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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

I opened my eyes, and surveyed the landscape around me. Not much to survey. I was in a small forest clearing, sun beaming down brightly without quite hurting my eyes, or, oddly, even causing me to squint or grimace.

I didn’t remember getting here, but I guessed it was just because I had just gotten up, and I wasn’t very coherent for at least an hour after I get up, on a good day. I wasn’t sure if today was a good day or not, but I guess we would find out soon enough.

I got up and wandered around the place, quickly losing myself in the thick trees and undergrowth, the clearing forgotten till a later date.

The forest was beautiful, but there was nothing moving around, no birds flitting from tree to tree, or squirrels scampering into their holes.

I would have thought that there would have been at least a little bit of life.

I am crystal clear now.

I have no idea how I got here.

And I’m starting to get very uneasy.

I walked back to the clearing. The sun was gone, the flowers had wilted, and the clouds were dark and angry. How long had I been gone?

I… didn’t know.

I went back into the forest, and sat. Then I saw it. I hoped it didn’t see me. A skeleton, in the forest, walking on four legs, holding a lance with its two arms. Its skull was warped and twisted, looking something akin to the face of a spider, and the lance was deadly sharp. I wasn’t getting away from this one to fast. And then, it turned its head.

It was staring straight at me, and empty, hollow stare, filled with hunger.

And I woke, drenched in sweat, screaming bloody murder.

And, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall figure at the foot of my bed. And then it was gone, to inhabit my nightmares.

I lived alone, of course. This couldn’t happen to me while I was safe. I had to be alone. I looked over toward the clock, and swore quietly under my breath. It was 2:30. I sank my head back on my pillow, letting the adrenaline slowly course out of my system, before I sank back into the precious three hours of sleep I had left.

I woke nervous, as if my body could remember where I had woke up last, and what had been waiting for me. I wasn’t comforted by the fact that I didn’t wake up in the forest again. I was too overcome with dread that it could happen again to be relieved.

I went over to my computer, and, figuratively, went to work. I was a graphic designer, and I basically built websites for people. Kind of. I’m just the person that slaps a little bow on the top of the website, to make it pretty, so that the person who owns it can gather more customers or whatever the hell they’re trying to do with their money.

It isn’t any of my business, I guess, so I just didn’t ask. They could do whatever the hell they wanted, as long as I got paid, and I guess that that was the extent of my interference into their lives.

Today was uneventful, so I don't think that today will be particularly interesting or eventful.

I got up, and stretched a bit. Today, I had a client, alias PaddedTorture. He was the manager of a... questionable website. The kind that can make a serial killer throw up. I didn't know who the hell this guy was, but, I figured that money was money, right? I guess that that is basically my major flaw. Ends justify the means. It didn't matter what I did, or what I didn't, results was all that mattered. With this guy, I would have to tread a little carefully, and not publish this particular website on my resume, if I ever did get an "actual" job, like "normal" people, as my aunt would have said, without much regard for the fact that I was doing a lot better financially than a lot of my family. I figured that doing art on people's websites and streamlining their appearance beat the living shit out of flipping burgers. Then again, that's just me.

My client had a couple of requests. He wanted the background to be dark, but not so dark that the website seemed too gloomy. That would really depend on what he thought, but I would do my best. He also wanted their to be sketch versions of the "torture". I hated to say so myself, but this guy had a talent with photoshop. He would take normal pictures and completely fuck them up beyond all recognition, and he would completely change the mood and the purpose of the picture. It was uncanny how he made the people recognizable immediately by anyone who had seen the original product, but... their was something strange about the pictures. Just a hint too much reality in those pictures made me uneasy.

There weren't any flaws. The pictures were... perfect. I fixed the background, and got to working on the pictures. These were seriously disturbing, in that you could imagine them happening to you. The expressions, the... everything. I was beginning to develop respect for this person as an artist.

The first picture was interesting. It was a picture of a man in the process of being ripped in half.

The interesting piece was that he was smiling. Not a tame little schoolgirl of a smile, but a bite you in half, feed the rest of you to the wolves kind of smile, smug and confident. But the eyes? They had pain, terror. And everything in between. I think that I died a little more the longer I stared into those eyes. They were green.

And I couldn't quite make out what exactly was tearing the man apart. It was tall and thin, standing on four legs, awkwardly lopsided, but it would be lying to say that it was ungainly. It was almost... graceful. I was almost in awe.

I made the sketch version quickly, deftly layering the strokes of my pencil and pen to create exactly what I wanted. I wasn't disappointed, surprisingly. This picture was my one in a million, I guess. Better get working on the next million.

It was about ten. I decided to submit the picture to the owner of the website.

I went to bed, brushing my teeth, putting a shower off until the morning. More warm water left, anyway.

I set my head on the pillow.

