Mixed media on paper.16x12"Trickster The bones rattle. That's all they do. Armour clinks off them. Swords scrape against them. It's a continual cacophony of sounds. I miss the silence. It wasn't always this way. Flesh used to hang off this frame. Blood coursed beneath that same flesh. The heart beat it's drum until it was silenced. The innocence. We would play in the pumpkin fields, hide and seek, tag, and other more unsavoury games too. We would watch creatures we tortured have their last breath. We would lure unsuspecting delivery men into the field and decend on them like feral wolves. It was all fun and games. The transition is clear now but at the time it didn't feel like anything had really changed. We had brought Claire's mom around to the patch with the promise of a surprise. We were vague, we said she'd like it. Being a mom, she trusted us. The surprise for her came in the form of a steel pipe to the back of her skull. She teetered at first, then her legs gave out and she toppled backwards into one of the nearby pumpkins. Her head smashed the pumpkin open and her head was imbedded inside. We stood around amazed. This was what we were seeking. It was our new look. We all spread out slowly, searching for our new heads. That's when we became The Tricksters. And that name stuck with us. Even after death. Some ideas are just too strong.
