The Mural

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Follow Thomas Grey and his Mural.

Read it, it'll only take 5 minutes of your life. Whether those five minutes were worth it will be up to you.

Submitted: January 11, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 11, 2009



Thomas wiped the paint off his face. He had no idea how, but somehow he’d managed to get paint on his face.
He picked at the paint only making it worse. He sighed giving up.
Am I painting my face? I might as well have. It not like the paint was helping the mural at all.

”Fuuuck…" Thomas groaned. He rested his head against the wall next to his mural. It really was awful. It didn't matter how it looked though, so long as it...
..was there.

Thomas's stomach churned for what felt like the hundredth time in the last minute. The last wave of pain hit him like a sledge hammer causing him to lose balance. Thomas dropped, turning in time to avoid the mural. It really was a piece of shit drawing but Thomas needed something to be there or anywhere.

There had be something there or else... or else...

Using his shoulders and legs, Thomas worked his way up to his feet. His useless hands were shaking again. He slowly opened his eye through the pain and stared at them. Of course my hand’s shaking, Thomas thought through what felt like a gritted brain, tensed up to block out the thought of the very near future. Thomas gave a pained smirk at the idea of a future.
Thomas spat at the mural, before mixing the colours on his stand and painting over the bubbly mucus and phlegm that centred the god awful image.

There was a sound up ahead. The all too familiar sound of a metal frame getting slammed by a metal door. The pangs of pain switched themselves off, and for only a second Thomas felt relief.

Maybe everything was going to be alright; maybe this piece of shit would mean something to someone and I'd live forever as a part of something...

The pain returned moving up to his ribs. Thomas ran as fast as he could. Vomit projected itself out of his mouth. Letting itself be seen by floating in the air before letting itself be heard by hitting the base of the toilet seat with a sickening splash. Only about a tenth of the spew made it into the actual toilet. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't have to look at it much longer anyway. Another metal door slammed against a metal frame. It sounded much closer this time. The stench of his own vomit hit his nostrils turning his stomach once more.

Thomas vomited again. Ridding himself completely of the bacon and egg hamburger, made extra crispy with a ton of lard. Thomas stared at a yellowed piece of beef hanging, glued to the seat. "Just the way mama used to make it" He said grinning painfully watching fall before it diffused into the seat.
Thomas made his way to the sink and filled it with water. He stared over the sink. There was supposed to be a mirror there but there wasn't. Only cement. A drop of sweat splashed onto the water. Thomas didn't pay heed to it until a flash of crimson caught his eye. The sink was red. Another crimson drop fell from his face hitting the centre of the sink causing perfect ripples in the water.

It was then that the true finality of what was to come hit him. He dropped his face into the water washing himself clean. He didn't deserve to sweat blood. He was no son of god and he wasn't going to act like Jesus now. The sound of metal doors came once again this time from right behind Thomas. One solitary tear fell to the ground. It started clear but became crimson before falling to the ground alone. A true reflection of what it meant to be Thomas Grey.

Thomas washed the puke and blood off him before a strong hand grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard. He was unresponsive, still washing his face. He wanted to be presentable for what would happen next. Thomas was turned roughly, he now faced a beady eyed guard with an indifferent priest next to him. Great I'm going straight to hell, Thomas thought looking at the priest who seemed determined not to make eye contact. 'You can't catch my darkness pastor!' was what Thomas wanted to yell but the guard’s truncheon suggested otherwise.

Thomas was shunted out of the cell and led to his final destination. The priest rattled on like someone who really wanted to get this over with. Thomas ignored him as best as he could.
"What's gonna happen to my mural?"
"Does it matter? We'll probably wipe it off and leave it open for the next child murderer who comes for a stay."
Thomas sighed, he probably deserved that.
"Typical" Thomas sighed again using his shoulder to wipe another solitary tear that dissolved into nothing.

Another perfect reflection of the life of Thomas Grey.

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