|Side by side comparison of my digital vs. traditional art.|
Being what I am, I really do not need to breathe.
After all, my heart does not beat. My blood does not flow, not in the usual way, at least. I imagine that my lungs hardly know what to do with oxygen anymore. I need the movement of air across my vocal chords to speak, but it has been years since I had anything like a social life so that, too, is a rare occurrence. No more than once or twice a year, I expect.
Even still, sitting on this park bench, I am inhaling as much of the midnight air as I can contain. Once I let it out in a long exhale, I will breathe it all in again, a cycle I have been repeating for the past two and a half hours - an idea of fun that no one seems to share with me.
I have slept a long time, whiling away the days until the calendar reads September again. After spending more than two hundred years experiencing it by night, the world just does not hold the same interest for me as it did when I was young. Sleeping away the better part of each year is a mercy for me. In fact, a decade ago, give or take a few years, a fellow vampire… I did mention that I am one of that kind, did I not? No? Well, even so, you are a fool not to have deciphered that yourself. Even I cannot have overlooked the misplaced popularity of my kind in recent years…
Oh, anyway, where was I? Yes… A decade ago, give or take a few years, a fellow vampire asked me why I even bothered to wake up at all, if I wanted to miss so much of what happened. He was young and stupid, and I nearly snapped his neck for his insolent talk. But it does not do to kill one of the Bloodkin unless absolutely necessary, so I decided to explain it instead. He would not be young forever.
There are two types of people in the world: Summer’s Children and Autumn’s Children.
Summer’s Children belong to the daylight. They know and love light and comfort and family. They are beautiful, even if they can be insufferable.
Autumn’s Children belong to the night. The Witches and Vampires and Wolves of the world belong to Autumn, even some humans, as well, the people lived in the world but who never quite fit. I think they are beautiful, too, in their own way. That might just be arrogance though.
Whatever I feel about the world during the rest of the year, Autumn is my time. As such, I will not miss each one when it comes. I walk freely for a few months, inhaling the cooling air, enjoying each extra minute of darkness the nights bring. With the arrival of the street lamps, I am even allowed to enjoy the rioting colors the leaves took on as they turned and then fell. The air is crisp and cool, making everything else seem sharper and harder, as if they are more real than at any other time. Even the leaves, so soft and whispering in the spring and summer, crunch underfoot, loudly and undeniably proclaiming their own existence. I take and feed enough to survive the next sleep, but mostly I walk and breathe. Autumn is my time, and it would be a crime miss even a moment of it.
As for why I am telling you any of this, I suppose it is because it is good to remind oneself of the things that are important. I do hope that you remembered that before tonight, that you enjoyed your time while you had it. If not, that is a shame. It is such a terrible thing to waste even a fragment. You never can tell when someone like me might come along and bring it all to an end.
|A sort of introduction story to a compendium I have in the works.|
Ancients of Alterna Prologue“Ancients of Alterna”
“At the Top of the Tower”
In the center of the sprawling metropolis that was the capital city of a land known as Alterna, a tower rose high above the city and past the clouds in the sky. The city below was bustling with life as the citizens went about their usual busy lives, always being watched by the spirits that resided within the tower.
On the edge of the tower’s balcony on the top floor two orbs of light, one black and one white, looked out into the horizon.
“This view never ceases to amaze me.” The white orb commented. “After even a thousand years, nature has not lost its beauty to me.”
The DreamHe woke up. He'd had a bad dream - he was shot, and dying. Painfully. It'd been very vivid but he tried to ignore it. And eventually succeeded. He was lying on the grass, with a number of ants up his legs and the sun setting in red flares. The field work was tiresome, indeed.
'C'mon, Sandman.' His friend John's voice came from behind. 'It's 8 o'clock already'.
It was not a particularly exciting day for Sam. He'd worked all day, and would now go home, have a scanty dinner, go to his little room and try to get some more rest on his uncomfortable bed. But while headed home, clouds gathered rapidly overhead. "Rain," Sam thought spitefully. He hated working in the mud. But the clouds became denser. And denser. It was immensely hot, even for August, but he didn't pay attention to this, focused on his hurry.
And then it started. It burst. It exploded. Rain and thunder were racing in the ether. Sam suddenly stopped. John was 50 meters ahead, and obviously terribly wet already.
There was someth
Welcome to my lair!
Well, my virtual lair, anyway, where I post my creative exploits, experiments and many unfinished projects. Most commonly, you will see traditional sketches, portraits and landscapes, and well as prose writing. I've got art based in horror, sci-fi/fantasy, historical periods, wildlife, anime/manga, gaming, something for almost everyone really! So kick back, relax and enjoy browsing my galleries!
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"With these hands, if you could change the color of anything,
what color would you change it to?"