*yawns*

[keire_ke]

I had another of my productive nights yesterday. Sure, I planned to go to sleep early, but before I knew it the muses jumped me and I ended up doodling the life out of at least three pages. >___< Given enough time I might actually finish some. o__O

There's...

• one 1x2 fanart, lineart done.
• one half-finished coloured pencil prize thingie.
• one picture for Asy.
• one sketch for Keara's commission.
• outline for yet another of my two-or-so-paged doujins.
• a heapload of random-and-rather-tiny sketches for various purposes, but mainly action ones.
• the ongoing original manga (*cough*outline of first page*cough* But I do have the script done, which is progress, considering my usual manner of work).
• and this, luckily finished:

Kinda big, but otherwise the lettering would be hard to read. I was playing around with this sketch, to see what can be done, mostly. That, and I always wanted to make a pic with that quote in it. Did I mention I think the man is a god, for thinking that up?

This might as well be a fandom drabble. Insert a manical murderer, and you're all set. *grins*

The sound that flowing blood makes, is silvery-white. I can hear the droplets sliding down the dull steel of the machetes I’m gripping, my eyes still closed. I can feel the rivulets slipping down, lower and lower, until the very tip of the blade – then, as unexpected as the sunrise, a drop tears from the metal and falls down, onto the ground, with a silvery chime.

The peal startles me. I blink and all of sudden the darkness around me starts to shift. I sense shapes emerging from the fuzziness, I feel sounds dancing on the edge of my perception, I hear the crimson – so much crimson – splattered all around. With a sudden intake of breath, I suddenly am aware of all of my senses. My fingers loosen on the coarse handles of both weapons, allowing the razor-sharp tips to droop and etch themselves into the ground, when I release them. The sound of their descend is surprisingly dull and empty, amidst the overwhelming grey sparkling of falling tears.

My hands are warm. I raise my arms high into the air, against the blue sky, taking in the rich red staining them. I watch, fascinated, as the hollow of my palm fills with liquid and overflows, floating down, over my forearms. Only then do I look around. My eyes slide through the red springtime meadow, moving ever so slowly, taking in every detail. Flowers are blooming here, I notice with joy. I walk to them slowly and kneel, reaching out to touch the pristine white petals. “Beautiful,” I breathe – white petals surrounding a golden heart. Pretty, pretty daisies, blooming in a field of red.

Comments

[keire-ke.livejournal.com]

I know! I love the quote soooo much. Thank you very much. *huggles*

No! Definitely did not drop it. Just... it is a difficult story to write, and it requires a certain mood to do so. I wrote the most recent chapter after the London bombings, as I recall. I am trying, I really am! I do have the ending planned though, and I have a really good idea what is going to happen in the next parts.

I am just reluctant to actually get down to it, since it does not scream Happy Ending to me. And I like Happy Endings.