Hello, I don’t want to say much about myself, as I am scared that they will know of this post once they manage to get to me. But what I can say is that I am a small artist. I don’t have much of a following, or provide famous work, though that’s not what I care about. I just simply love sharing what I have made. My main theme of my drawings is creatures. From animals to reptiles, marine life and even ones that don’t exist. Pushing boundaries to what I can draw, whether it’s something simple or complicated. I’ve never really liked drawing humans, or any other thing that is “human”. It just feels less exciting, and also the fact that humans can be tricky to draw, and not in a fun way, at least to me. All of that is besides the point though.
I had always wanted to bring my creations to life in one form or another, but couldn’t find a way how. And when I mean bringing them to life, I mean bringing them into this world physically, in the flesh so to speak. There are many species of creatures and monsters made by my hands that I wanted to become real, but could never have the confidence of hoping that it would actually work. Though, one day, I realized something.
I’ve always searched for an answer, but I’ve never thought of an answer.
And that’s what I did.
On that one day, I was at my desk with a big piece of paper, a pen in my hand, and paint to the side, all in the color of black. I often used the color black in my creations, not all the time but it’s a common color, and this moment was no exception. I stared at the drawing sheet for a moment, then closed my eyes and pictured what I had looked at in my head, and began to move my hand, my body and my closed eyes, as if they were still open.
I could feel what I was making, drawing my first creation in my vision, making sure that I didn’t mess up, and once I had finished the outline, I grabbed the brush dipped in a small jar of the paint and spread it inside of my drawing, making sure that it was perfect. That nothing, not a single bit was out of place. And when I finished, I opened my eyes, and although this might sound obvious, but to my surprise, my vision was spot on, and I had drawn my creature as perfectly as I had imagined it, as I had concentrated hard on.
If you were wondering what the creature looked like, it was a big specimen with pointed legs, a circle of fluff at the front of the body, the head bird-like with pointed “ear horns” on the top sides of said head, and a long leaf shaped tail that was angled down straight, not being able to bend. All black like a shadow and white, pupil-less, wide eyes on the sides of it’s face, much like any other animal that wasn’t born with eyes in the front. It was sort of moth-like, but not quite.
I had even given them a name, since a planned name was a good honor to bring something into the world. That name being Uncle Crosswater. It’s a strange name, I know, but I didn’t want to come up with anything basic like a human name or a pet name even.
Regardless though, I stared at the filled piece of paper, wondering if I did it right at all. I was about to sigh and leave when I saw small dark blots quickly forming into one big hole or pool of paint that covered almost the entire sheet, and within seconds, the formation rose up like some unseen force was possessing it with magic, and my creation, my first, ever focused creation, rose up and molded into a shape, then a body, head, and tail, the details coming soon after, like it was rendering it realistic texture. I quickly stood up and backed away, from shock and the fact that it was growing big.
And before I knew it, the drawing paper was clean, empty, like it was never touched at all.
And soon, it opened its eyes.
Its blank, white voided eyes.
It looked up to me, as if it was confused. I just stared and stood for a good while, absolutely shocked at what had just happened. My creation has just been born. It, no, he was born, fresh from my hands with paint and ink. Obviously I thought of a gender, his name did have the word “uncle” in it after all. But in a matter of seconds, I was in tears, happy tears, covering my mouth that had a big smile under it as I spoke while muffled:
“I did it. You’re real! You’re really real!”
I couldn’t resist uncovering my mouth and giving him a hug, sobbing at the fact that I had finally done it. There was no response yet, at least for a few seconds, then I felt a hug back, which made me stop for a moment. To describe what it felt like, it was cold, a bit wet, but soft like fur. Just like how I imagined him.
For a while, I was happy with my goal. He didn’t talk, but I taught him the best that I can, and he seemed to learn very quickly. He was like a best friend, the uncle I never had, if you so wish to call it. I enjoyed my time with him so much.
But then I wanted to make more.
Add more to my life and show that I made them with my heart and soul poured into every bit of their birth.
And that would be the biggest mistake that I would ever make.
