Just a simple drawing of a rainbow.
This is one of my doodles. I think it started out as something really deep about technology merging with nature, but then it became… whatever this is. I still like how it looks though.
I drew this about 2 years ago.
Since English is my first, and so far only language (although I’m currently trying to learn Spanish), that means that English and writing are very closely linked for me. English isn’t just a language, it’s a means of expression.
Of course, it isn’t the only means of expression. Someday, I’d like to be able to express myself in other languages as well, but for now, English has given me plenty to work with. And in combination with drawing? The possibilities are endless. (Now, if only that were enough to prevent writer’s block and art block.)
She burst into my house one morning, carrying a large box and mumbling about how she’d forgotten to do something for Barry. I wasn’t in the mood for her random acts of strangeness today.
“Liz, he’s been dead for a year now. If you’ve forgotten to give him something, it’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it?” It came out more scathing than I’d intended, but she just lightly bumped me with her shoulder and glared.
“It’s not something that I forgot to give him. I forgot to give this to you after he died.” She carefully held the box out to me.
I took it, not expecting it to be as light as it was. “What is it?” I slowly placed the box on my dining table, aware that Liz had handled it as if it was fragile. When I pulled back the lids of the box, I found out why; it was filled with bubbles.
I froze for a moment.
“A-are these…?” the words escaped me, but Liz nodded eagerly in answer to my partial question. I reached into the box and, ever so gently, picked up one of the colorful spheres between my thumb and forefinger and then held it up to the light. It was mostly transparent, so that I could see the window through it, and though this sphere seemed blue at first sight, a rainbow flashed across its surface when the light hit it a certain way.
“How…” I swallowed past a lump in my throat that I hadn’t noticed earlier, and I couldn’t complete this question either.
Liz leaned her elbow on the table, staring into the box as if lost in thought. “He wanted you to have them.” In what seemed an unconscious movement, she brushed the fingertips of her free hand over a few of the smaller bubbles, causing them to roll over each other and into spaces between the larger bubbles. “His most precious memories.”
The small blue bubble blurred in my eyesight.
“… and then stir the mixture four times,” her apprentice read from the potion book.
“Alright,” she adjusted her glasses, grabbed a wooden spoon from the table next to her, and forced it into the thick mixture in the pot. She was about to start the arduous process of stirring the goop when she suddenly asked, “Clockwise or counterclockwise?”
“What?” her apprentice asked, blinking owlishly at her over the large tome.
“Clockwise or counterclockwise?” she repeated, a note of desperation in her voice as the wooden spoon was slowly being pulled into the pot and she struggled to hold onto it while not touching the mixture.
“It… it doesn’t say!” the young apprentice shrieked.
“What do you mean it doesn’t-” The wooden spoon sunk all of the way into the mixture, taking the witch’s hand with it, and suddenly all that could be heard was the indignant shrieking of a bat.
It’s difficult for me to write six word short stories, because I’m usually really descriptive, but I was inspired by a few that I found online and wanted to give it a shot. (Warning: Most of mine are depressing because all of the ones that I found were depressing too.)
“I don’t understand. Is he sleeping?”
“So you are my new mother?”
“What happened?” “I… fell. It’s fine.”
I need you…
Don’t need you.
“A-a-and n-obo-dy l-let-ts me-e-e-”
“W-wait, I can’t… can’t stop laughing…”
I’m not sure what this is, but it’s what happened when I tried to think of more six word stories:
“Hands up!” she yelled, glaring. “Nobody-”
“Move faster, Mommy!” he called over-
His shoulder throbbed, the wound reopening-
As she leapt for the high-
“Bar the doors!” he yelled to-
No one answered his calls. Breathing-
His last words were, “Don’t worry-”
“I’ll be home soon, okay? Love-”
“You can’t leave now. Stay with-”
“Me, myself and I. That’s who-”
“You’re messing with me. Like always.”