If you love writing stories then this contest is for you! Write a one paragraph story about the image above and leave your entry in the comment section below. Be creative and think outside of the box!
Here is last weeks image and winners! Congratulations to the winners and I hope to read more of your stories this week!!
She tried to laugh, not sure that it would propitiate him... or was it a her... or an it? The mirror showed her nothing but herself, the insincere grin painted on her face like a smear of badly applied lipstick – but only because she held her hand tightly against the thing. "Let me be," she pleaded. "I plan to have a family! I want to have a house... I want to be normal!" It sounded ridiculous even to herself - why would he... or she... or it... let her go now that it had taken up residence in her forehead? She tried to lift her hand. It was still there, had even grown a bit – a third eye in the shape of a fried egg. She didn't know how she knew, but its name was The third Eier. "Sunny side up," she said, and she could her the resignation in her own voice. "Sunny side up!"
Pat's shoulder hit the stairwell wall as he slunk down to the basement. His eighteenth birthday and all he wanted was a moment to himself. His gut contracted and tightened. Just one hit they said. Just one hit. He could hear his friends upstairs jump around and laugh. At least they were having a good time. Pat went into his bedroom; something pulled him to the dresser drawer. His hands glided over his socks, his shirts, his jeans. He held up the ‘I Heart NY’ shirt and smiled at the memory. He heard more laughing, this time able to make out who was who. Nausea dissipated as a warm glow spread out from his stomach. Eyes closed, he smacked himself, right dab in-between the eyes. His jaw dropped, the euphoria had now spread even to his toes. He looked up at the white stucco ceiling thinking of all the people upstairs. Tom, Sue, Corey, Brandy. Just one hit they said. He grinned, opened his eyes and ran for the stairs.
Peter entered his room with a wooden chair in hand. He walked out again and came back with a pen and paper, then dragged the chair in front of a table. He sat slowly and began writing carefully on the paper, making sure every thought flows smoothly. When he reached the end and signed it, he stared at his surrounding and tried hard to think what's missing. After a few minutes it hit him, "Oh, right," bringing a palm to his forehead, "I'm sure is the dumbest person for forgetting that!" Peter walked out again and came back this time with his father's gun. He sat again on the wooden chair, closed his eyes and pointed a gun to his head saying, "Happy Birthday Peter," then the clock ticked midnight and everything went black.
I can happily say that I am now disciplined enough to sit and finish my drawings. 👏🏼 I also gave myself a little pat on the back earlier since I got some praise from @kommienezuspadt. His opinion is one I really value because he’ll never bullshit me. I’m also brutally honest when it comes to his work.
Here’s the start of the sketch with some painted shading. I wrote a post titled “textures and colors” earlier this evening. In it I briefly wrote about merging my old and new style together to create something entirely me.
I threw in a light raspberry wash. I really struggle with red tones in my art. It’s a difficult color for me.
I added more layers of colors on top of the sketch. Switching between the round brush and gouache tool for a slightly different texture. The highlights pop and that’s one thing I missed about sketching on toned paper.