cool story bro
(If anyone wants the proper status update, it's here.)
Once upon a time, there was an artist.
He wasn't a famous artist, or even successful. Some people claimed to enjoy his work, but there was no chance he would be remembered past his own generation. That didn't much matter, as he was content doing something he loved, and was on his way to being truly happy.
Then, one day, vandals came and ruined his art, his canvases, and his tools. He lost it all.
"A minor problem," he said to himself after his temper had subsided. "I can start anew. After all, the creation is the part I enjoy the most."
He continued for a time... and then a tragic fire took his studio, as well as the use of his hands, which had been mangled beyond repair as he tried to escape with his life.
He was visibly shaken, and admitted to a clinic by those who loved him. Eventually, he started to recover. "After all, I have people who love me dearly; they provide me inspiration." He continued to work, improvising to make up for his shortcomings. All was well for a brief time.
Soon, however, came the debtors. Unable to pay, they took instead his tongue and one leg. Those who tried to help were pushed away... but not before they, too, had their money taken.
Knowing that those that cared for him loved to see his smile, he could not give in to despair, no matter how much he desired to. He could hardly speak, however, and watched as more and more of his friends became unable to cope with the bleakness of his situation. He could communicate, out of sheer desperation, but it was incredibly painful and simply made the losses more obvious to all.
One day, the man stared in the mirror and thought, "I apologize for the sins of all of the world, as I have clearly been sentenced to Hell."
The mirror gave no reply.
Crossposted from Dreamwidth. Original at http://swordianmaster.dreamwidth.org/89363.html
Once upon a time, there was an artist.
He wasn't a famous artist, or even successful. Some people claimed to enjoy his work, but there was no chance he would be remembered past his own generation. That didn't much matter, as he was content doing something he loved, and was on his way to being truly happy.
Then, one day, vandals came and ruined his art, his canvases, and his tools. He lost it all.
"A minor problem," he said to himself after his temper had subsided. "I can start anew. After all, the creation is the part I enjoy the most."
He continued for a time... and then a tragic fire took his studio, as well as the use of his hands, which had been mangled beyond repair as he tried to escape with his life.
He was visibly shaken, and admitted to a clinic by those who loved him. Eventually, he started to recover. "After all, I have people who love me dearly; they provide me inspiration." He continued to work, improvising to make up for his shortcomings. All was well for a brief time.
Soon, however, came the debtors. Unable to pay, they took instead his tongue and one leg. Those who tried to help were pushed away... but not before they, too, had their money taken.
Knowing that those that cared for him loved to see his smile, he could not give in to despair, no matter how much he desired to. He could hardly speak, however, and watched as more and more of his friends became unable to cope with the bleakness of his situation. He could communicate, out of sheer desperation, but it was incredibly painful and simply made the losses more obvious to all.
One day, the man stared in the mirror and thought, "I apologize for the sins of all of the world, as I have clearly been sentenced to Hell."
The mirror gave no reply.
Crossposted from Dreamwidth. Original at http://swordianmaster.dreamwidth.org/89363.html