Pencil

“Oh shit,” the hawk thought, as its shadow fell directly over Mouse. But Mouse continued to forage, unaware of the danger above. The hawk, cursing his sloppiness, adjusted his angle to account for the sun and started the dive. An instant before the fatal impact, Mouse surprisingly darted clear of danger. Before the hawk could react the trap was sprung, Cat pounced from the tall grass and locked her jaws around the hawk’s throat. As the hawk sputtered “What the fu-” SNAP went his neck.

There was no cheering, nor tiny high fives. Mouse and Cat simply set to the work of preparing the kill for supper and travel. The hunt each day was all that kept the unlikely pair from murdering each other during the night. Or so Mouse thought. But Cat was bound by a promise, a promise she cursed herself daily for making, but that she could never break.

Eliza’s Father fought in the war. After it was over the families of the losing side were too poor to leave, stuck in the same towns and neighborhoods as the winning side. Reconciliation sounded great on paper, but not in the day by day. Kids could be real mean.

Eliza loved her Father’s helmet. She could hide away and let it show her things about the world. It could tell her how hot it was, or if it was going to rain, or how far away things were. It could tell her if a person was healthy or angry or lying. But her favorite thing was to make it paint the circles. When she looked at one of the cruel kids and said “Target!”, a red circle would appear around them, and the helmet would announce “Target Acquired.”

It wouldn’t do anything else. If she tried to command “Fire!” or “Shoot!” something blinky would disappointingly say “Weapons Offline” or “Reload”. Her Father’s weapons didn’t come in his box when they shipped him home. But that was ok, it was enough that she could sit far away from where they could see, and let the helmet paint red circles over the ungrateful brats.

It wasn’t fair. Her father won the war, and she was stuck living with all the losers.

“Target Acquired.”
“Target Acquired.”
“Target Acquired.”

Sometimes I’m walking home late at night, stumbling perhaps, and lost in my personal sea of angst. Stuff isn’t going right, things I’ve failed at, or frustrations I haven’t gotten past. The bills are piling up, I didn’t get the job, the girl I like likes someone else, why can’t I solve the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, my knees hurt, the quality of my artwork is getting worse not better, I’m overweight, my car payment is too high, etc etc and all the other things.

But then I walk past someone sleeping on a bench, and it all fades away as I circle back to the important part at the start.

I get to go home.

When I was first learning to draw portraits, I would always start with the eyes, often to the detriment of the piece. I ignored composition, proportion, scale, everything, and just drew the eyes. Then I would sort of grow the rest of the face out from that point. Sometimes I would just get lucky and be relatively successful, but more often than not something would just be.. off.

I’m much better now at working the whole piece holistically, building the shapes and proportions together before adding any detail. But when I do start on the detail, the eyes usually come first still. There’s just something about the eye, when it’s down on paper suddenly there’s a real person waiting to be drawn, instead of just lines on a page. And they always convey the same message to me.

“Don’t screw me up.”

When the night starts like this, you know it’s going to end with headache, heartache, and probably passport issues.

“Please? Please draw us! Please you’re so awesome it would be so great!”

“Well thanks for that, I’m flattered. Unfortunately I don’t have much time to do commission work-”

“Oh not commission, do it just for fun! Come on wouldn’t we make a good subject? Look how cute we are!”

“Sure, and yes very cute, but I really only have time for my own personal work. My subjects and styles change all the time, it probably wouldn’t be what you were looking for.”

“Oh pleeeeeease?! We don’t care, make us look like anything you want! Can you make her look like Ke$ha? Ha no just kidding! Please draw us! Do whatever you want, we’ll love it! Please please please please!!!???”

“Um. Okay…”

The nurse bandaged the boy’s arm, covering most of the large bruises. This was his third visit in a week, and while she didn’t bother to ask anymore he volunteered that he fell from a tree. The nurse looked him in the eye, but saw no trace of hesitation. He’s had a lot of practice.

But beyond the first aid, there was nothing else she could do. When she accused his guardian, the richest man in the city, of abuse, the school put her on paid leave. She returned to find an entirely new wing under construction, a “generous” donation by the child’s guardian. She could quit, she should have quit, but told herself the boy needed what help she could give.

So she treated the symptoms each day, and feared for the violence the boy faced each night.

It’s kind of like 3-D. You gotta kind of squint your eyes and let both sides blend together. Or blink one eye at a time back and forth really fast.

yah. it’s a poor substitute.

Living on the generational ship required discipline. Discipline with maintenance and especially discipline with safety. Hull breaches were constant, something not unforeseen on a ship constructed thousands of Earth-years ago. When a bulkhead gave out, the siren sounded, and it would be up to whomever could reach the airlock first to close it, no matter who was left behind. To wait for a loved one would only condemn others to die. More to the point, were you to fail, someone else would just be at the next airlock to sacrifice you instead. It was the tragic reality of the hard life of deep space.

That being said, once Abigail ejected her third brother into space, her parents began to suspect she wasn’t all that sorry about it.

Down to three fingers on his left hand. The ledge was barely wide to his first knuckle, and still slick from the morning’s rain. The right hand slip swung his body out, and he knew if he tried to find grip with his foot, a fail would push his fingers right off. He had to trust his fingers, look for the next position.

When the slip came, he was ready. His body facing the opposite wall, dropped half a meter, his foot caught on the next lip. He absorbed the motion and pushed off with everything he had. The alley was ten meters wide, maybe fifteen, almost impossible even for him. But the ground was over one hundred meters below, definitely impossible.

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[September 21, 2005]
PLEASE READ: Important Message From Chief Of Staff’s Office
SUBJ: POTUS “God Goggles”

POTUS did it <i>again</i>. This time in front of the White House Press Pool, just prior to Thursday’s press conference. Fortunately press pool ignored it, as usual. But if POTUS did it IN CAMERA we’d be in a world of hurt. The need is URGENT to retrain POTUS against the goggles. he can <i>talk</i> about talking to God, but he has to stop demonstrating how he does it.

Strategy session at 9:00 am for team effort moving forward.

Andrew Card
White House Chief of Staff

[CC: Karl, Dick, Condi, Scott, Donald, Alberto, Laura, Barney]

“These were in the trash! Did you throw these away?”

“Yes, I thought the intern left them when he.. wait. Are these yours?

“Of course they’re mine!”

“But.. they’re all Hellboy. Just Hellboy.”

“Not JUST Hellboy, they’re highly collectible. And all different. This one is based on the comic book. This one is 1/6th scale and super realistic. And this one.. damnit. This one WAS a bobble-head. Now there’s no head. I hope you’re happy, this was a limited edition!”

“Fine, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know? I’ll go through the trash and try to find your bobble-head.. head. Geez. I swear Hellboy, you are by far the strangest partner I’ve ever had.”