Epilogue

And that’s how that went.

Black Crimson retired with a splash. All the newspapers tried to argue the point that the final piece didn’t mean he was done when it was fairly obvious he was. And just about everyone in the surrounding area contacted Camille for her take on the situation.

She merely told them it looked as if I’d painted my last mural, and her quote appeared everywhere. So a couple of people tried to take up the torch and splash inspiring pieces across town in my place.

One guy, who went by the name of the Peacekeeper, tagged the police station, and he was promptly caught before being thrown in jail.

Another, going by Wiseman, was never caught but his work wasn’t quite as up-to-par as Black Crimson’s, so he wasn’t hailed as quite a hero as I was, and thus, he turned bitter and resentful and started throwing up nastier comebacks that caused the public to turn on him before he went off the grid and wasn’t heard from again.

Suffice to say, after five years, no one ever live