Thursday, November 24, 2011

Monochrome: 1 [Rewrite]

The sun poured into the apartment windows, dimmed and softened by the plain curtains hanging over the window frame. A quiet beeping repeated from a small table beside the bed. Finn Blake turned under the sheets, and reached out to quiet the alarm. He sat up, eyes wincing for a moment.

Need to get ready, he thought to himself as he turned and stood up beside the bed. His hand groped at the table beside him, grabbing a pair of glasses. He slipped them on as he walked to the dresser.

I can’t tell if I’m just tired or my eyes are getting worse, he thought. He gathered his clothes and slowly headed towards the bathroom. After a quick shower, he stared at his own reflection as he brushed his teeth. He quickly rubbed his light brown hair with a dry towel, toothbrush still in mouth. After a few more minutes, he was dressed and heading into the kitchen.

An egg sizzled as it slid into the frying pan, quickly turning white. Finn stood in front of the stovetop, sipping a glass of milk as he watched it. After a moment, he tucked the egg between two pieces of toast and ate at the counter. He stared at the calendar across from him as the burst egg yolk dripped out of his sandwich and onto the plate. His thoughts hummed softly in his head as he reviewed the day’s plans.

A knock came from the apartment door, grabbing Finn’s attention. He set his plate down at the counter and walked over to the door. He peeked through the eyelet and opened the door.

“Hey, Finn,” greeted the woman standing at the door. She was relatively tall with strawberry blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

“Oh, hey,” he responded. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in to remind you that I’ll be heading out this afternoon. I’m going up to Maine tonight, around 4,” she said.

“Right, you mentioned that the other day. Thanks for reminding me,” Finn answered.

“So, I’m gonna count on you if any trouble comes up. You have my number. Most likely, I won’t be back until after New Year’s. Maybe longer if the weather‘s bad.”

“Okay, sure. Should be fine here, there’s not usually many problems.”

“Yeah, so, I’ll let you go and get back to your breakfast.”

“Right! Hope you enjoy your trip.”

“Yeah, you have some fun, too!” she said, waving as she walked off. Finn waved back, and quietly shut the door. He quickly finished his breakfast and grabbed his coat, then headed out the door and off to work.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Time for more sketches

First image is a request from someone from the MSPA forums.

Monday, May 2, 2011

List of Comic/Story Projects

-Street Devil
-When We Were Indestructible
-Why I Smile
-Rogue Orion
-Before I Wake
-Untitled horror story
-Lenny the Emo Butterfly
-7 Days a Week
-Just My Imagination

-Blue Star
-[Insert Title Here]
-Adam and Sei
-Kiki Can

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


White again.

It’s always white. The bed sheets and the pillow. The ceiling, the curtains. Everything is white. It stings. It’s relentless. White is an unforgiving color.

I hate white.

White is always what I wake up to afterwards. After that deep, still blackness. The sort that reels me in, makes me numb, and steals my breath. It’s hard to stay in the darkness. Someone always pulls me back a step. But I’ll always have one foot in the black.

When I start breathing on my own again, it’s harsh. The air is sour and burns with chemicals. I can barely see from all the white. My body is weak and slow to respond.

I lie still. There is nothing to do but wait. My mind turns rapidly. I feel bitter. At a loss. My chest swells with resentment. Defeated. Failed.

I know this routine all too well. There’s always questions. Question after question. I run out of answers. So, most of the time, I say nothing. I just want to leave that searing white.

Today, it’s white again. I wake up alone, my head pounding. The white is like a drill, boring at my skull. I sit up and lean forward, resting my forehead in my palms. I groan, weary from pain. My body is weak, as usual. An IV snakes around my arm. My mouth tastes terrible. I roll my head in my hands as I look to the side. I notice something on the table beside me.

I slowly pick up my head from my hands, reeling a bit as my headache surges. I grope at the table and grab the edge of a bag. A note on it says, “For Kieran Sullivan, Room C113.”

Without opening it, I think I know who this is from.

In an instant, my pain begins to fade.

White can be alright.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

99 Plush

HERE IS THE PACKAGE I SENT TO ADAM AND TRACY. Bead sprites, ACEO! Also, a plushie of 99. Look at that soulless stare! Adorable. Here's a picture dump!


I bet you guys are so sick of my Spider-Man bed sheets.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Lagrangian Point (2)

 I've learned the feel of this ground,
its surface forms me in shifts,
hollow bones snapping and cracking.

These feathers used to be my own,
but now the earth lays claim to those remains.
As I become one with the clay,
it becomes one with me.

Tearing me from the ground-
I heave, and creak, and bleed,
and cold air seeps inside me.
I'm losing my familiar fragments,
let into a strange and icy world.

I remember the ease of sorrow
and where you pulled me loose.

You speak in words I've never known,
full of color and song and love.

I've never felt this sort of sting before,
twisting and writhing
in a complacent sort of madness.
These fits and tremors
ease me to the breeze.

These days, I drift steady in your wake-
careful and trained, gliding on air,
defiant of the distant, groaning earth.

I'll pace myself
and one day

you'll see

I'll fly by your side.