A Final Chance To Avoid Russet Revenge

20261011

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

CW: sparse descriptions of severe bullying, including multiple forms of assault

I’m not the sort of person who goes to art galleries, especially insipid small local ones like this. But I was meeting clients nearby and they’d messaged apologising about being badly delayed. With an unexpected hour to kill, I found myself wandering into the exhibition.
The paintings were very artsy. Harsh colours and abstract figures. It was quickly clear that the focus was the small, russet coloured figure, the only one to appear in every painting. As I gazed at each piece, I became increasingly confident that the other figures were… unfriendly. Mean.
It made me uncomfortable. But no matter how I tried to hurry, tried to simply walk through the exhibition and leave, I found myself lingering in front of each painting. Taking in every detail.
I recognised Anne first. She always wore a full set of pink jewellery. Earrings, bracelets, necklace… technically it wasn’t allowed at school, but they were close to nude coloured on her and the teachers pretended not to notice. And everything else about this figure, pale and painfully skinny and all jagged angles like teeth, was so very Anne.
Now I’m looking for it, I pick out the rest of our group fairly easily.
Gregory. Big and blocky, with lots of emphasis on his hands. Long, sharp, grabby fingers.
Dennis. Round, yet shrunk in on himself, and always pointing at the russet figure. Always silently begging everyone to look at them, not him.
Paula. Made of eyes and a mouth. Watching you. Always watching you. And making sure people heard all about it.
And me. A small figure, covered in spikes, its pose always angry. And, on its other side, copious tears which made big, vague figures melt.
Honestly. Holly always was immature and petty. Who goes and paints dozens of portraits about getting teased at school? I knew she was a crybaby, but really.
I try and tear my eyes away from the painting of me holding Holly down and rubbing dogshit in her hair. She’d asked for it. I’ll admit I can’t remember what she’d done, but she always asked for it. Not our fault. We were just trying to teach her to be less annoying.
It feels eerily like the Holly figure is staring at me. Not the me-figure, but me. Well, it would’ve been painted that way on purpose, to make people pity her. She was the sort who thrived on pity. Always crying to teachers over the littlest things. Couldn’t even mention her hair without setting her off.
Thankfully with both Anne and Gregory in the group, no teachers were going to listen to a whiny loser like Holly. She never learned, though.
My feet carry me to the next painting. Holly hiding in a bathroom stall. Me and Paula and Anne waiting outside. Paula has her phone out. Ready to record. I don’t remember what me and Anne were holding, but Holly’s being ridiculously dramatic about it.
Holly did try switching to using the disabled loo, but Paula reported her and she got in trouble. And so did the teacher who’d been unlocking it for her. I think the soppy fool went and resigned over it. Or did they get fired? Whatever. They’d been one of those hard-nosed types that nobody liked. Always giving us a hard time.
The next painting has Holly cowering in a corner with Gregory standing over her. He has a lot of hands, all oversized, all reaching. Honestly. He never even took her clothes off. She should’ve been flattered he gave her any attention at all! Not broken down crying and thrown up.
I shuffle along, and find myself staring at Holly. Still that faceless russet figure, but standing alone in the middle of the painting, staring out. At me. One hand holding a dripping red paintbrush. Self-portrait of the artist, huh? I bet you thought that was really clever.
Hm. I wonder if Paula could make a libel case out these? Probably not, and it’s probably safer to just leave it be, but I’ll ask. See if we can send a scary legal letter.
Final painting. Very similar to the last one. But now the russet figure is dangling from a noose, and around them are us, each in a red circle and suffering horrible deaths.
Woooow. Classy. Ok, Paula can definitely do something with this.
I don’t want to look closely. But I do.
Anne is doubled up, unnaturally skinny now, clearly wasting away with puddles of… some nasty substance surrounding her and dripping from her mouth.
Gregory is being pulled apart by a dozen hands.
Dennis is splattered across a pavement. His circle is drippy.
Paula is on fire.
And I… I’m laying on the floor, clutching a knife, covered in a million cuts.
My gaze returns to the Holly figure’s face. She’s definitely staring at me.
…I’m going to get you for this.
That thought jolts me free, and I hurry to the exit. Desperate for some fresh air.
By the door is an info piece about the artist. I pause to skim it, hoping for something to pass to Paula.
One line jumps out at me; “After the artist’s suicide, her family fulfilled her last wish by donating this collection…”
What?
She…
Why would she do a stupid thing like that? Honestly. Well. I suppose no point sending nasty letters, then. Best just to let it die.
Still. I message the others. First time talking to any of them in ages. You know how it is, when you get out of school.
Paula replies first. Says she already saw the exhibition - she was in the area and wandered in. Wasn’t sure whether to mention it to everyone. Anne says much the same. Then Gregory.
What were the odds we’d all happen to visit this dinky art gallery, all in the same week?
As I’m pondering this, I get a response from Dennis’s number. Saying it’s his girlfriend, and earlier today Dennis jumped off the roof of his work…

Prompt was “As you wander around an old classmate’s art exhibition, you begin to realize that every painting depicts a time you and your friends bullied them. The exhibition's final piece is a detailed painting on how each of your group will meet their brutal end, including you…”