Welcome to my Mind

The Red Knight by Ami Thompson

Updated 12/1/21 

Updated 12/31/21

Updated 1/29/22

Updated 3/12/22

Updated 4/23/2022

Updated 5/10/2022

Updated 8/13/2022

Updated 9/4/2022

Two years later, it turns out grey rabbits are hard to see on the road, and white rabbits stand out to predators, so now we have a bazillion identical black rabbits roaming the streets like lost souls of the damned

It’s also a year of the water rabbit, sometimes called the Year of the Black Rabbit (because of the association with the color black with water).

Do you ever just close your eyes and let images flood your mind? I do, regularly even, but rarely does it have a story. I'd like to tell you this story. If there's a meaning behind it, I wouldn't know. All I know is I can't let go of the imagery. It lingers, like waking up to the smell of a lover long gone.

Once I closed my eyes I was face-to-face with a striking dragon. There was nothing around us, nothing between us, just the dragon and I. Light glided along his scales, creating a silvery glow on his black metallic body. He charged me, and I froze in fear. He stopped just in front of me, towering over me, before he lowered his head and nudged my sternum. A cold spark overtook my chest and spread further as he roared. He then took a couple paces back and began to lift himself. As he rose the ground beneath him began to shatter and fall into a blinding white light. The more he separated himself from the ground, the less ground there was, until he flew overhead and I was swallowed up completely.

When I opened my eyes the white faded into an overgrown courtyard. I seemed to be standing on the remains of a staircase, with crumbling pillars at either side. The remains of pillars and walls enclosed the courtyard in a Roman fashion, and at the center was a garden. Nothing much grew there. There were only a few patches of grass peeking between the aged stones and the old carcass of a twisted oak, all wrapped in a lustrous fog.

I'd never been in a place like this, but it was completely familiar. Dead but known, comfortable even. Like being confronted with the ghost of a loved one. It pulled on my memory, and left me wondering, empty, and at complete ease. Though there was no distinct memory, there were distinct feelings. As if the walls themselves held the impressions of the people they once sheltered. I traced the walls and pillars with my finger tips, drinking in the echo of children laughing and running, indulging in the potent love of timeless sweethearts, all the while keeping an eye on the tree. The tree held a sacred air about it, noble, and beautiful. It had great significance, though I do not remember what. I'm sure it remembers, but I could not bring myself to approach it. I felt it was better left unknown, so when I found myself looking up a stairway of moss I decided to follow it.

The stairs lead up to a path that wound down to a pond. The pond was sweet, quiet, and thriving in its isolation. Water trickled down the rocks, the small ripples causing the lily pads and fallen leaves to sway. The pond was alive with the melodies of a couple frogs and the dancing of the brightly colored fish below the foliage. It gave me such a sense of joy and fun. I spun around the water's edge and breathed it in before running down the path again. I passed through many of the forest's beautiful canopies before returning to the courtyard. I found another set of mossy stairs and with the same childish sense of fun and exploration I gained from the pond, I ran up them.

I was so concerned about my footing, trying not to slip in my haste, that I didn't notice the white wolf at the top till I came face-to-face with it. I froze, in awe of our close proximity. We looked into each other's eyes before the wolf darted into the woods. I waited, catching my breath, before proceeding down the path. I continued to hike it in caution, but the wolf did not return. I had thoroughly soaked in the serenity of the woods and marveled at the many ruins by the time I returned to the courtyard. I sat there, staring at the tree as questions bubbled up inside me. What was here? What's my connection to this place? How do I know it so intimately?

I decided to return to the pond, hoping the ambience would settle my mind. As I approached it, I drank it all in with a much calmer demeanor. Water has always given me such peace, I never wanted to be parted from it. This begged the question, what made them leave this all behind? Then, as if the air around me spoke, another question came.

Why did I leave?

As soon as I heard those words,

As soon as I thought them,

As soon as I felt them,

I fell to my knees, clutching my head. All I could see was tall cliffs in front of and behind me, and a rapidly approaching riverbed. The roar of the wind filled my ears as I realized what I was seeing. But why? Was it me? Or the connection that brought me? Was it on purpose? Did I jump? Or was it an accident?

Just before I was supposed to hit the water, my eyes cleared. I'd never left the pond, but I could still hear the wind roaring. Adrenaline filled my veins and I began to run from a fate long since fulfilled. I ran and ran along the path, until I abruptly came upon a road. Modern. Asphalt. There were no cars, but a couple buildings lined up and power lines on the other side of the road.

I looked around, trying to steady my racing heart, when I spotted the white wolf on the other side. She trotted across towards my side, giving me one final glance before dodging into the bush. Her final look gave me a sense of my time being over, but I was unsatisfied. I still didn't know where I was or what brought me there. There must've been something that I missed, something important.

Like… if you open a coffee shop and run it for a while and it makes you happy but then stuff gets too expensive and stressful and you want to do something else so you close it, it’s a “failed” business. If you write a book or two, then decide that you don’t actually want to keep doing that, you’re a “failed” writer. If you marry someone, and that marriage is good for a while, and then stops working and you get divorced, it’s a “failed” marriage.

The only acceptable “win condition” is “you keep doing that thing forever”. A friendship that lasts for a few years but then its time is done and you move on is considered less valuable or not a “real” friendship. A hobby that you do for a while and then are done with is a “phase” - or, alternatively, a “pity” that you don’t do that thing any more. A fandom is “dying” because people have had a lot of fun with it but are now moving on to other things.

"... “I’m taking action because I feel desperate,” said U.S. climate scientist Peter Kalmus, who along with several others locked himself to the front door of a JPMorgan Chase building in Los Angeles. A recent report found that the financial giant is the biggest private funder of oil and gas initiatives in the world.

MY

I’m putting together a book of all the short comics I’ve drawn over the past year to have for sale at my spring conventions! Not sure what the title will be yet, but the uniting themes of all the stories seem to be Girls and Magic.