As time went on, I began making more creatures, using the same technique that had worked every single time, never failing me even once. There were ones with simple traits, and ones that had complex geometry. Big and small, tall and short, all black shadows with white eyes in their bodies that blinked every now and then, not changing much expression, but I felt that they were happy to be born alive and real. I can’t remember much of what they look like now, not the names I gave them, not the voices they had, and not even their pronouns. I only remember the first one, Uncle Crosswater.
I can’t remember how many I’ve made, but I feel like I’ve made ten of them. And one could only do so much on their own without getting stressed.
Now, the obvious thing is that they don’t really need to eat, or sleep, since they were born from my drawings, but many of them wanted the love and support that I spoil them with everyday, and soon, I went from wanting to spend time with my creatures to wanting to erase them, or a least put them back onto their own papers and I could keep them in a binder or put them in a portrait to hang in my room so that I could make sure that they would never tear, have any mess on them, get wrinkled, and whatever else. They are my creations after all.
So I soon began being on my phone and computer more than usual, talking to friends, watching something, playing games and so on forth. I started drawing, but not on that big piece of paper that all of my creations were born from. Now I drew in notebooks or my phone, sharing my pieces with others, never telling them about what I had let into my house.
Of course, the entities that I had whisked took notice of my lack of affection towards them.
Every now and then, one of them would catch me drawing something on my desk, but with the big paper aside and instead in one of my notebooks. It was always in that scenario. I’m not sure why, though it’s probably too easy to guess, but regardless, they’d always ask the same question like they all were the same mind. And I would always give my replies like I had practiced them for a movie, even though they were genuine. It would go something like this:
“What are you doing?” one that has stumbled in my room asked.
I stop what I was doing and turn to look at them.
“Oh uh, I was drawing something.” I’d answer, trying not to word it in a way that would come off as rude.
“You were drawing?” They’d ask, and continue, “Are you trying to replace us?”
“Of course not!” I’d reassure them, “I’m just something for fun. I have no plans of replacing all of you, you all are my special creations and I wouldn’t wish to replace you with a single drawing.”
They’d stare for a while, and then reply with “Well, if you say so.” before heading off, and then I would continues and finish drawing.
It was a little bit annoying, sure, but I can’t really blame them. It wasn’t really too bad and it didn’t happen a lot, maybe about once a week or so.
Then the moment became more frequent, and it got worse.
When they saw me on my phone or on my computer, and noticed that I had posted some art (also something that happened at that moment every time), they’d come up, and just like with the notebook, it would be the same interaction that plays out like this:
“Is that your art?” a looker would ask.
“Yup.” I would say, “I just posted it.”
Their tone suddenly becomes irritated, and speak “But why is it not one of us? Are you trying to discard us? Are we not worthy of sharing with others to you!?”
“That’s not it at all!” I’d say, again trying to reassure them, “You don’t need to be known to others to prove your worth. I love you all with all my heart, and if I were to tell anybody about you all, they wouldn’t believe me, and maybe mock me, and an artist mocked for bring their creations to life would hurt them and what they have made with their hands with care.”
They’d huff, and simply say “Sure…” before leaving me be.
I am aware that it isn’t the best response to give, but I couldn’t think of a better thing to say. And I was certainly not gonna tell them about putting them back into paper, I would always have the feeling that they would be unhappy with me, even if I pleaded with them.
And they were right.
As a quick note though, Uncle Crosswater never had these insecure moments and was pretty understanding, probably because he was the first, and often saw my stress and would try to comfort me, even if he didn’t say anything to calm me down. I suppose that having somebody by your side is good enough to calm one down.
Not for long though.
On this night, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I called everyone into the living room to tell what was looming over me for a very long time.
“So, I’m sure you are confused as to why I have called this meeting, since I have never done that before until now.” I begin, “And…well…I wanted to talk about creating all of you.”
Some tilt their head while I keep going.
“As you can probably guess, I have made ten of you, and I really do love every one of you, I will always love you all. But…”
A sigh.
“Ten is just too much. And before you all say anything, hear me out.”
A deep breath.
