Artistic Masterpiece

In the shadows, a spider with crimson eyes silently watched everything happening in the small clearing.

Its gaze held interest and lingering satisfaction.

It licked its lips, eyes half-lidded.

"I told you, didn't I? If you don't want to die, don't follow me."

He pushed off with both legs and leaped onto the threads.

Standing firmly atop them, he held an album in his hand.

Coleman slowly spoke. "Then what's with all this resentment?"

He bent down, bringing his face very close to the half-dead man.

The man could clearly see the delight and satisfaction hidden in those blood-red eyes.

Like a cat that had eaten its fill.

Purring out of sheer boredom.

His mouth stretched into a wide grin.

Eerie and terrifying.

The excitement on his face was plain to see.

The child seemed thoroughly pleased with the outcome, even delighted to have brought it about.

He slowly straightened up and spread his arms, as if inviting the others.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy this handmade masterpiece, thirty minutes in the making—Dinner Hanging in the Jungle!"

The survivors stared in disbelief at the child standing still on the threads.

You call this handmade?

"So, what do you think? A wonderful work of art, isn't it?"

You call this a work of art?!

A lunatic. A complete lunatic!

Why did we ever pick a fight with someone like this?

Why? Why did this happen?!

Where was our captain?

What about the man who sent us into the jungle?!

Had he run off?!

The instant the thought occurred to them, the survivors' minds filled with resentment and murderous intent!

Hah. Just as I thought. All leaders are the same, no matter who they are!

We're the cannon fodder who have to charge in first, while they just stand back and watch coldly, then claim the credit that should've been ours!

If something goes wrong, he can still escape and leave us to die.

Then, if the higher-ups come asking questions, he'll pin the blame on us dead men.

After all, who could be more "guilty" than the dead?

The person's already dead. Who could possibly know what really happened?!

Looking down at them from above, Coleman watched as they suddenly trembled with fury, even forgetting the threat of death.

He thought for a moment, then nodded in understanding.

He smiled faintly and spoke slowly.

"Oh, right. Don't worry, your captain was the first to die gloriously~ So stop blaming him."

Kind-hearted Coleman decided to vouch for the poor little fellow who'd led the charge and become the first work of art.

He pointed toward the place they had just come from.

"Look, isn't there someone hanging over there with all his body parts intact?"

"Don't worry, don't worry. He was dismembered and put back together before I hung him up, too."

Adding to that, the fair and impartial Coleman smiled. "I absolutely treat everyone equally, especially when it comes to works of art."

So he hadn't spared them a single bit of the pain they'd gone through!

How about it? Did you think I was amazing, even for just a moment?

That's me for you—the best good person in the whole world!

Looking at the limbs scattered around him, Coleman nodded in satisfaction.

Holding a nameless thin thread in his hand, he decided to end this exhausting performance.

The artwork was pretty much finished. Only the final step remained.

He gave it a hard tug.

A kindly smile rested on Coleman's face.

In the next instant.

The survivors were suddenly severed from their heads.

Their expressions froze in their final moments.

Some looked relieved to have their answer; others were terrified for their lives, while still others had long since resigned themselves to their fate, their faces numb.

The heads that had just fallen to the ground were lifted by the threads, too.

They were arranged in a neat line, suspended right in the center of the "web."

The other parts were scattered throughout the rest of the "web."

There was no pattern, yet everything was arranged in a pleasing disarray.

Coleman walked along the threads to the center of the web and turned one of the heads, which had been twisted the wrong way, to face the direction it was supposed to.

"Oh, my God, this is incredible!"

The praise escaped him. Coleman had to admit this was the finest piece of handiwork he'd made recently!

This masterpiece featured servers welcoming guests to dinner and food laid out across the table.

And in the center, a "Head-Line Connection" that was just right for decoration!

Every face wore a different expression.

It perfectly matched Coleman's highest standard of human beauty.

Emotion.

He jumped down from the threads and landed steadily on the ground.

Unfortunately, the ground was covered in paint. No matter how careful Coleman was, he couldn't avoid getting some splashed on him.

"Oh, damn it!"

Frowning, he looked at the red dye splattered along the edge of his sneakers.

He clicked his tongue. Seeing that it was too late to do anything about it, he strode out of the pool of dye.

Whatever. He'd go back and change into a new pair.

He'd count this pair as a consumable for the job.

Coleman magnanimously offered up a pair of shoes as a burial gift for these works of art.

He found a suitable corner.

Click.

The camera preserved this artistic feast.

Coleman looked at the finished piece in his hand and smiled faintly.

Wonderful!

He looked back at the "mice" who had been chasing him an hour ago.

Well, I suppose you deserve some credit for this.

With that thought, Coleman put the photograph away, lifted his hood, and pulled it over his head.

Head down, he left the place.

All that remained was a sea of blood.