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Chapter 7 Gruesome Video

My mother worked for three days. She didn't sleep or rest. My mother lay on the ground, caressing my head inch by inch as she drew the portrait line by line. When the tenth portrait was made, her sanity finally crumbled.

I was crouching right beside her as I looked at all the portraits she made. Yes, she was a good artist. The portraits were spitting images of me. I kept staring at the portraits and was a little surprised that my mother would make such a beautiful rendition of me.

When I was eight years old, I, in my childlike naivete, thought that my mother was a great artist. I had no idea what her job really was about. So, I bragged about it to my classmates.

They then wanted to find out how brilliant my mother was. They bet she wasn't better than Van Gogh, but I raised my head and said without hesitation, "Of course. She's the best in the world!"

After school was out that day, I got home and did all my chores. Then, I carefully asked my mother if she could make a portrait of me
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