Zola's Silence

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Zola, a reclusive artist, lived on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by rolling hills and vast skies that inspired her vibrant paintings. Her home, a testament to her creativity, was a sanctuary she rarely left, especially since the pandemic. She cherished solitude, finding comfort in the silence and freedom to focus on her art. With no pets, partners or visitors to disturb her, Zola's world was one of peaceful isolation.

Her days blended together in a routine of art, reading and binge-watching shows. She had grown accustomed to the stillness, and the outside world felt like a distant memory.

On this particular afternoon, Zola sat in her bedroom, engrossed in her favorite show. Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the tranquility. She grabbed her phone and cautiously approached the entrance, wondering who could be visiting unannounced.

Opening the door, she found a young man, roughly 21 years old, with an endearing smile.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am," he said, his voice sincere. "My girlfriend and I got into an argument, and she left me at the gas station up there. No one would give me a ride home, so I started walking and saw your house."

Zola's curiosity got the better of her. She waited for him to get to the point.

"I have about $200 on me," he continued. "I was wondering if I could use your shower and charge my phone for a bit? Then I'll be out of your life." He chuckled, putting her slightly at ease.

Zola scrutinized him, searching for any sign of deceit. She asked, "How old are you?"

He replied, "21," and produced his wallet to confirm. Zola glanced, committing his name and ID number to memory.

Something about his demeanor put her at ease. She stepped aside, inviting him in. As he entered, his eyes widened, taking in the vibrant artwork, eclectic decor and Zola herself.

"I've always wondered what it looked like in here," he said, his gaze roaming her sanctuary.

Zola's confusion deepened. How did he know about her home? Had she just invited a stranger, potentially a psycho, into her sanctuary? Her mind raced with questions, but her instincts told her to trust him.

"Make yourself at home," she said, trying to sound calm. "The shower's down the hall, and you can charge your phone in the living room."

As he walked ahead, Zola watched, her artist's eye observing the way his shoulders relaxed, his posture easing. Maybe, just maybe, she'd made the right decision.

But as she turned to follow him, a nagging thought lingered: What did he mean by "I've always wondered what it looked like in here"?

As Zola followed him, her unease grew. His comment lingered, echoing in her mind. How did he know about her home?

She watched as he showered and charged his phone, his smile and mannerisms now seeming calculated. A chill crept up her spine.

Unbeknownst to Zola, the young man, Alex, had been stalking her for months. His fascination with her art and reclusive nature drove him to uncover every detail. He knew her routines, her favorite shows and her love for solitude.

Outside, Alex's partner, Jake, waited patiently by the back door. Their plan was set in motion months ago. Alex would gain Zola's trust, and Jake would join him once the coast was clear.

As Alex dressed, he texted Jake: "Almost ready. She's unsuspecting."

Jake replied: "Hurry. We have a window of two hours before sunset."

Zola, oblivious to the danger lurking, offered Alex a snack. He accepted, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Thank you, Zola. You're too kind."

His gaze sent shivers down her spine.

As they sat in the living room, Alex's phone buzzed. Jake's text flashed: "Position yourself near the back door."

Alex excused himself, moving casually toward the kitchen.

Zola's instincts screamed warning. She rose, her heart racing.

"Alex, I think—"

He turned, his smile twisted.

"You think what, Zola?"

Suddenly, the back door creaked open.

"Looks like my ride's here," Alex said, his eyes gleaming.

Zola's world froze.

A man emerged from the shadows.

And everything went quiet. 

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*Warning: Graphic Content*

Hours passed, Zola's screams echoing within her own home. Eric and Chris took turns brutalizing her, their cruelty unrelenting.

Zola's vision blurred, her body numb. Shock set in.

Eric gazed at Zola's battered face, the black eye Chris had inflicted staring back. Chris entered with a sofa cushion.

"End this," Chris said, his voice devoid of empathy. "Put her out of her misery."

Eric hesitated, his conscience flickering.

Chris snarled, "Coward." He pulled out his gun.

"No!" Eric pleaded.

Chris fired.

Zola's scream silenced.

Eric's anguish erupted in a horrid scream. He lunged at Chris.

Chris shot Eric in the head.

The room fell silent.

Chris stepped back, surveying the carnage.

A twisted grin spread across his face.

"Artistic," he whispered, gazing at Zola's lifeless body.

Chris pulled out his phone, snapping photos.

"New inspiration," he muttered.

He texted an unknown number: "Art piece complete. Ready for collection."

The darkness consumed him.

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Days later, police discovered Eric's car, abandoned miles away. No signs of Eric, Chris or Zola.

The art world mourned Zola's disappearance.

Her home remained untouched, a crime scene.

The investigation continued.

But Chris had vanished.

His next masterpiece awaited.

And in Zola's home, hidden from view, a camera captured the gruesome scene.

The art world would soon witness Chris's twisted creation.

"The Silence of Zola"

A masterpiece born from brutality.

The END!