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Description
My pathetic tribute to a terrific movie called "9".
~~~
The character is 6, whom, for the sake of the picture, came back at the end instead of dying. Explain however you will.
~~~
The scene is after dark, in the high reaches of the library they now call home. A single candle is all 6 needs to work by as he scribbles down the words of a new story he is writing, a past time that has become something of a lifeline for the confused artist. He no longer feels needed, now that they have won and his visions are fulfilled. He has had nothing to do, nothing to live for, nothing to thrive upon... until that morning.
He hadn't meant to listen, but there was not much else to do, since he was doing absolutely nothing at the time...and for some time previous. 7 and 9 barely noticed him, none of them ever really did anymore, as they watched the twins, 3 and 4, clamber through the damaged bookshelves like they were walking up stairs.
"If only we could teach them about something besides war." 7 was saying. Her eyes dimming slightly with sorrow as the children discovered another record of World War 6. "Something that wasn't human, wasn't sad." She leaned slowly back into 9's embrace, something that brought all of them comfort at one point or another. "Something that was just US."
9 had smiled and nodded in agreement, but he had not offered any suggestions.
6 watched them go, and somehow the words had stirred him in a way he had not been moved since...since he'd stopped seeing the signs.
He watched the "children" clamber over the pages, sometimes waving their hands in excitement, sometimes pressing them together in solemn respect. If only they had something else to read, something that was not as depressing...something to make them feel like children.
6 had an idea.
The idea would not leave, and he could not stop the images from flooding his head like the dam that had for so long held them back had burst at last. Ideas, words, places, scenes, they all flooded him and gave him a rush of energy that threatened to overwhelm him. Unable to stop, 6 surged to his feet and fled the room as though panicked, a happy grin stretching the fibers of his face for the first time in years.
He would write them a story. He would MAKE them a story. It would be a story about them, about their lives, about their adventures. It would be something all of them could hold, something they could carry with them. He would use the images in his head to bring joy instead of madness. He would teach love instead of war.
He felt whole.
He felt right.
He felt GOOD.
Now...if only he had an idea for the next scene...
~~~
Inspired by CatusSnake's Story Time ([link] )

(PS: This is only my second attempt at a tablet and I'm still using paint. Please forgive!)

Description
My pathetic tribute to a terrific movie called "9".
~~~
The character is 6, whom, for the sake of the picture, came back at the end instead of dying. Explain however you will.
~~~
The scene is after dark, in the high reaches of the library they now call home. A single candle is all 6 needs to work by as he scribbles down the words of a new story he is writing, a past time that has become something of a lifeline for the confused artist. He no longer feels needed, now that they have won and his visions are fulfilled. He has had nothing to do, nothing to live for, nothing to thrive upon... until that morning.
He hadn't meant to listen, but there was not much else to do, since he was doing absolutely nothing at the time...and for some time previous. 7 and 9 barely noticed him, none of them ever really did anymore, as they watched the twins, 3 and 4, clamber through the damaged bookshelves like they were walking up stairs.
"If only we could teach them about something besides war." 7 was saying. Her eyes dimming slightly with sorrow as the children discovered another record of World War 6. "Something that wasn't human, wasn't sad." She leaned slowly back into 9's embrace, something that brought all of them comfort at one point or another. "Something that was just US."
9 had smiled and nodded in agreement, but he had not offered any suggestions.
6 watched them go, and somehow the words had stirred him in a way he had not been moved since...since he'd stopped seeing the signs.
He watched the "children" clamber over the pages, sometimes waving their hands in excitement, sometimes pressing them together in solemn respect. If only they had something else to read, something that was not as depressing...something to make them feel like children.
6 had an idea.
The idea would not leave, and he could not stop the images from flooding his head like the dam that had for so long held them back had burst at last. Ideas, words, places, scenes, they all flooded him and gave him a rush of energy that threatened to overwhelm him. Unable to stop, 6 surged to his feet and fled the room as though panicked, a happy grin stretching the fibers of his face for the first time in years.
He would write them a story. He would MAKE them a story. It would be a story about them, about their lives, about their adventures. It would be something all of them could hold, something they could carry with them. He would use the images in his head to bring joy instead of madness. He would teach love instead of war.
He felt whole.
He felt right.
He felt GOOD.
Now...if only he had an idea for the next scene...
~~~
Inspired by CatusSnake's Story Time ([link] )

(PS: This is only my second attempt at a tablet and I'm still using paint. Please forgive!)