Posts Tagged lions

[scrap] Piñata.

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The crowds cleared, and I stood, immobile, in the dawn light.

It was getting hard to think.  Like a wave of sleepiness the thought came over me that thinking wasn’t what I was made for.

It felt like it would be so easy to enter that sleep, just let go and be what I was made for…

What am I made for?

—That’s not important. You don’t need to worry about it.  That’s not what you’re made for.

I don’t need to worry about it.

—You don’t need to think about it.  Just be, don’t think.

I don’t need to—

—Just be. Don’t think.

Don’t th—

—Just be.

I am.

And it was quiet in my head.

A wolf came around the corner and stopped to look at me.  He looked, for a moment, like he recognized me—and then he picked me up and took me inside the building I’d been outside of.

A couple of minutes later, I’d been purchased.

The wolf took me upstairs and sat me down in an office breakroom, showing me off to everyone.

And then I was hung from the ceiling, a blindfolded lion below me, swinging a bat.

—You can think about this.

—This is what you were made for.

I was nervous.

I was excited.

The lion swung the bat and missed me.

I was excited.

I was nervous.

The lion swung again and hit me.

I was afraid.

The lion swung again and missed me.

I was afraid.

The lion swung again, and the force of his swing broke me apart.

[partim] Piñata.

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My body hit the wall with a hollow thunk.  The wind roared harder; I felt myself being pushed back farther, even though I’m sure I wasn’t moving anymore.  I couldn’t even shut my eyes to keep the wind out of them as the sun started coming up over the west side of town.

That didn’t seem right at all.  I haven’t been out here all night already, have I?

That didn’t seem right either.

And then I saw a car driving down the street backwards.  And then more.

And then crowds of people, all moving in reverse.

I felt like I should be scared.

I mean, I was—but the fear itself was a bit hollow, without my body pumping the chemicals in.  I knew I was scared, but I didn’t feel it.

[WIP] December 10, 2494.

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Did some more work on this. Realized Isaac’s position was entirely untenable, so adjusted it a bit. (He was half leaning on his side, but now he’ll be prone.) Also redrew his face some—I never could get the hang of drawing long muzzles.

[partim] Piñata.

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The coughing shook me harder and I kept spitting up confetti for about four or five minutes before I ran dry.

The fit stopped shortly after, and I sank to hands and knees, exhausted.

I didn’t want to move.

I knew I had to.

And then, suddenly, I couldn’t.

The stiffness I thought was cold had permeated me, and now my joints wouldn’t respond.

A breeze picked up and I felt—or rather, I heard it rustle through my fur.

That’s not right.

I heard my hide flapping as the wind went past.

The wind started pushing me back. It wasn’t blowing that hard, was it?

My arms and legs scraped across the ground as I drifted across the sidewalk.

December 10, 2494.

An idea I had kicking around in my head for a while that I finally started work on at Sketch Night on Saturday. The plan is Isaac, Maxim, Huck, Modi, and Magni all around a campfire outside Dunamy Town on Huck and Maxim’s 18th birthday (old calendar).

Not too happy with the execution yet, though. I’m not sure the sketch conveys the general outline I was looking for, and I don’t like what’s up with Isaac’s head here.

1st draft [partim] — Piñata.

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I had no idea it was supposed to be this cold out tonight—I didn’t have anything warm on at all. It was a mercy that there was no wind, at least.

Only a few steps from the door my whole body was numb and stiff with cold.

There was no way I’d make it home like this. I made it as far as the corner… I had a kind of idea it’d be easier to catch a taxi.

I didn’t get as far as trying to flag one down, though, before I was overcome with a massive coughing fit.

It didn’t start out that bad—just a tickle at the throat—but very quickly it got to the point where I felt I was going to be sick just from the force of it.

And then it felt like I was retching for real, and then I coughed up—a spray of confetti, glittering in the night air.

What the hell?

1st draft [partim] РPi̱ata.

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I stayed working late, as usual, trying to get the week’s screw-ups sorted out for payroll.

The pile of confetti at my desk got deeper, hour by hour—I didn’t think I’d had so much fall into my mane… But it was a lot of hair, and I was always finding random stuff in it. This just would happen on the day I leave my brush at home.

It was already dark outside. I squinted at my monitor—it took a couple of seconds before my eyes focused on the numbers. “Um… definitely time to go home and sleep,” I said. I clocked out, logged out, and swept the pile of confetti from my desk into the trash bin, which gave me an all-too-clear experience of how stiff from typing my fingers were. Dang, I thought. I’m really going to have to quit doing these late nights. I gave my head one last shake over the wastebasket—at least a dozen scraps of orange and yellow paper fell out of my mane. Dammit, Stevens, I thought, as I stepped out the front door.

It was frickin’ cold outside.


Previous | First

I took a seat by the TV. Emma the front desk girl brought me a piece of the cake, but I wasn’t really hungry. Nobody showed any further interest in me, as usual. The party wasn’t really anything special for me; they brought in cake every week at the slightest provocation and donuts if nobody could think of anything to put on a cake.

Still, it was my birthday and I probably wouldn’t be getting anything but Stevens’ dud piñata. I spat confetti out of my teeth, and tried to remember this morning’s Motivational Life Coach e-mail. “Being interesting is an action,” it’d said, “So go out and do it.” I spent some time trying to think how that could be motivational, pondered for a while whether it really meant anything at all, and had just about sunk into a rather despairing collection of thoughts about how the world had reduced me to the point where an e-mail forward was my biggest impetus in life when I realized it was time to get back to work.

The empty piñata head was sitting on my desk when I got back; it watched me blankly as I worked on the SWAT report and continued trying to get all the confetti out of my mane.

1st draft [partim] РPi̱ata

First/previous part

Since it was my special day, I got first swing at it.

They cleared out some space in the break room to set everything up and soon the whole office was crowded round as Stevens tied a blindfold on me.

“Watch the mane,” I said. “I don’t need more tangles.”

The wolf snorted and put the bat in my paws. “You’re cool,” he said, spinning me around several times. “Go for it, old man!”

I heard the office girls cheering as I started swinging upwards. Whiffed it. Tried again, still no luck.

Stevens started making fun. I ignored him.

I swung again, and connected—but the piñata didn’t break. I swung again at the same spot, and nearly fell over as I missed altogether—darn thing must have still been swinging.

I waited a second and gave it another go, and this time broke it open with a good solid whack.

I was doused in a shower of… confetti?

I took off the blindfold. Definitely confetti.

Stevens scoffed. “No candy? What a gyp. I paid fifty bucks for that.”

The crowd dispersed to get their sugar rush elsewhere—mostly flocking to the cake in the corner—and I tried to shake the stray bits of paper out of my fur.

1st draft [partim] РPi̱ata

You get three guesses to tell where this story’s going to go, and the first two don’t count.

It all started with a shower of confetti.

Stevens had brought a piñata to the office for my birthday party. It was enormous, almost as big as he was, and a lion, just like me.

“Saw this in a window of that party place on the corner and thought of you,” he said. “He looks just like you, don’t he? Happy birthday, lion.”

I looked it over, and it kinda did, in an exaggerated way: it didn’t look like me so much as it looked like a piñata modelled after me would look like. It was firm papier-mâché—or whatever it is they make piñatas out of these days—with ruffled paper in tawny gold all over its body in place of fur, and long orange paper streamers for its mane. “Thanks, wuff,” I said. “It’s great. Let’s hang ’im up and have a couple swings at him, eh?”