AP ART PORTFOLIO

It's a stormy night, the howling wind punctured by grumbling thunder. Somewhere, in a dimly-lit tile room, a person sits facing the therapist. The therapist tells him to tell his story. He begins: 

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The victim works the night shift at the convenience store. She was unaware that this would be her last shift, on this fateful night. She watches as a figure approaches the store but suddenly disappears. She doesn't think too much about it and returns soon to the monotony of her work.

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As the victim walks home from her shift, she notices a shadow trailing behind her. She doesn't dare look back, and instead picks up her pace as she speeds through the moonlight-lit the empty apartment hallway. 

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The door fling swide open as the intruder steps inside the empty apartment, a bowl of noodles still steaming. Where did she go? She was just here. Meanwhile, the victim hides behind the door, scared to breathe or make the slightest noise. 

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The intruder turns around and sees the victim. The intruder grabs the victim, and they meet in a struggle. Meanwhile, the bowl of noodles sits unperturbed and the opened letters lie on the desk.

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In her last moments before death, she sees police flood into her room. A man yells faintly in the background," Hold on. Help is on the way..." But the voice dies down gradually until all that is left is silence and darkness. 

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​The investigator looks down at the rows of evidence spread out before him and sighs. It’s going to be a long day, he thinks.

 

The burden of the investigation is slowly weighing the investigator down. Sometimes, he thinks, I don’t know how I can get through this. He proceeds to throw a few pills in his mouth. They are the only things getting him through the days right now. 

 

The deeper the investigator dives into the case, the more he starts to see things. At night he wonders “what if I’m the one who’s lying in the cold, dark mortuary?” Those dreams haunt him at night. He drowns those nightmares down with more pills.

 

The investigator pieces together all the evidence, and it all leads to the truth– but does he want to know the truth?
 

According to the evidence, the murderer must be here tonight, he thinks. As he turns around, he sees a figure in the crowd pushing through the subway. At that moment, everything stops. 

 

The investigator chases the murderer down the streets. He finds himself looking up at the murderer, standing above him. This is the end. 

 

He barges through the door and finds a hundred reflections of himself in this mirror labyrinth. Who’s the real him? Who’s the murderer?

 

The person returns to the present, his hands in handcuff. The therapist asks, “so did you really do it?” The person thinks for a minute. “Guess we will never know,” he replies.