Art is subjective, the piece one person loves the most, is the one another dreads. The same scene can trigger a thousand different reactions, the same painting can make someone feel grossed out and fascinate someone else. That night, at the museum, there was people of all kinds, however, when it came to the religious paintings depicting martyrdoms, everyone agreed. Those paintings were painful to see, and hardly anyone stopped to look at them for more than one second. Except this girl, I had seen her looking at the portraits, intendedly but disappointedly. Still, she took some notes on a notebook she was carrying. As soon as she arrived into the martyrdom scenes, her face lit up, she would examine every scene to the latest detail, spending ten or more minutes on each painting, taking notes frantically, looking at the pieces from every possible angle. Sometimes she would even sit on the floor writing something, not minding about the people surrounding her. I was a bit worried about her, at one point she even gasped in excitement at a particularly cruel painting. I started to wonder whether she was a dangerous maniac, or an assassin. Who else could love so much that kind of scenes?
As it turns out I had the opportunity to discover it sooner than I thought. The closing hour had arrived and she was still sitting on the floor in front of one of the biggest paintings in the museum, she had spent around twenty minutes already on that one, and I could see why, it had everything from skinning to boiling people alive, and several other forms of torture. I walked up to her and told her it was time to leave, that the visiting time was over.
-But I haven't finished, yet!- she said in a child-like manner.-Can I have five more minutes?
-Rules are rules. Why are you so interested on these paintings anyway?
-I'm a writer, I need new ways to kills my characters.
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