And woke up in the clearing.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

I opened my eyes, and surveyed the landscape around me. Not much to survey. I was in a small forest clearing, sun beaming down brightly without quite hurting my eyes, or, oddly, even causing me to squint or grimace.

I didn’t remember getting here, but I guessed it was just because I had just gotten up, and I wasn’t very coherent for at least an hour after I get up, on a good day. I wasn’t sure if today was a good day or not, but I guess we would find out soon enough.

I got up and wandered around the place, quickly losing myself in the thick trees and undergrowth, the clearing forgotten till a later date.

The forest was beautiful, but there was nothing moving around, no birds flitting from tree to tree, or squirrels scampering into their holes.

I would have thought that there would have been at least a little bit of life.

I am crystal clear now.

I have no idea how I got here.

And I’m starting to get very uneasy.

I walked back to the clearing. The sun was gone, the flowers had wilted, and the clouds were dark and angry. How long had I been gone?

I… didn’t know.

I went back into the forest, and sat. Then I saw it. I hoped it didn’t see me. A skeleton, in the forest, walking on four legs, holding a lance with its two arms. Its skull was warped and twisted, looking something akin to the face of a spider, and the lance was deadly sharp. I wasn’t getting away from this one to fast. And then, it turned its head.

It was staring straight at me, and empty, hollow stare, filled with hunger.

And I woke, drenched in sweat, screaming bloody murder.

And, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall figure at the foot of my bed. And then it was gone, to inhabit my nightmares.

I lived alone, of course. This couldn’t happen to me while I was safe. I had to be alone. I looked over toward the clock, and swore quietly under my breath. It was 2:30. I sank my head back on my pillow, letting the adrenaline slowly course out of my system, before I sank back into the precious three hours of sleep I had left.

I woke nervous, as if my body could remember where I had woke up last, and what had been waiting for me. I wasn’t comforted by the fact that I didn’t wake up in the forest again. I was too overcome with dread that it could happen again to be relieved.

I went over to my computer, and, figuratively, went to work. I was a graphic designer, and I basically built websites for people. Kind of. I’m just the person that slaps a little bow on the top of the website, to make it pretty, so that the person who owns it can gather more customers or whatever the hell they’re trying to do with their money.

It isn’t any of my business, I guess, so I just didn’t ask. They could do whatever the hell they wanted, as long as I got paid, and I guess that that was the extent of my interference into their lives.

Today was uneventful, so I don't think that today will be particularly interesting or eventful.

I got up, and stretched a bit. Today, I had a client, alias PaddedTorture. He was the manager of a... questionable website. The kind that can make a serial killer throw up. I didn't know who the hell this guy was, but, I figured that money was money, right? I guess that that is basically my major flaw. Ends justify the means. It didn't matter what I did, or what I didn't, results was all that mattered. With this guy, I would have to tread a little carefully, and not publish this particular website on my resume, if I ever did get an "actual" job, like "normal" people, as my aunt would have said, without much regard for the fact that I was doing a lot better financially than a lot of my family. I figured that doing art on people's websites and streamlining their appearance beat the living shit out of flipping burgers. Then again, that's just me.

My client had a couple of requests. He wanted the background to be dark, but not so dark that the website seemed too gloomy. That would really depend on what he thought, but I would do my best. He also wanted their to be sketch versions of the "torture". I hated to say so myself, but this guy had a talent with photoshop. He would take normal pictures and completely fuck them up beyond all recognition, and he would completely change the mood and the purpose of the picture. It was uncanny how he made the people recognizable immediately by anyone who had seen the original product, but... their was something strange about the pictures. Just a hint too much reality in those pictures made me uneasy.

There weren't any flaws. The pictures were... perfect. I fixed the background, and got to working on the pictures. These were seriously disturbing, in that you could imagine them happening to you. The expressions, the... everything. I was beginning to develop respect for this person as an artist.

The first picture was interesting. It was a picture of a man in the process of being ripped in half.

The interesting piece was that he was smiling. Not a tame little schoolgirl of a smile, but a bite you in half, feed the rest of you to the wolves kind of smile, smug and confident. But the eyes? They had pain, terror. And everything in between. I think that I died a little more the longer I stared into those eyes. They were green.

And I couldn't quite make out what exactly was tearing the man apart. It was tall and thin, standing on four legs, awkwardly lopsided, but it would be lying to say that it was ungainly. It was almost... graceful. I was almost in awe.

I made the sketch version quickly, deftly layering the strokes of my pencil and pen to create exactly what I wanted. I wasn't disappointed, surprisingly. This picture was my one in a million, I guess. Better get working on the next million.

It was about ten. I decided to submit the picture to the owner of the website.

I went to bed, brushing my teeth, putting a shower off until the morning. More warm water left, anyway.

I set my head on the pillow.

And woke up in the clearing.