This is Caduceus from Critical Role. The poor firbolg is having a no-good, very bad day.
I have not been writing for the last few days because I have been deep into digital art. Back to writing tonight, now that I’ve finished this.
Caduceus Clay
Mollymauk Tealeaf
I’m still learning to use my tablet and Krita, but I enjoyed trying a smoother effect with my favourite Bloodhunter tiefling.
Pressure
He only meant to lie down for a minute
But soon found hours passed by
The TV showed scenes from a simple script
A life of work, rest and repetition
A role someone else would take
He could no longer play of his own volition
He did not rise when the sun rose
He did not answer the ringing phone
The knocks at the door received no answer
In time the world stopped trying to reach inside
He did not know if he wanted the help
But he never tried to reach outside
He lay, surrounded by comfort
cushions and fabrics pressing deeply
no clear definition between fabric and flesh
The lack of pressure was crushing
But at last he had no role to fill
And he was free to be nothing
Two Sentence Stories (Part 11)
There was yet another “help wanted” sign in the butcher’s window. This time it went unanswered, as word spread that they never took deliveries.
He plunged the knife into the blanketed figure on the bed. He realised too late that the recipient was far too soft to be a real body: he already felt a knife stab through his foot from under the bed.
It is so much cheaper to pay out a life insurance policy than to pay for a lifetime disability. For this reason, each bottle of wine was accompanied by a “Get Well Soon!” card had an imperceptible syringe hole through the cork.
Home Visit
Susan found herself anxiously cleaning the loungeroom again.
Her fear of being discovered only slightly outweighed her fear of becoming a pathetic anecdote. She knew the appointment was a stupid idea, but in equal measure she did not believe that she was a stupid person. So, she cleaned the room until she was certain it would meet the standards of an operating theatre.
It was only a few injections, anyway. She did not think much could go wrong from something so small. Also, it was an early birthday present and she deserved it. Something about the looming spectre of turning 30 had made her brave enough to research Botox injections in her area, but not brave enough to risk being seen walking into one of the over-bright receptions. So she had made an appointment at 1pm, the week before her 30th birthday to get rid of some encroaching crows feet and to smooth away her smile-lines.
She was assured over the phone that the results would be subtle enough that no one at her upcoming birthday party would notice. They were, in fact, reassuring about everything except for her natural looks. The photo she sent them, of an objectively beautiful woman, was torn apart as they listed the sites that needed injections.
It was 12:40 when the doorbell rang. Susan was surprised that they were early, but hurried to the door. A woman stood before her, dark hair pulled back into a bun so tight that Susan could not tell if it or medical intervention were responsible for the tautness of the woman’s face. She wore a white smock, white gloves and a white mask over her mouth. She held a white briefcase by her side, with a large red cross on it.
Read More »Impact
The world is going to end today and most people are ready.
The announcement was made almost a year ago. News anchors who could not keep an even tone reported that the asteroid was on a direct course and would hit the planet. The impact would not be survivable. The world went mad within days.
There was not as much madcap crime as some would think. Some people definitely gave into baser urges, enjoying the immunity to long-term consequences, but this was culled by the lack of consequences for revenge.
The madness was much quieter. For the most part, apathy became the norm. To an onlooker, the population largely followed the same schedule they always had. Public transport still shepherded many to and from work. Most businesses stayed open and whatever hours a person could spend deep in work were a relief from the pressure of their own thoughts.
Churches flourished, including countless new ones, hastily built and manned. Any pre-existing doomsday cult that had posited a date around the projected arrival of the asteroid found sudden popularity. It was estimated that around 20 percent of the world’s population joined one of these, meaning that at least one fifth of the world eagerly awaited the asteroid’s arrival.
When the day finally arrived, most people stayed inside. It was better to drink, to listen to music, to sleep, to talk, to do anything other than wait.
Those who had eagerly awaited judgement day stood outside, watching as the asteroid became visible to the naked eye. They waited eagerly for hours as it approached. They continued staring as it did not quite match the projected angle. Unblinking, tear streaming, they saw the asteroid miss completely.
Around the world, one fifth of the population come to the unanimous and simultaneous decision, unknown to the terrified majority: the end of the world is today, and we are willing to put in the work.
Update
The internet is out in my flat until tomorrow at the earliest, so I’m taking the opportunity for a short break
A Select Audience
Joseph had studied piano since he was old enough to reach the keys. He could read sheet music before he could read letters and spent more hours playing the piano than he had spent in the sun.
His father had been strict. He demanded perfection from his son, to make use of the opportunity he had been denied. His father often told him about his own dreams of playing music and of the unexpected pregnancy and marriage that required he turn to harsher work. Work that had ruined his hands through repetition and strain.
He had never managed to play to the level his father demanded. He endured the repercussions and tried to focus on playing well enough to avoid his father’s ire.
Joseph was almost a grown man when he spent his first night out with friends. His father was away for a funeral and his mother encouraged him to take one night for himself.
Read More »A Midnight Stroll
It had happened every night that week. George’s new pet would scratch at the bedroom door until it was opened, then jump up and run circles on the bed until he got up and fetched the leash. Fido’s wilfulness would always outlast his and he would eventually comply.
It never wanted to go for a walk in the daytime, it was always the middle of the night. George did not bother getting dressed, simply putting on slippers and a hoodie over his pyjamas in the dark. He knew none of his neighbours would see him. Fido always found a path devoid of other pedestrians.
The streetlights went out as Fido entered their radius, popping back on as they walked past their reach. George followed the shadow of his spoiled pet, enjoying the way its blurred form trotted. He could never quite make out the shape at the end of the leash, always meaning to put the light on at home to get a better look. He never remembered to do so.
Eventually, Fido led him back to his home. George did not turn the lights on, simply unhooking the leash and putting it beside the door. Fido trotted happily towards the bedroom, jumping up onto the bed expectantly. George crawled back under the covers, sliding his feet down so that Fido could curl up against them. He smiled as he rubbed what he thought was his pet’s back with his feet, feeling the contented noises reverberating through the mattress. There was no skin or bones to Fido, but he liked the attention all the same.
The next morning, George awoke well-rested. As he made his way out the front door, he wondered why he had a leash on the table beside his keys, then dismissed it. He wondered the same thing every morning that week.
A False Identity
I do not recall a crime committed
The edges of my memory now faded
I rest quietly, awaiting my death
an uneasy peace is all I have left
I entered this world by invitation
But my continued presence is trespass
I cannot remember where I came from
but hope in oblivion I find calm
The cell around me is flowing, fluxing
from moment to moment its extent shifts
It is not cell bars or chains that bind me
A lack of comprehension keeps me here
Somewhere a heart that is not mine races
its distinct pace elevating my pulse
I cannot comprehend what is coming
Its arrival will not leave me breathing
There is something that I must not forget
Some important thing that I must carry
I am on the verge of something
I am on the verge of nothing
The bell rings out
it is abrasive and familiar
I fade away and am now solid
the entirety of a short life forgotten
Sketched Text 