“I had been thinking for a while to bring you all back into paper, your own papers that were just like or similar to the one that I drew you all on, and my thought was to either put those papers that each of you were on into a portfolio, or pull them in a portrait to hang on my walls. I want to make sure that none of the paper that you reside in get ripped, dirty, wrinkled, or anything else. There’s nothing that would make me devastated more than my creatures being ruined by something like either of those. But, I don’t know how to bring you all back into paper, and I want to make sure that I don’t mess up, or else something would go wrong.”
At that point, I hung my head down, ready to cry.
“You must understand, I cherish all of you, but you don’t deserve all of the questions of doubt in your minds, your worries, your suspicions, me creating you all in such a cramped place and starting to get less attention from me. It wasn’t fair, and you all don’t deserve a life of unhappiness just because of my impulse, not considering what will happen in the long run. Again, I love you all like children, but it isn’t right to bring you into the world just to feel envy…”
When I finished what I had to say, I looked back up. There was silence. No word, not a single one. Just eyes staring at me with judgement as I then locked my eyes onto the one who started it all.
Uncle Crosswater.
And then, there were words. Lots of words. Words filled with hatred from the rest, asking abandonment questions, calling me names, telling me to do harm to myself in one form or another. Crosswater didn’t say anything himself, only staring at me, before what felt like hours in a few minutes of harassment from my specimens spoke with a loud voice:
“Stop.”
All was quiet, while he spoke again.
“We understand that you have poured your heart and soul into our outlined flesh, and that you only wish to keep us safe. However, you should have thought about your actions, what you decided to go through without considering the consequences, and that is unacceptable.”
My eyes widened with shock. He had never been this strict, this hatred bubbling in his tone until now, and it felt like somebody had stabbed a knife in my chest. Then, out of nowhere, he pointed out:
“And despite what you have said, you have a clear favorite out of all of the rest.”
My heart sank. The others look at him, then look at me, and immediately knew what he meant. How did he know!? Just because I love what I make doesn’t mean I don’t have a few favorites right? But he continues, as if he knew what I was thinking.
“I was the first one that was created. We are more linked to each other, and since I was created by you, I know what you are thinking, and you’ve allowed yourself to let look deep into your thoughts without even realizing it. Therefore, you only plan for one of us to still be in the physical world, while the rest are locked into the sheets made by trees.”
At this point, I heard a couple of growls from the other creatures, the void white eye bulging with wrath. There was no way that I could explain myself. And before I could even try, everyone lunged at me, even Crosswater himself.
I was clawed, bitten, kicked, punched, and I somehow managed to wiggle myself out and dash into my room, locking the door and pushing my dresser against it so that it would be more harder to get in. They were no longer my creations, my beautiful creations, my creatures. No, they were monsters. They had all grown feral, all emotion and soul disappeared in a heartbeat. Even with my beloved Crosswater. He, no, it was no longer like the uncle I never had. He was like the uncle that never loved me.
I looked at my injuries and saw that there was no blood, but a thick blob-like ooze of a black liquid. I only guess that it could maybe be ink or paint, given how my abominations were made. At this point, I grabbed my phone and texted to a close friend of mine that lives near my neighborhood to come to my house immediately and to have the cops come with her. I didn’t tell her about my things trying to murder me, but instead saying that a burglar broke into my house, and I spotted a gun and was scared for my life that was going to get shoot, and that I am hiding in my room. She understood and said that she will be there as soon as possible with the police, and at that point, I turned off my phone and dropped it, crying hard.
I would rather be shot by somebody breaking into my house than be mauled alive by the monsters that I have made with my own bare hands, and I want to rip the drawing paper on my desk and throw out the very pen and paint that I had used to create them, but I feel too weak to do so. I am losing a lot of blood that I am guessing is in whatever black substance they have left, my skin is getting pale, and I feel like my insides are being dried up. I don’t know when my friend and the cops will be here, and I don’t even know if I will make it before God knows what happens to me.
I am typing all of this from my phone after turning it on so that I can at least say all of this before I die or something. I’m going to uninstall the app too just to be extra safe so that they don’t come up with something worse. Even if you don’t believe me, I’m scared for my life and I have no idea how my friend and the cops would react to seeing my mistakes of a collection of creatures in my house instead of an intruder, and if they could even live or kill any of them.
I can hear the door ready to be torn into splinters from the scratching and kicking. I hope they come soon…