She was almost shaking from the nerves.
She was right to be, she knew that in only a few minutes she would be dead. The thought took up her whole mind, with no room for almost anything else. Over and over it turned in her head; she was going to die. She was going to die. She was really about to die. It had probably only been a couple of minutes since she walked in, she had been just on time when she left to come here. But she had left her phone behind, along with all her other belongings, so there was no way now to keep track of the time and it felt like it had been an hour or more.
Sitting in a single folding chair alone in the small room, she fiddled with a strand of her long, dark hair without thinking, wrapping it around a finger and unraveling it. Waiting, anticipating.
She was so high-strung by the time the knock on the door came that she almost jumped out of her seat. The door opposite from the one she came in opened; "Amy?" the man who had come in said. "Everything's ready. Just to make sure, you still want to do this?" She could barely make a sound for a moment. "Y-yes, I'm sure." Her voice steadied slightly as she continued, "The more I wait the more nervous I'll get. Let's get it done quick." He nodded approval, "All right then." With that she stood, and then nearly fell as her vision fuzzed and she was hit with a wave of dizziness. The man caught her arm, supporting her and looking with surprising concern from someone who was about to take her life. "It's all right. Anyone would be a bit nervous. Just through here." guiding her through the door and into a dim, medium-sized warehouse.
The only light shone down on a table near the closest wall. Her quickening breath seeming loud in her ears, her footsteps echoing as she took step after step toward it, knowing what waited at the end of her short journey.

I was almost awed when I opened the door, looking at the young woman sitting in the waiting room. She had sent me pictures when we were setting up this meeting, everything had been through the internet, but it didn't compare.
She was gorgeous. Even in simple nondescript clothes, she was stunning. Her body of course was sexy, I had chosen her for it, but her looks struck me again as I stepped into the room, the sort of effortless beauty that's hard to define and impossible to imitate. A detached, dumb part of my brain absently said, 'maybe I'm in love?'. Though it was the first time I had seen her in person, the photos I had seen clearly didn't lie.
Continuing into the room after that short moment, I confirmed her name, and made sure she was ready. She nearly stumbled as she got up, but after helping her through into the main building she steadied out and stepped almost confidently, proudly, towards her demise.
I had prepared for this days, weeks in advance, carefully choosing the time and location, choosing the woman herself, buying supplies and equipment, and arranging for everything to be in place on the most important, and last, night of her life. I led her over to the table, openly admiring her as we went. Noticing, she gave a slight smile and looked near her feet. A bit shy, then, or anxious to get on with it.
As we came closer I pointed out the clear plastic I had hung, an obvious precaution to make the cleaning easier. The large-ish canvas on the wall, backed by a heavy plate. And on the table, the only centerpiece to be seen except herself, sat the gun I would be using. It was almost a small cannon, I had built it myself exactly for the task as well as custom crafted the bullets it fired. "You'll do fine" I told her as we approached. "Now just undress and stand right on the spot I marked."
Even though it wouldn't matter in a moment, she still seemed embarrassed to strip, then she gave a quick, hesitant laugh at it when she realized the irony. She folded her clothes neatly on the table next to her execution weapon, which seemed almost funny considering the circumstances. As she did, I noted distractedly that she wore no panties under her shorts. She stepped out of her shoes, peeled off the socks, and put them all underneath. Then she stood there, ready, right in front of me.
"Would you like a blindfold? I know you'll be facing away but it might help anyway." She shook her head slightly, hair slipping off her ears. "No, I want to try and see... it before, uh..." she trailed off. "All right. Well I'd like to tie your hands though if that's all right, just as a personal preference." This earned me another nervous near-giggle as she nodded, turning, and I took out a length of rope, locking her arms behind her waist and wrapping her wrists snugly. But not so tight as if I expected her to try to escape, of course. Then everything was ready.

