[ WP ] Make us fall in love with your character , and then immediately kill them off .

He took a slow, calm drag of his cigarette while looking at his artwork. The precious strokes of his piercing metal brush were reflected by the splashes of his chosen color of red. These streaks of red against the egg-white wall were, in his opinion, an expression of triumph in the normal affairs of life. 
 
 `` How beautiful.'' He said admiringly while lowering the forearm-length, tempered steel brush. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body. It made him visualize clearer and he could see the message in his work. He smiled to himself, took another drag of his cigarette, and flicked the ash on the floor before leaving. `` My signature. They'll know who it was.'' He thought as he walked down the sidewalk in the rain. 
 
 The misty rain had sprinkled him, the streets, and its inhabitants with a thin layer of sleek shine. He was another small fire in the damp and dark, smoke serving as the indication of life behind the orange glow. He cherished his artwork even more and relished in the calm of his body post-adrenaline. He wondered why working with his tools and paints made him have such a response. 
 
 `` Maybe just the excitement and expression...'' He muttered to himself while observing his path ahead. He was saddened by the lack of faces on these beings like him. Maybe if they were aware of this error they would be more open to his artwork? 
 
 He reached his destination and walked into his home. He laid his brush against the bookcase by the stairs and lightly pressed his head against the mahogany to relish in the hard work it took to finally enjoy it. He turned on the coffee maker and set his cigarette aside. But an unfamiliar noise startled him; his doorbell rang. 
 
 `` A... a customer?'' He asked as he walked past the beautiful bookcase and picking up his brush. He slowly opened the creaking door: 
 
 `` Hello, is this the residence of an Edward Porlin?'' the figure in dark blue clothing had asked. 
 `` Yes.'' Edward had answered curtly. 
 
 `` Sir, we're going to have to come inside and take a look around.'' His heart began to beat like a drum of war. The faceless man pushed his way in, and upon seeing the brush, drew a Glock 13. 
 
 `` Mr. Porlin! Drop the weapon!'' 
 Edward looked down at his gleaming metal brush in confusion. 
 `` Mr. Porlin! You are under arrest for the suspected murd-'' but the man stopped short. Edward picked up the brush and charged with a ferocity in his heart and a burning fire in his lungs. 
 
 He thought he heard the echoes of a hammer in a chamber, followed by a loud 3 pops. He felt his chest warm immediately and looked down at himself. `` I do n't remember being on the floor.'' He thought to himself. His glazed eyes looked around for a sign of what was happening. He heard the man say into a radio: `` Suspect is down, he let me in his house and rushed me...'' He did n't want to listen anymore. He only wanted to enjoy the art he had envisioned in his mind. 
 
 He could feel the ebbing of his life-paint oozing from his body. He shifted his eyes and saw that tempered steel brush; the machete he had found a few years before. He languished in the though of himself becoming his final piece of art. `` My masterpiece is the death of me...'' he smiled. With his last breath he wheezed,'' the irony''.
