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Description
… so it had begun, with the swell of fabricated blue breaking over the line of those expressionless lips, creating a fault that split with abandon enough to be forgotten - spilt - trickling down along the curve, at first creating a line unnoticed. Later it would be wondered if this even mattered much at all, with fate laid prone, when deeds had been done and promises spoken from a now ashen mouth lay six feet under somewhere, elsewhere, left to molder with the soil. Fingers rose, of their own accord, to brush away the hue that had gathered upon his chin, the drops that clang to the paleness of that flesh, begging hushed for attention, though all too easily, even now, to be cast aside. Perhaps it was already known, as the pen chased - dashed - its way to scratch fine, even lines across infinite pages. Recorded endlessly, willingly, the ways to cheat the pale horse that now followed with breath baited. Yet, it was all in that expectation as the blue began its slow flow once more, scrawling death’s signature with each smallest droplet. Reflected was it on soft skin, dripping downward, falling to the floor as the fingers neglected to remove the evidence of demise. On, the heart beat, keeping that tempo, grinding the machines that kept all ticking, ticking away. For the mind did not ache with its knowling, even as wiring faulted, filling all with that sweet poison. The heart did not utter complaint as it was robbed of the feeling to which it had once assigned so much worth. That blessed blue forged paths under skin and broke through the fragile surface - demanding, calling for the end. Arber Tris did notice as feeling escaped him. Realize, did he, the meaning of each of those drops. Urgency left, gradually, as though purposefully bled. Want faded with each swell of breath. None were around to care. With the flutter of lashes, the blink of eyes clouding without judgement - the point of no return had been reached. None were around to see the man die behind a heart still beating. And, afterward, there was only celebration …

Time seems to be willfully escaping me, casting strange spells that allow it to farther trickle away before I have a chance to grasp it, use it to my wishes - thus, I have had little time for myself, for writing, for drawing, and strangely enough, the only time I have to do much of anything is in school, of all places. How twisted the world can be! I thank all for their patience, naturally, for it is truly a wonder that I have any watchers at all. Featured here is the disappeared Arber Tris, who I have been … unable to depict. I can not say how much of a struggle it is to attempt to draw him once more, to bring him back to light. He is not “recently” deceased, but deceased he is. Thus, this piece is filled with conflictions, regrets - memory - and acceptance. For one day we all shall die, and in our last actions shall we be remembered. For some, there is only celebration in their passing.

Despite my struggles, my reservations, this depiction turned out … well. My style seems to be doing something rather odd here, exceptionally different from its usual, and I have no idea if it simply a fading spark of something new, or here to stay. Styles are strange that way. I admit it caused some initial panic, as though I had forgotten how to draw, how to shade, how to do effects work - but, it seemed to have come together, even if only somewhat, in the end. The colors, especially, work well to me - though his glasses make me laugh. Glasses are just … silly to draw.

The end.

There is no one to dedicate this to. For there is only me who might miss this man just the smallest bit.

Enjoy.

xxx

Arber Tris/Doctus Urchin belonged to himself
Artwork, Ideas, ect. belong to Me

Don't steal, use, ect.

Description
… so it had begun, with the swell of fabricated blue breaking over the line of those expressionless lips, creating a fault that split with abandon enough to be forgotten - spilt - trickling down along the curve, at first creating a line unnoticed. Later it would be wondered if this even mattered much at all, with fate laid prone, when deeds had been done and promises spoken from a now ashen mouth lay six feet under somewhere, elsewhere, left to molder with the soil. Fingers rose, of their own accord, to brush away the hue that had gathered upon his chin, the drops that clang to the paleness of that flesh, begging hushed for attention, though all too easily, even now, to be cast aside. Perhaps it was already known, as the pen chased - dashed - its way to scratch fine, even lines across infinite pages. Recorded endlessly, willingly, the ways to cheat the pale horse that now followed with breath baited. Yet, it was all in that expectation as the blue began its slow flow once more, scrawling death’s signature with each smallest droplet. Reflected was it on soft skin, dripping downward, falling to the floor as the fingers neglected to remove the evidence of demise. On, the heart beat, keeping that tempo, grinding the machines that kept all ticking, ticking away. For the mind did not ache with its knowling, even as wiring faulted, filling all with that sweet poison. The heart did not utter complaint as it was robbed of the feeling to which it had once assigned so much worth. That blessed blue forged paths under skin and broke through the fragile surface - demanding, calling for the end. Arber Tris did notice as feeling escaped him. Realize, did he, the meaning of each of those drops. Urgency left, gradually, as though purposefully bled. Want faded with each swell of breath. None were around to care. With the flutter of lashes, the blink of eyes clouding without judgement - the point of no return had been reached. None were around to see the man die behind a heart still beating. And, afterward, there was only celebration …

Time seems to be willfully escaping me, casting strange spells that allow it to farther trickle away before I have a chance to grasp it, use it to my wishes - thus, I have had little time for myself, for writing, for drawing, and strangely enough, the only time I have to do much of anything is in school, of all places. How twisted the world can be! I thank all for their patience, naturally, for it is truly a wonder that I have any watchers at all. Featured here is the disappeared Arber Tris, who I have been … unable to depict. I can not say how much of a struggle it is to attempt to draw him once more, to bring him back to light. He is not “recently” deceased, but deceased he is. Thus, this piece is filled with conflictions, regrets - memory - and acceptance. For one day we all shall die, and in our last actions shall we be remembered. For some, there is only celebration in their passing.

Despite my struggles, my reservations, this depiction turned out … well. My style seems to be doing something rather odd here, exceptionally different from its usual, and I have no idea if it simply a fading spark of something new, or here to stay. Styles are strange that way. I admit it caused some initial panic, as though I had forgotten how to draw, how to shade, how to do effects work - but, it seemed to have come together, even if only somewhat, in the end. The colors, especially, work well to me - though his glasses make me laugh. Glasses are just … silly to draw.

The end.

There is no one to dedicate this to. For there is only me who might miss this man just the smallest bit.

Enjoy.

xxx

Arber Tris/Doctus Urchin belonged to himself
Artwork, Ideas, ect. belong to Me

Don't steal, use, ect.