Destroy the Big Bad

There's a new art exhibit in town. A well-paid sculptor with an upturned nose is touring their gallery. I purchase a ticket and enter. The pieces are all revolve around deconstruction. The artist clearly cares for the detail in their work. On a shelf near the exit lies a fractured human skull. Broken dreams, the plaque says, and beneath that, an image of the artist wielding a hammer over the not yet cracked in skull. Before leaving, I slip into the storage room of the exhibit. There in a corner lie 17 more fractured skulls of varying shape and size. Each one exhumed and irreparably damaged by the artist's hammer, but all discarded for their imperfections. I cup one of the smaller ones in my hand. The cold porous bone is lined with jagged cracks and a flaking layer of crumbling calcium. The dreams of this child were not beautiful enough when broken. I pocket the fragments and take my leave.

Charge 4.