frigid floor in a mound. The children screamed (some wooted, morbid little ones), dashing away from the scene of the possession. And that card said:

At last




I can finally die.
 

So is this story pure fiction? Or it is true? We'll never know; it's an old tale that few know of. But raise your head, look into that ghost's eyes.. & let her consume you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed the story that went along with it, & I wonder if you'll ever look at paintings the same again ;)
The 'ghost' & the main subject are both me; I edited the picture Plotting into the top left corner to be the ghost. At first, I wanted it to be a symbol of the girl's past, but then I thought about making a background story for it. So therefore, there's the story!
It may be hard to see at first (the ghost), but if you look closely, eyebrows, a nose, & a mouth can be seen.
I remember that the last words from the card were inspired by something.. possibly from an episode of Black Butler xD

Anyways, give me feedback if you have the time, I'd love to hear what you guys think! ^-^

-Chell
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© Richard Bublitz, all rights reserved
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Do not redistribute my work or use it in any way without permission.
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© Richard Bublitz, all rights reserved.
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eu curte e.e

foda-se q não gosto 
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