Two more themes, one post again. NUMBERS and VULTURES. Eight pieces!
For Numbers I picked 777 and went straight at the rapture, because if you hand me a number with religious baggage on it I am going to open the whole suitcase.
Numbers
The Seal

777 in gold, ringed with eyes, wings and a halo bolted on the top. It has the shape of something an institution puts on its letterhead. Somebody designed this. Somebody signed off on it.
The Throne

Empty chair, braziers lit, walls all the way open. The 777 is cut into the slab behind the seat, which means it was here before whoever sits in it. The chair is the least interesting thing in this room.
The Herald

Halo on fire and it has folded two of its own wings over its face. Every wing it can spare is being spent on not looking at you. Biblically accurate and completely unhelpful.
The Column

A pillar of cloud parked over a village with eyes stacked up the middle of it like floors in a building. Everybody is walking out to meet it. The church is the smallest thing in the frame and that’s on purpose.
The Ascent

Here’s the part everyone signed up for. A column of light, a town the size of a thumbnail underneath it, and people going up the inside of it one at a time. The rapture isn’t supposed to have a queue. This one does.
Sevens are supposed to mean completion, perfection, rest, and God finishing the job. Nobody ever asks what the job was.
Vultures
Then this past week was VULTURES, and that one didn’t get art notes. It got this:
My dad told me about a cartoon my grandpa watched as a kid. Bald guy, big weird grin. Dad said it was “off.”
He stopped talking about it after Grandpa’s best friend died. Heart attack — except everything inside him was pecked out.
So I found it. Eleven minutes. It’s not a guy, it’s a vulture. He doesn’t do anything. He sits on a stage and grins and waits.
I started it at 9:40. It was 11:15 when I looked up.
The Show

Bald guy, white gloves, big weird grin, and a stage he never walks off. Nothing happens in this one. Nothing happening is the entire act.
The Broadcast

Same face, except now it’s in somebody’s living room and the chair in front of it is empty. Look at the jaw. Those aren’t sideburns.
Eleven Minutes

Third one drops the bit. It’s a vulture in a tuxedo, the screen is cracked, and the glove is on your side of it now. Eleven minutes long. You will not notice the eleven minutes.
The thing about vultures is that they never have to do anything. Worst work ethic in the animal kingdom and it has never once cost them a meal.
Saturday Scares is hosted over on Threads by @promptadventures and @horra.i. Come see the rest of the entries, some of them are so much worse than mine. Last time out was Honey Bees and Felines.
All eight pieces live in the Gallery too, alongside the rest of the collection.
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