TTM #3

Sometimes a back stabber only creates a minor wound. Other times, a back stabber will take a chunk of are back out and destroy your life.

A photo can tell a number of stories.

TTM #2

To me, a pencil is a piece of art itself.

TTM #1

People say art is being expressive, so why do they get all offended and discouraging when you draw nudes - or even sexual drawings?

It's still art isn't it?

Children's Art

Warning - This contains dark themes. Read at your own discretion


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“Two more children have gone missing from the Yuki San Hospital in Lowton” read the newspaper.

“Abigail and Felix Johnson go missing from the Lowton hospital, Yuki San.” Told Low News at 7.

I placed the paper in the cat little bin and turned the TV off and then I went off to work. I knew the kids that when missing. Each one. All twenty six. I made paintings for the Yuki San. The connection I made with the children made me so happy, they loved my art work and I loved them. Sometimes I wish I could see the missing children again, but they’re gone. The bodies were never seen again.

I got into my red Porsche and drove to the hospital. The drive seemed longer than usual. All I heard on the radio was about the children. Abigail, Felix, Phoebe, Brighton, Lesley, Brian, George, Henry, Opel, Liam, Hope, Destiny, Judith, Myles, Keith, Kerry, Madison, Faith, John, Samuel, Zoey, Quentin, Nathan, Pablo, Victor and Wes. Such poor, poor children. I like to think they have gone to a better place. It’s such a shame because these children were the ones who made me who I am, they made me a success. The staff at the hospital tell me how I’m helping the children, though, I believe that they help me.

When I got into the hospital, the nurses welcomed me and I smiled and waved at them. I walked to the children’s ward and greeted the children, they all ran to hug to me which would make me smile every time. “Mr Yama? What have you painted today?” One of the children said. I looked down to see little 6 year old May tugging on my shirt. She was the younger version of Rapunzel with her extremely long blonde hair. I lifted the drape from the painting to reveal a detailed cat on a crimson background. I heard wows and positive comments about the cat, the children preferred my paintings of animals more than anything else. I don’t blame them. So do I.

I started painting when my wife – when my ex-wife had our son. He was an ugly little blighter, like all new born babies. Well, that’s just my opinion. Didn’t mean I didn’t love him. Unfortunately my son was terminally ill. It broke my heart when I saw him draped in red, being taken away from us. My wife then divorced me and then started getting into trouble with the police. She kept running away from them, changed her name once or twice. Then came back to me, demanding money off me so she could get out of the country. The police soon caught up to her and she’s now in prison, leaving me again on my own. I went to Yuki San Hospital because they had tried all they could to make my little boy better, in thanking, I painted a picture of the sun set sky, the same one I saw when my baby was taken away. They payed me a generous amount and hung the painting in the children’s ward. I’m the famous painter from Lowton who paints for the sick children. The children loved me, and I loved them, like they were my own children.

Once all the children had seen my piece of art work, they all settled down and I read a story to them. They had thousands of books, so always made sure it was a book I hadn’t already read to them. “Good day, Mr Moon” I read out the title, the children looking at me with smiling faces. Most of the children sat all together, but I noticed in the corner of my eye that little May with her long Rapunzel-like blonde hair was sat on a chair, on her own, cuddling her favourite teddy that her mother had got her on the day she came to the hospital. I had already been told that she didn’t have long left in this world. Her condition was getting worse and worse by the day.

My wonderfully pleasant day was over and it was time to say good bye to the children. Lastly, I went over to little May and took her to her room so she could lay down in her bed. I asked her if she wanted to go to Disney land with me, having a spare ticket but no one to go with. Little May eagerly nodded her head and I smiled, telling her I would pick her up later that evening. But she had to keep it a secret, so she could tell everyone about it once she got back. She promised me she would and I gave her a kiss on the forehead and exited the room, telling her that I would return later that day.

Soon the time came and I got in my car, once again driving to Yuki San Hospital. It was fairly dark and not many people were around. Out of my glovebox, I pulled out two tickets to Disney Land and I made my way to the back of the hospital. Visiting hours were over, but I still liked surprising the children, they never told a soul that I would come back to read them a bed time story -  though this time, I didn’t have time to read a bed time story, there was a plane that awaited us. Hastily and quietly, I walked to the Children’s ward and to little May’s room, having not gotten caught. I knew the hospital layout very well, having gone there regularly to both be with my baby and to be with the children. Little May was sleeping in her bed so I gently shook her awake. She yawned at me and then smiled. We packed a little bag for her filled with clothes and teddies, soon exiting the child’s room and making our way down back to the parking lot. We got into the car and drove off to the airport.

We arrived at the airport and got ourselves ready to catch the plane. Luggage had been handed in, my handy work paid off since the fake ID I had created for May worked a treat and we were soon on bored and flying. A few hours had passed and we had reached our destination. My plan had worked out. May and I got a taxi a few miles away from the airport and we arrived at a residence. I paid the driver, sending him off with a thank you and then May spoke up. “Why are we here, Mr Yama?” The blonde little girl asked, looking at the moulded, rotten wooden cabin. I didn’t reply, why I was laughing too much inside. I pulled the girl inside and locked the door behind us. I grabbed a metal pole from the side of the door and whacked it across the helpless girl’s head. She fell over on the ground, writhing in pain. One more blow with the metal pole and the girl’s fragile skulled was smash to pieces, scattered all over the floor. From her body, I collected her blood, storing it in paint buckets.

Maybe I might paint a red sky, like I did with the blood of my baby boy.

The boy I see everyday

His bitterness, and wickedness, meanness, and cleanness. It all makes up for the fact that he is short. He is the shortest out of every one of his friends, though always acts like the alpha male. He reminds me of a lot of other people, Rin and Len, a pair of stubborn and smart twins from Vocaloid. Mr. sexy Ackerman, a short badass from Shingeki No Kyojin. He is a character who can be quite distant, but when around his friends, he can be the most fun guy to be around. One of the things of the things he hates most is telling other people how he's feeling, it can be obvious that he's down, by the way he look down having his auburn hair swooping over his left eye, hiding the brown coloured iris just beneath. He also doubts himself a lot, when he shouldn’t. Anyone in the world could tell him he’s good at something, he wouldn’t believe them. But it’s his way of tolerance over pass and failure.

Most of the time, he is wearing a shirt and shorts, and always has his glasses on, otherwise he can't see a damn thing. His white and black headphones are usually adjusted either on his head or around his neck, hooked into his phone, playing some various song - even if he's not listening. His voice is a lot different from other boys, it's more feminine, and he hates it, a lot. Much like his body. He loves the paleness, of his ghostly white skin, but hates the shape of his body, treating it like an undead enemy. If you look carefully down his left arm, you can see marks, scars, cuts that are no more. He’s not ashamed, nor is he proud of each marking, but to him, it represents his inner strength to fight the demons that surround him. There are words that you may think him as; a freak, ugly, childish, abnormal, strange, stupid, idiot, nerd. He just thinks himself as himself. He is very unique, in his own way, sometimes those can be good ways, sometimes not so much. He knows this, but chooses not to change himself since he did try to change himself that once and it almost broke him. Lots of people don’t understand him, not even I understand him as well as I could. I see him every day of my life and I do not know him as well as what people think I should. I watch over him and he watches over me, mostly when I’m combing my hair, I see him looking back at me in the mirror.

The Fire

Love

Hate 

Desire

Save

Yourself

From 

The

Unwanted

Fire