This is more old work, I attempted to block out a comic and this is my amature attempt. This is the newest thing I’ve done cira 7/5/2007

A Fresh Start

An old woman sits alone in a dark room. Pen in hand, she scratches words onto a scrap of paper. We’ll get to what she’s writing in a second, but first lets take in her environment. First the desk she sits at, its an old desk, cobbled together over time whenever fresh boards could be found to patch up this hole or cover that burn. There are three, no four, candles burning in the corner. I thought there was three because the last one is nothing more then a stub hiding behind its for larger brothers. The candles are red, all of them, and what does that say about our old lady? Perhaps its a sign about her conviction to the romantic novel portrayal of candles and writing. Yes, just by looking and the woman we can see that. There is only one other scrap decorating this writing desk, and that’s an old picture taped to a vertical board. This makeshift frame proudly displaces an old yellowed photograph of a young woman on the shoulder of a giant muscle bound man. There is something odd about the man’s body, a gleam to his skin or the texture of his flesh, but the picture’s so faded and torn its hard to tell just what is wrong. The girl in the photo is smiling hugely, a contrast to the black makeup smeared down here face. The man looks put upon, but in a happy way, like when you’re forced to care for a beloved child.

The room around her is small and dark, on one wall there is a few shelves with a scattering of books piled, stacked, and disheveled upon it. Across is a door that leads perhaps to a larger home, an apartment hall, a bathroom? That’s beyond the door doesn’t matter now, it’s the here and now. The third wall that’s not occupied by a desk, shelf, or door, houses a small window that lets a dim ray of moonlight into the room. The moonlight falls slightly over the old woman’s shoulders and onto the wall with the shelf. The floor is unadorned wood and a single bulb hangs down from the ceiling. I think we’ve explored the scene enough, lets now peer over the woman’s shoulder and see what she’s been writing.

Well, look at that, much to our surprise this whole scene was laid out to us in the time it took her to write three words. I suppose one could assume the old lady is slow with a pen and has a very artistic, almost Victorian, lettering; which, of course, she does. More then that, it doesn’t take long to soak up the basic feel for this chamber, it has been seen time and time again in cliché. But look, a single scrap of paper with three words on it. These three words could very well be the beginning of a grand story or just the casual thoughts of a madwoman. Three simple words with their beginning, ending, and everything in-between is about to be arranged before our eyes. Three words.

I miss Wallace.

The Chase

A black dot races across the cracked desolate earth towards the edge of a vast ravine that rips across the landscape like a jagged scar. The world is a dead and dying mess around the dot, with few blackened burned trees sticking out like cancerous melanoma. The dot is moving at extremely high speeds and we draw near to see what we assume to be the only living creature in this desert waste is. Its a sleek designed contraption with two large rubber wheels on each end and a person stretched out between them on a bed-like seat. The vehicle is bellowing out a plume of black smoke that mixes with the gravel and dust that the tires throw up. The tires and frame are all sleek mat back and serve to almost disguise the figure, also head to toe in black, that’s sprawled across them. Its only because of the clear reflective visor on the person’s helmet catching the sun that gives enough hint to pull the outline of the person from the bike.

Before we realize it, the figure has slid to a stop only inches from the edge of the ravine and is peering over. Slowly, casually the figure steps from the bike and pulls a large bulky belt from a compartment hidden under the seat. The figure straps on the belt and pulls a harness across their back, over their shoulders, and down towards the front of the belt. There is a click as the belt and harness lock into place, and the figure reaches back into the seat of the bike. A canister around the size of coffee tin gets set on the ground and the figure manipulates something on it to cause a narrowing pole to shoot skyward and four claws to spring from the sides and dig into the ground. From a belt loop, this black creature unhooks a large boxy object that is unfolded into an odd gun shape. With box gun firmly lodged into their shoulder, the person takes aim over the edge and into the ravine. An instant later, there is a near silent zip noise and there is a black line connecting the gun into the distance. The figure hooks the box gun onto the black pole, and secures their harness onto the line. There is a moment of tension and the figure leans into the line and says something before pushing off and launching into the ravine.

Target Acquired.

A Ceremony

In a cold serial laboratory, a automated voice chimes

“Implanting Seed 25.81 into Shell 3.60556”

A mechanical manipulator arm pushes a small egg into opened forehead.

“Implantation successful”

The arm pulls itself from the flesh, stained with blood.

“Initializing revival of Fanatic #29.41556”

Small electrical props push into the side head.

“Revival of Fanatic #29.41556 successful”

A surge of electricity flashes behind closed eyelids.

“Fanatic #29.41556 not responding to normal post-revival augmentation”

Eyes shoot open, one a sickening blood red where the white should be.

“Terminating Fanatic #29.41556”

Through a strobe light, a black outline leaps from a table

“Termination of Fanatic #29.41556 failed, Manual Termination required”

The black outline rips apart other black outlines in a shower of red.

“Initiating lock-down procedures for Implanting Room # 653”

A black outline bursts through a solid steel door and into a corridor.

“Lock-Down Procedure for Implanting Room #653 failed, abandon sector”

The outline destroys more outlines and saturates its surrounding in red.

“Alerting Cardinal Thornton”

A lone man sits at his desk, sighs slightly, and presses a button.

“Received termination orders for Implantation Plant #6, No Count-Down”