The Exquisite Corpse, a deadly tale of Art

Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.― Pablo Picasso

"They're alive... and no, I don't fucking live with them. I split when I turned seventeen."

"Why?"

"I didn't want the fucking life they laid out for me, you happy?" Jack replied with bitterness in his voice."

"What life? The truth."

Jack went quiet for a moment before answering, "They're Later-day Saints, okay? Hardcore."

"You're a Mormon?" Siggy asked, his curiosity piqued.

Jack laughed, "Don't let them hear you call them that. They hate being called Mormons, to them it's like calling black people the N-word, but yeah," he sniggered, "I always said Mormon... just to piss them off."

"Why was that a problem for you?"

"Do you know anything about Mormons?" Jack asked incredulously, "I love pot and meth and they won't even drink coffee. Dear old mum and dad expected me to go to some shithole country when I turned nineteen on a Mission. They call it sacred service, do I look like a fucking missionary to you. Fuck that and fuck them!"

"So you left."

"So I fucking left. Actually, my dad threw me out... told me to reconsider my life, whatever the fuck that means... said I could come back when God re-entered my heart. Fuck God, God is fucking boring. I haven't seen them since. I stay with my buds and do what the fuck I want."

"Like smoke meth and rob cars." Siggy said with disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah, like smoke meth and rob cars. It's my fucking life and I can do what I want with it."

"The first time I saw you, you were harassing a young mother and her kid begging for money... is that also what you want to do?" Siggy asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

"You mean that illegal Mexican cunt in the parking lot? Fuck her," Jack said with venom, "She  should have stayed south of the fucking border, those parasites just take shit from the rest of us."

"And her baby?"

"Yeah... it's like that Mormon story," a sinister smile crept onto Jacks lips, "when the Mormons became such a pain in the ass in Missouri, the governor said they should be exterminated and armed vigilantes killed them, kids included. When someone asked one of the vigilantes how they could kill children, he said 'nits begat lice'. It's the same with the illegals... they'll just grow up to be adult fucking parasites."

Siggy suddenly felt terribly sad. Jack was horrible and heartless. He had all the advantages and a family that cared about his moral makeup, and he had rebelled and resisted until his father threw him out. Siggy realized how he would approach the portrait.
"Lucifer!" He exclaimed loudly.

"What about the Devil?" Jack asked in confusion.

"Not the Devil," Siggy pointed at the Predator, "that's the Devil. The Devil is evil incarnate... You are Lucifer, cast out by your father for rebellion. Not yet completely evil, but doomed to be through bitterness and rejection."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your portrait and his... a diptych... Lucifer and the Devil. Perfect. Thank you. I'm going to take your photo now and then we'll be done."

"It's about fucking time!"

Siggy snapped some photos from all angles. He walked behind Jack to the metal table and picked up a pair of syringes. Without another word he injected Jack in the neck, emptying the contents of the needle. The young man went instantly limp. He injected the second syringe. That complete, Siggy removed all the restraints, just as he had promised.