[ WP ] Each of Bob Ross ' landscape paintings is a real place , the different locations of his countless murders .

The hatchet falls; she is not fast enough. She is never, ever fast enough. 
 
 Arm and body separate with a sickening, sucking sound. Her hoarse cries meet only cold concrete and rebar. 
 
 Carving her up. He is carving her up and soon there will be nothing left. 
 
 `` Is n't that a pretty little arm? Lets just splay out these fingers and... well now we have a beautiful tree, do n't we.'' 
 
 He grabs her chin and forces her to gaze upon The Canvas. The Canvas was *all white* when they began, and now it is red. 
 
 Stalks of flesh-colored flower-fingers grow under a crimson sun. Strips of skin provide undulating, beautiful stalks of grass. The Canvas is eating her. Soon she will become the Canvas. 
 
 *Gnugggggh! Gnurr* 
 
 Her leather gag snaps against her teeth. Her mouth floods with the taste of old bootstrap, and... blood? 
 
 Is that her tongue on the floor? That squirming, wriggling thing? 
 
 `` I see what you're trying to do there sweetie, but I do n't much mind. Y'see, I do n't believe in mistakes.'' 
 
 Her tongue meets the canvas. A blood-red lake is adorned with a cheery little boat. 
 
 `` Just happy accidents.''
