The gymnasium door screeched open, with a background chorus of laughter and music, then muffled out to a hum. She sat on a box, next to the dumpster; her eyes black with tears, melted snow in her hair.

“Margie?”

She looked up, wiping the mascara away. “Oh hey, Jake! Didn’t see you there.” She said, in a hoarse voice.

“That was pretty rough of him, cutting out on you like that.”

“I guess.”

The gym door swung open again for a moment. A quiet song wafted out, then receded to the background.

“Can I have this dance?”

He held out his hand and she smiled for the first time that night.

 Merry Christmas everyone./

 

Wir’a froze as the brilliant orange shined against the light rain. The toucan bobbed and swayed with the breeze.

This had been Wir’a’s 14^th rainy season and to prove himself a man, he needed that bird’s beak. “But where will I be after the 15^th? Or the 20^th?” he thought to himself, “and if I had never seen this bird, where would he have ended up?”

He shrugged, raised his arrow, and found the bird to have flown off.

“Now that is for him to know, and you to find out,” he said to himself, as he flashed the sky a crooked smile.

 

The shack’s tin roof burns her hands. It’s all Lee Anne can do not to yell out; just a few more moments. The clang-a-dang of a bell, the whirl of a cicada and she’s in the air. The goat has only a moment to react but time is wasted on shock. Lee Anne comes down hard and grabs hold of the reigns. “YE-HAW, JEZEBEL!” she yells out. A slight buck, a kick, and Lee Anne rolls off, sides busting with laughter.

“So? Shall we eat him?” The Raven asked his compatriots. The second bird said nothing. The third raven spoke, “His dogs still roam the field.”

“Aye,” said the first raven.

“And his hawk still stalks the skies!” piped up the second raven.

 “Aye,” repeated the first raven.

From down the path came a young waif in white, quietly crying. She reached the dead soldier, knelt and kissed his blooded brow.

“Let us fly lads, to find a meal that is not as loved as he.”

The ravens leapt, jet wings stark against grey skies.

 inspired by the english ballad, "The Three Ravens" 
A sketch taken to color, but the texture is way over burned./ I am so out of shape, artisticlly speaking  :/

The smoked burned her insides as if they were the beams of an abandoned pine shack. A gaggle of drunken college girls, draped in pink, squealed in the night neon. She stayed hidden in the shadows, hidden behind her embers. Under the marquee, the world took on a sepia tone and she closed her eyes, taking in the sounds. She imagined she was in some lost gold boom town, wagon wheel turns and mule brays in place of ring tones and car horns. If only. She flicked out the ash and crept back into the concert.

ugg, crappy sketch   >:l

The McFadden twins gazed upon the forest press, carefully, from behind a bilberry bush. “That’s the Queen of the Forest, aye.” Alva whispered to Danny. The queen sat on her thistle branch throne and carelessly bowed at the harp; her six fawn maidens gathered tightly around. The notes danced and trickled among the breeze. Danny could almost hear a song bird with the voice of his mother. For the rest of his life, he would never hear anything half so beautiful.

inspired by the characters of my coworker, Kaitlin Reid  :D

 

Marcella’s horse clopped along the bleach blue sands at a lazy gait. Sister moon lit up the Sonora. She was thankful for the poetic light. The cry of an owl lit ears up and there he was. The silhouette stood ten paces away; leaping distance. “Harland?” she asked, with a cool smile. The man’s paper white lips curled, revealing two, inch long fangs. “Been following you for a while now,” she rasped, drawing the pistol as the clouds snuffed out moonlight.

A shot cracked, ripping through the dusk. “Bloody Good shot, Fitzwarren!” boomed the fat man. Their guide, eyes wide, attempted to quiet the drunk. The male lion laid across a rock, his graceful mane spotted by blood. A click, a clack and a shell casing flew. “I do say, I have-”a shadow took the fat man, his scream blown out by a second shot. Both lay still. “Take note, Henry,” Fitzwarren said to the guide, “always keep a careful eye for the female.”

 So, I think I know what to do with this blog. I was listening to NPR over the weekend and came across an interview with Lou Beach for his book "420 Characters". The idea is to write short stories 420 characters of less, the idea being that they would fit in Facebook statuses. They're beautiful in their simplicity. I really want to get better at writing, and this seems the perfect way. Then, add in a sketch that is equally as rough that goes with the story. I see nothing but wins here. So, hence forth this blog will be called "Sketched Up Stories"! I'll still post illustration and animation work here, but the main idea will be to get both writing and drawing out and into the world, and shut up my perfectionist self, he ruins everything. I hope you like what comes out of this! (and that I can keep up the pace) And if you don't, I relish critiques  ;)