Primal Artistry

This is from my brother Michael Beard, and I LOVE it! You can follow him on twitter @virgovibes.

The gallery owner was a slightly stout woman with a friendly disposition. Although in the business to make money, she made a few exceptions.

Young artists, struggling for exposure, brutally rebuffed elsewhere, were given a featured spot, one at a time, once a month, for publicity.

One such artist painted the misery of dying animals in hues of grey, green, and blue. Mainly dogs and cats yowling in relentless misfortune.

The gallery owner, being of a sweet nature, flinched at the subject matter, but nevertheless tried to find pleasure in its weighty palate.

For a whole month she stared at the paintings on the distinguished wall, and every day tried to find the reverse, abstract meaning in them.

But try as she might, all the paintings ever proved to be were heart-breaking. She could find no pleasure in the suffering of small animals.

As she found herself one rainy day at the front door of the space, sipping tea, a stray cat meandered up and presented itself and stretched.

"Hello, friend," she said. The cat said nothing, but rubbed itself against her leg, vibrating in pleasure. She reached down for to touch it.

As she felt it's fur, slightly marred by street grease, she thought of the cruelty she'd been exposed to by the young, insensitive painting.

She stood up straight, and without a second thought, kicked the poor animal as hard as she could. At long last she felt release. And smiled.

Watch For Falling Rocks.

Two days before the meteor struck, a giant wave of psychic energy passed over the Earth. Almost 30% of the population shared the same dream.

The New York Post broke the story under the headline "Cthulu Calls", in reference to a similar event heralding the return of an ancient god.

The dream consisted of two parts. In the first, each sleeper found themselves in a large field crowded by people from every nation on earth.

A large bell (or in some reports, a gong) sounded followed by several seconds of silence. Then, like a football stadium wave, everyone fell.

The second part of the dream differs in some reports. Most of the seers found themselves in dark, yawning caverns, alone and unable to hear.

But the others wandered through the field of fallen bodies collecting photos and heirlooms, which they then ate and absorbed like nutrients.

Famous psychics around the world, eternal optimists that they were, attempted to explain the dream and why it was different for a small few.

The day the pebble hit our planet, when all infrastructure fell apart and over 6.2 billion people were erased, it was still front page news.

There are no longer any newspapers. There is no television. No radio. No phones. Our nearest neighbor is 123 miles away. We don't talk much.

Estimates put population at under 500 million, which, according to the fabled Georgia guidestone, puts us in balance with nature. Finally.

Murder: Because It's All I Have To Give. (#1)

I watch him. I know his entire routine. The duration of his average bowel movement, how long he brushes his teeth, how often he masturbates.

I follow him on facebook, twitter, and lost.fm. He doesn't know my plan. He's never even met me. But soon, that will all change. We'll meet.

I developed the plan before I decided on a subject. It was simple: 1. Choose a Subject. 2. Collect Data. 3. (and here's where it gets good)

I have taken the cord from a video game controller. He likes video games. With that I will garrote him until he passes out cold as a junkie.

Once I have him in the room that I've prepared I'll use the same ligature to bind him to the metal pipe that runs up the center of the room.

There I'll have a palette of tools for my endeavor. A full pack of smokes to create patterns on his skin, a brand I've created just for him.

I've filed nails so finely that when driven into his skin he'll not bleed. Electricity run into them through wire will cauterize the wounds.

I'll then remove the nails to reveal a small design made of perfect windows into his body, clear enough to peer into and investigate inside.

The best for last. I've fitted small headphones to an amp capable of powering a tone at 200 decibels, all that's necessary to destroy a man.

The blood that exits from the ear will create the final splash of color, but first to meet him. Travis Laird. BillZilla. Now! He approaches!