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Confessions of a Flesh Artist

Posted 12 September 2003, 6.06 am by clank-o-tron

The vanity of humanity knows no bounds. It was once exciting to get a loved one's name tattooed upon oneself then, after that, more elaborate tattoos were desired. Eventually, piercing entered the realm of accepted body alteration, beginning with "mundane" locations such as the nipples or eyebrow and moving on to the tongue or genetalia. Just when it seemed that people had done everything they could to customize their bodies - bodies deemed acceptable to the Almighty Himself - I came along. My name is Emerson Drake. I am a flesh artist.

The inspiration for my craft was sudden and almost forced upon me by my good friend Johnson Calem. He and I were having a discussion on the recent craze of body alterations - mutilations, he called them - and the subject drifted to scars. He commented that is althletic ineptitude and careful demeanor had caused him to leave his childhood without any memorable scars. A scar, he said, proved that a man had lived - had seen things and had stories to tell.

As he spoke, I could tell he was staring quite intently at my right cheek from time to time. I knew this because on said location lies a large scar indeed, from my days in service of my country. I had been a sniper - trained by my country to strike silently, accurately, and from afar. No ordinary marksman, I - more men were slain by me alone than entire other regimens. The story of my scar is quite simple, but it still enthralls people such as my friend Calem who have lived their lives uneventfully by comparison. During a routine sweep of a suspected sniper ambush, I found myself staring down my scope to the scope of another. Seeing the muzzle flash of this opponent, I pulled the trigger and rolled out of the way. I was far more fortunate than the other man, as I am clearly here to describe the event to you presently.

Calem glanced from my face up to the mantle where I kept a weapon of the same model I had used in the war on display. An odd look swept over his face as he slowly opened his mouth to speak, as though he was forming the words carefully. When he finally spoke, he asked of my skill and accuracy with the rifle. I issued a brief and by no means exhaustive list of my accomplishments with firearms. He paused for a moment, again with a curious look on his face. He then spoke words to me that I have never heard a sane man speak.

He asked me to shoot him.

I laughed quite heartily at the notion, but when I ceased my laughter I noticed that my friend was staring at me quite expectantly, and immediately offered me a moderate sum of money to perform the service. Before I could speak a word, he assured me that he would sign a paper indicating that I was to be absolved of ay wrongdoing, should his death result from this request. Reluctantly, I agreed, knowing that I posessed the requisite skll to decide whether a man lives or dies from my bullet.

At the time, I lived in a rather rural community, with a large field behind my house. In addition to the privacy, the routine encounters with unfriendly wildlife would certainly allow for a gunshot to go unnoticed. Calem decided that he would like his scar to be on his neck so that it would peek slightly out from his shirt-collar. I told Calem to stand at still as he could at a spot then, leaving a first-aid kit by his feet, I moved a good distance away. He yelled to me and indicated that he was ready for me to commence.

That was the first of many "flesh artistries" I performed for people. I would draw up a contract indicating that I could not be held liable if their death was caused, at any time, by any gun wielded by myself. Word quickly spread, and within a year I had "worked" upon hundreds of men. My list of clientele was quite sizable, but still, something inside me was left unsastisfied.

As abruptly as my business began, it collapsed. One client wanted a scar along the length of his forearm, and he did not heed my warning that all jewlery should be removed prior to the event. Unaccustomed to the sound of gunfire the subject jolted in shock, causing his ring - ironically one he wore for luck - to redirect the bullet. Ricocheting off his ring, the bullet drove into his chest - killing him instantly. In that moment the boy died, so did my business. His family tried to have me charged for his murder, but the procurement of the contract signed by the boy forced the charges to be dropped. Even in their civil case agianst me, the precise wording of my contract shielded me much better than darkness and camoflauge ever had. It was at that moment that the unknown longing deep inside of me was satisfied. I looked into my filing cabinet full of contracts identical to the boy's.

My business may be dead, but I will continue my work - whether it is requested or not.

on 13 September 2003, 2.01 pm
That was excellent clank - thanks for submitting it. Let's have some more from you eh??

on 13 September 2003, 5.12 pm
Very cool clank. The last line elevate the entire story to a new level.

on 14 September 2003, 6.01 am
Thanks for the props, guys. I usually reserve my stuff for my own site, but if you don't mind some cross-posting, I'll keep sending in stuff.

on 14 September 2003, 9.43 am
Do that thang!

on 15 September 2003, 4.24 pm
That was very good. At first I thought it was going to be something just about body modification, then about people wanting to get shot (I've had similar thoughts myself, it would be kinda cool to be able to walk round and say "I got shot and survived") and know it looks like a possible murder story.

Good shit clanko

on 19 September 2003, 8.22 am
That is definitely cool. I actually saw a video of the very subject you write about - getting shot as some sort of perverse body mod. The fellow who decided it would be great to be shot in the shoulder was a total idiot. I am still unsure whether i was staged, such was his stupidity.

on 4 August 2004, 7.20 am

on 4 August 2004, 7.22 am

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This art reminds me of the center of the universe with everything having a link to it, representing all the incoming colours to the center.


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Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness


80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!


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