Maybe it’s weird, but it’s like I felt somehow compelled to draw the
best children’s book ever. My tablet called out to me and the stylus
strokes, uncertain and wonky as they are given my limited drawing
skills, seemed to assemble into exactly the images I had in mind. Maybe
that’s how it goes for real artists, in which case… so jealous!
The lettering felt right, though my usual handwriting is so bad even I
can’t read it sometimes. It felt important that these captions should be
legible even to new readers. This is an important story that should be
shared.
The strangest thing just happened. I finished drawing the last page and
was reaching to the screen to… I dunno, stroke its surface or something,
when my cat jumped right onto the keyboard. She’s normally very well
behaved, no idea what drew her to the Forbidden Clicky Zone. Under her
not inconsiderable weight, the pressure of her paws on various keys not
meant to be pressed together made the application window flicker madly,
minimizing and maximizing jarringly. Once I grabbed her and provided the
attention she’d clearly craved, the last page was minimized and the
urge to touch the door had passed. The only thing left to do was
exporting all the images into .png and posting them.
my headcanon of s4 Jon: still elegant, but slightly more rumpled, even to the extent of rolling up sleeves. facial hair not as neatly kept anymore. locks in perfect condition though.
1 (one) postcard featuring a… space? with walls covered in spirals and 4 (four) doors visible on several walls. A mirror in an ornate frame hangs on one of the walls and a long-fingered figure with wild hair and a goatee seems to be leaning out of it. “PLEASE” is written in capital letters using a thick, dark brown liquid on the reverse of the postcard and several fingerprints are visible alongside it. The liquid never dries completely.
1 (one) postcard depicting a “coconut shy” booth with a red-and-yellow striped awning. A patron clad in loose clothing is throwing a ball at the targets as a wizened carny watches. There is a biohazard-red bucket in the booth. A sign with flashing red and yellow bulbs hangs on the front: “WIN BREAD”. The word “bread” is crossed out in thick black strokes. Vague outlines of human? figures and a rollercoaster are visible in the background. The postcard is captioned in large cursive letters in black and white: “Visit Brightlake!”. The reverse is completely blank.
This postcard depicts a gloomy interior terminating in a heavy reinforced wooden door with two barred windows. Fires seem to be burning beyond the windows and dark brown pools seep underneath the door, staining the wood. Four apparent humans and an entity are seated on a stone bench at the wall. The three closer to the foreground are sitting stiffly upright, faces frozen in expressions of terror or dismay. They seem to be wearing uniforms. The other two figures are dressed in civilian clothes, the apparent human pressed in the corner with hands over their ears and the entity speaking into a recorder.
The reverse is crusted with mud that smells faintly of rotting meat and gunpowder.
