smiling, snarling monster

It was no secret that former mob boss John Abruzzi ran Fox River State Penitentiary. Every new fish that entered through the front doors was swiftly informed of this fact.

Abruzzi himself sometimes had to laugh at his power. He could cast a wicked smile upon any passing inmate and watch him cower a little. No matter how tough a man thought he was, he always cowered in front of John Abruzzi.

How did he get this way? What turned him from a promising career in painting to a life of crime? It wasn’t as if some hard-assed critic had dismissed his talent and he’d gone and busted the guy’s kneecaps. No. It hadn’t been that simple. So how had it happened?

If he thought about it, and he did occasionally, in the deepest, darkest parts of his dreams, he remembered that they were called starving artists for a reason. While he’d had some success with his painting, it wasn’t enough to support a family. So he accepted a job from a Chicago crime boss with the promise of a great sum of money and considerable power.

Right before he put a bullet in his intended victim’s forehead, the man had said that Abruzzi had the expression of a monster, a smiling, snarling monster. Abruzzi thanked him for the compliment and pulled the trigger. He stood and watched the man’s body twitch on the bloodstained pavement, thinking that death was actually a thing of beauty.

In his mind he was choosing a canvas, colors and brushes. He knew exactly how he would paint the scene and how long it would take him to complete. When the dead man finally stilled completely, Abruzzi walked away, and the painting vanished.

He’d made his choice.

~end