Day 5/365 [Year 2]

I really hate how this bit of writing turned out.

But by my own law I have to share it.

It's really quite shit though, so please go ahead and don't read it.

A gash opened in the paper and he gazed inward, observing how the lines from his charcoal created a new world with its strokes, the way the line stood rigidly, but reflected the depth and terrain of the paper. He paused and left another deft line, caressing the paper and feeling the charcoal extend his self, more than a form of expression, now a piece of his being. A bead of sweat formed on the bridge of his nose and he wiped it off before glancing back up at the model before him. Her pose was simple, right hand extended over her breasts, her left hand draped across her lap. She gazed serenely to the left corner of the studio, at peace with the world.

He studied the way the hair fell into her face and smiled to himself, adoring the beauty in the simple elegance of such a natural curve and returning his gaze to the paper to attempt to capture it with his tools. An etching placed carefully and he studied her eyes, querying their beauty, and allowing himself to question the mind behind them. Daydreaming of a moment with the two of them, at a local coffee shop perhaps, engaging in light conversation, laughing and talking merrily to each other before departing, with a promise to call soon.

Now her lips, smooth and kissable, pursed neatly, not in a stern or unforgiving way, but rather with a calm acceptance. He slipped into his thoughts again as he traced them and the curves of her neck and shoulders, imagining his hands wrapped around the back of her neck against her smooth skin and leaning in to let his lips caress hers gracefully, then deeply and with a burst of passion. He imagined laying happily, quietly next to her on the couch, her head on his lap, her neck draped happily across his knee, and his hands caressing her smooth hair happily.

Now her perfect breasts fell under his charcoal, her right hand so comfortably lying atop them. He imagined holding the hand in his, working his thumb around her palm, and moving his right hand smoothly past her breast and looping around to her back, feeling the grooves and falls of her spine and shoulder blades, and leaning in to whisper his love for her. A deep connection formed in that moment between his mind, the charcoal, the paper, and the model, and he thought deeply to himself, contemplating her life and his own, imagining their procedure into the future and loving her already, for her simple straightforward, yet entirely perfect beauty. Knowing that they would be perfect for each other in his mind.

He continued to dream and grow in his sureness as he sketched her left arm, tracing the shadow and light on her arm and wrist, confidently sketching artfully until he reached her hand. A solitary pause, a moment passed, and the first missed stroke hit the page. The line felt wrong produced, and he knew the drawing period had passed. As he finished the left hand he glanced again, wistfully at the lines which seemed so unfitting. The two sloped sides of a beautiful wedding ring.

--

In other news. It's the day of the show y'all.


We're gonna rape, kill, pillage, and burn, we're gonna rape, kill, pillage and burn. Eat the babies now