A recent uprising on Facebook is that artist Guillermo Vargas Habacuc is planning on starving a stray dog proclaiming it as art. Several groups and petitions have been created to discuss the manner and hope to stop it.

The artist justifies the public display of this dog’s death by saying that it is already sick, refuses to eat and will die anyway. Simply by putting it in a fixed location is not a crime.

There are a few brave people in those groups who attempt to defend Habacuc and seem to support the piece. One argument said (generally) that art is more then just a visual stimuli, it also is about the emotional reaction that someone has to the work. Therefore these groups and petitions, while defining the art as grotesque and horrific, merely amplify the brilliance of the artistic value it creates.

While their definition can be debated as true, it also opens a dangerous precedent if such a conclusion were allowed to be accepted. What if Habacuc’s next art was the starving of a monkey? Or if starving gets old, how about tortured and distorted bodies? What if animals grow old and he decides to use humans?

Even the educational “Bodies” exhibit at national museums was harassed and protested because of the such public display of deceased human anatomy (among other reasons). True, this exhibit was in the United States, where as the artist hails from Costa Rica, so such artwork would not be as accepted within our borders.

But clearly there should be a line somewhere. Just because these creatures have four legs and can’t speak to defend themselves that makes their lives less valuable then artistic reflection? They were born into this world just as those who view it and they live in the world just as those who view it. They are made of flesh and bone. They feel physical pain and they base action on emotional and instinctual thought.

By saying any horrible or emotionally ravaging act is merely “artwork” can open the doors for any nightmare inducing act imaginable. Proclaim that the distraught and heartache you feel is artistic expression. The more you disapprove the more justified the artist becomes for it’s creation.

Those who watch these art pieces may look down on those who disagree with accusations of “close mindedness” and “just not understanding.” However, I think it’s those people who need to open their minds and realize that the priority of conversation and inner thought do not supersede the existence of a living creature.

The only historical similarity towards such a public display of life ending for the benefit of an intangible benefit would be tribal sacrifices to appease their gods. It’s shocking to believe how little some people have culturally evolved in hundreds of years, isn’t it?

Imperfection rules the day.

Happiness gets pushed to the back in favor of the dramatics of a free will society that thrives upon the misery and despair of others.

Desire the unobtainable. Crave the unquenchable.

A never ending pursuit for what, we knew all along, would be the carrot on a string.

The temptation of the ever dangling achievement drives all.

What is right does not matter to the heavens as much as those who seem randomly rewarded by the ever cruel hand of fate. If good is celebrated and wellness is an accepted conclusion then why is there no justice for those who follow the very same virtues?

While one accepts failure, another punishes small indiscretions. If roles reversed, would the world rejoice around the rightful inevitabilities? Nay. Rather it cast them aside with the other forgotten.

Happy endings do not push paper. Nor will a story of correct choices and moral upbringings. Let society celebrate those who none of us wish to be, yet work so hard to become.

He searched the rubble.

The shock wave had left the building in shambles. An ironic representation of the world if he had taken the time to analyze it. Perhaps retrieving the artifact will bring order once more.

Every time he thought he saw a shimmering glint of hope, under that rock would be nothing but a shinier hoax.

The sun began to sink, and he knew time was not on his side. Not much was anymore. As the last rays of light were pulled towards the horizon, victory was achieved.

As if placed by an omnipresent being, two broken floorboards crossed in a cliché X was where the small remote was discovered. Without time or the mental depth to dwell, he quickly retreated from the approaching darkness.

For which comes darkness, also comes danger. And as the past had taught him, danger often ends in the ultimate conclusion.

As the shadow nearly embraced him, shelter presented itself. A small cottage, which would’ve been described as picturesque in simpler times, now run down and abandoned for generations. At this point anything with four walls and a roof would’ve been Buckingham Palace.

He sat with his back to the corner, feeling as if he could exhale for the first time in memory. The retrieval of the remote and this new home were two sparks of luck in an otherwise pessimistic day.

A spark that he would pray to bring flame. For only the light and heat from that flame would hold off the undeniable and unavoidable future for one more day.

And even asking for that day, seemed selfish.