Nostalgia and Sketches then Iceland

The front cover of the first Elfquest comic. Elfquest is copyright Wendy and Richard Pini.

I used to collect Elfquest. At some point I forgot about collecting them and just reread the ones I had once in a while.

Recently, I found out that the entire series can be read online at http://www.elfquest.com/gallery/OnlineComics3.html so I’ve been reading a lot of Elfquest these last two weeks. The story is just as good as I remembered it to be, so I can highly recommend reading it.

It might be because of Elfquest that I suddenly felt like sketching wolves again.

And if I just throw in a couple of extra sketches,

you might forget to ask yourself why I haven’t published a story today.

The answer to that is that I haven’t finished anything new this week. And since I’m going to Iceland this weekend A bolg? will be going on holiday as well. Updates will return at random during August and be back to normal in September.

I hope you will all have a lovely summer holiday.

Are you going anywhere this summer?

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Finding a Clarinet

She uncurls, untangles herself from her hair. She sits up. The red sun is halfway up the sky. She stretches out her arms and soaks in its warmth.

She shakes her head and rises to her feet. Drapes her hair around her shoulders. Takes a step. Looks around the clearing. Turns around. The forest is thick all around her. She takes a step towards the trees. Turns. Takes a step in the opposite direction. A bird whistles and she turns towards it. Takes several steps, but then it is silent and she stops. She bites her lip. Another whistle and she bounds into the forest. Rushes through the bushes. When the silence returns, she could be carved in marble. Her hair as white as her skin.

A bird sings in the bush right beside her and her hand shoots out like lightning, grabs the small body, crunching the bones. She stares at the silent handful of feathers. Her hand slowly lets go and the limp body falls to the ground. More birdsong and she runs towards it.

Her feet bloody, her hair tangled and her leg shaking, she stumbles towards the shill call of a gull. With the next step she leaves the trees behind and steps onto a sandy beach. She collapses, cuts her hand on a shell and winces. She gazes out across the breaking waves. Her eyes moist.

Something red bobs on the waves. She tilts her head and gets up. The box splashes steadily closer. On unsteady legs she walks into the water. She lifts up the box and brings it back on dry ground. Cross-legged she studies it. There is a click, the box springs open and she flings it away. The box lands open on the sand and something like a long black stick with flashing appendages lands beside it. She creeps closer. Pokes the silver appendages. Picks up the thing and shakes the sand from it. It is hollow.

There is something under the box. She tips it and a piece of paper flutters out. On it there is a drawing of a person putting the black and silver thing to his mouth. Beneath that there are straight lines with symbols on. She pins the paper under the black thing.

A strange mechanism is set in the box. Something seems to be trapped in it. She fumbles with it and with a click, music flows out. Lovely floating music. She sways.

Then the music stops, and she frantically pushes everything she can in the box. But nothing happens. She hits it. Bites it. Picks up a stone and smashes it down. With a crunch the mechanism in the box is fractured. She makes several swallowing motions. Hand shaking, she touches the cracked surface.

She picks up the black thing and the paper. Holds it as the drawing does. Nothing happens. She takes a deep breath. As she exhales there is a sound. She stares. She blows into the thing and produces several more sharp sounds. She smiles.

The Toilet Paper Obsession

She had an obsession with toilet paper. All kinds of toilet paper. She spent every penny she could afford on it, but still hid it all if she had guests over for dinner. His became increasingly difficult, as the rolls filled up first her cupboards then her wardrobes and all the nooks and crannies she could find.

In the end she decided it would be easier without the guests and she stopped inviting people, and since the people she knew seldom invited themselves, this practically solved her problem.

She had had the obsession since the day when the leaves fell up from the trees. Nothing seemed to be in the right place after that, but at least her toilet paper was always where she left it.

 

 

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Recently, I followed a link posted by alexp01 http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/forums/adoption-society and found the “adopt a weird obsession” subject. Then I talked with a friend about weird obsessions and somehow we ended up talking about toilet paper. This is the result.

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