a story ending

The painter stared and wonder what happened. He didn’t know. He was thinking maybe the shadow got her or he killed her. But how did he? He was walking around the rooms thinking and wondering what he did. The painter looked at the painting and smiled. He thought of his wife. Darkness started to creep around the conor sweeping up his wifes body. The painter ran and ran after it but by the time he got outside it was gone. He fell to the ground crying and sobbing. His tears ran across the craked walk way and fell into the dead garden. The moon reflecting off his tears he looked up and saw the blacken cloud covring the light. He finally got up and started to walk back to the mansion. He went to his painting room and started to paint the darkness and how it swept up his wife. He painted and painted and after a month he was finally done. It looked so real that the painter decided to sell it. He went to the market to find a place to put his life like painting. When the one mysteries man saw the painting he bought it for 10000$. The painter was surprised. It was a full moon when the painter saw a image of his wife. He teared up and ran to it but by the time he was there it was gone. He was so angry and upset that he just wanted to die. He surched everywhere for a nice sharp and strong knife. He couldn’t find one. Finally he saw the perfect one just waiting there for him. He took it to the highest part of the mansion and sat were his wife died. He took his shirt off and made a deep but bloody slit in his chest. The blood dripped through out the room. Everywhere you walked there was puddles of blood. The painter sat there while blood covered him with the color of scarlet. He took the knife again and slit his wrist. The cut was so deep and so tender he smiled as it bleed. The knife was red and dripping. The floor was covered in the scarlet looking color. He looked around and saw the sun riseing so bright. He looked at the knife again and took it and cut so deep into his leg that he only had mintues to live. He was so week and he fell to the ground. A pool of blood around him. He had enough strength to make on more cut. He picked up the knife and slit his chest were his heart was. After 2 mintues he died right there with the knife in his hand. He died in a wonderful way. He died of thinking of his wife. He died with millons of paintings around him. He died with the painting of his wife just looking at him and life like picture and blood dripped from the eyes. The painting was crying blood for his husband.