Amy had to try not to shiver uncontrollably, adrenaline was rushing through her; or maybe it was partly the slight chill in the unheated warehouse combined with her lack of clothes. She felt the rope against her skin, smooth fiber and not uncomfortable.
"All right, all set. Just stand there." he said, and she turned automatically to walk onto the red 'x' taped on the floor, facing the canvas from a short distance away. She saw him follow with her, coming around the front and stepping close. As he ran a hand through her hair, she noted with a slight flush of pride his admiration when he combed it over her shoulder, off her back and out of the way of the shot that would carve through the rest of her body. Then the hand went up to the back of her neck and his other hand slid over her arm, down the curve of her breast, and rested above her ribs while the thumb rubbed small, slow circles over her right nipple.
He had told her she wouldn't need to fuck him, she wouldn't have minded but her heart raced a shade faster even so as she wondered with alarm if he would rape her beforehand after all. Over the past few days it had occurred to her what might happen after she died, but she decided she cared less about that and more about what he did while she was still alive. He ended the train of thought by pulling her in and she smelled a little mint as he kissed her, it wasn't unpleasant at least. Considerate. She closed her eyes, bracing herself, as his hands slipped down to her waist, waited there for just a moment, then were gone. As he broke away, her breath came back in a soft gasp. Then when she opened her eyes he was already behind her, going to the table, and when he came back it would truly be time.
"W-wait!" she said, her voice distant in her ears behind rushing blood. The steps stopped. maybe she had lost her nerve, he must be thinking. Maybe she should have thought of that before it was too late for second thoughts. But she wasn't backing out now. For a reason she couldn't understand even as she said it, she heard herself saying "Th... Thank you." And after a heartbeat's pause, his voice replying "You're going to be beautiful." Then the footsteps started again, and the slight clunk of the weapon coming off the table, and he was on his way back.
Every moment stretched, she couldn't help jittering in place, her knees trembled. every minuscule sound seemed to signal the pain she was sure was coming, then the noise stopped for a moment, directly behind her.
As she realized, she drew in half a sharp breath, maybe to say something, maybe just a last instinct from the body to try desperately to survive, but that was all she had time to do as her chest exploded. She seemed to feel the blow on her back a split second afterward, a dull pain spreading, but noticed with surprise a slight numbed effect as well.
She took a staggering step forward from the force but miraculously stayed on her feet, the specialized projectile had cut through her without hardly even noticing she was there. She couldn't hear anything, even blood roaring in her ears. A moment later she crumpled to her knees, her eyes going helplessly to the gaping hole in her destroyed body. Blood rushed out front and back, but the gun had done its deadly job well and the exit wound was much bigger. Deep red splashes covered the sides of her breasts, it spurted up almost above her collarbone, a few droplets even somehow reaching her cheeks, and drizzled down her stomach, over her thighs and out around her. Then the pain truly hit her and she would have screamed if she had had any breath left, instead it came out as a tiny wheeze-gurgle.
She remembered only then to try and see what the man had created by killing her, the last thing she would leave on this earth. Her vision was already blurring from surprised tears and rapid blood loss but as she looked up she caught a glimpse of the crimson-smeared canvas, a hole lining up right at the height she had stood a second ago. This last thought struck her as a slightly delirious kind of funny, and she tried to turn and see where he stood as well, to line the gun up with her heart between the two, but she was already dying and she only managed to slump to one side, softly choking in the blood draining out of her. She tried to bring a hand around in front of her, maybe to make a futile attempt to hold the blood back, maybe just reflex or disbelief, but she became vaguely frustrated when her arms didn't move for a reason she couldn't understand.
In her last moments Amy tried to concentrate on breathing, on staying alive just one more second after another. But suddenly she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything; her mind drifted despite herself, her vision went black.
It took her only six seconds to stop moving.

I thought about her impulsive thanks as I walked to the table, the feeling of her lips still on my mouth and her body under my hands. I picked up the gun, almost twelve pounds loaded: it wasn't small but it was easy enough to wield without too much difficulty.
I heard her breath catch as I turned to make the short walk back to my place a ways behind her, and my heartbeat quickened in sympathetic anticipation. She was right to thank me for what I was about to do, in exchange for her short life I would use her in a masterpiece, a work that would easily outlast however much longer she would have lived. And although of course the public wouldn't know the true nature of the piece, there were many others like me who would admire her in secret; in our little community of sorts she would be immortal.
Lost in thought but still in control from long hours of practice, I took a test look down the sights at her as I walked. The quicker I finished it the less likely she would be to do something stupid like bolt, or collapse in tears. I passed the crosshairs over her, appreciating her back from the nape of her neck down the waist and to the bottom of her ass; then back up. She wasn't too muscular but she was still at least a bit in shape, her shivering revealed a delightful tone to her muscles. I stopped automatically, I knew my mark by heart from rehearsing. Nothing could go wrong.
I breathed in. I breathed out. Then I pulled the trigger.
Even through the best earplugs I could find, the sound sent a shock through me. I was ready for it, but i never got completely used to it either. As the gun came down I watched her stagger, a hole punched through her center. A good shot, it had better be for all the range time I had put in for this. She dropped only a second later, blood already running down to pool on the floor, but I had forgotten her for a moment. I was stepping briskly toward the newly minted painting, admiring it already as I went. This was the tricky part, too much exposure to the air could ruin the blood, and I didn't want it to run too much anyway. I quickly took it down, sealing it flat in the case i had standing ready to one side, and opened the valve that would pump the case full of preservative gas.
Once I was finished i turned, looking to see her, but she was already down for the count. Her beautiful body sprawled on the plastic; the bullet had taken with it a bowl-shaped piece of her chest and turned it into a spray of red to paint her magnum opus. And now far too much blood spread around her as well, covered her body, ran slowly from the corner of her mouth and her nose. It filled the little valleys in between the wrinkles of the plastic and soaked into her hair under her.
She shuddered ever so slightly and I thought I saw her tear-stained eyes move to me as I approached, but it could have been nothing. She didn't make a sound as I ran my fingers down her throat trying to find a pulse, simply out of curiosity, but it was gone almost as soon as I found it.
I crouched beside her for a few moments, admiring the body she had used, had given to me to destroy in order to make an equally beautiful work of art.
Finally I stood and looked her over one last time, thinking.

In all my preparation I hadn't even considered what I would name the piece.