#monthly exercise

In Feb I drew a little guy every day to practice shape & shading. Things got pretty weird in the middle? It’s fun to see them all together

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Write a poem, prose, essay, or story on how you feel about storms. You can apply any meaning to "storm".

Write a poem, prose, essay, or story about your first, favorite, or most memorable animal.

Movement

Meaningless Color Bashing...Pick a color you dislike, and in a story, poem, prose or letter form bash it. Tell it why you hate it so. Write an anti-love poem to it. Write some hate-mail addressed to it. Tell it how you really feel! ;-)

Lake

  Suddenly the room begins to shake beneath my feet. They seem glued to the floor now and I can’t move from my stance. I can’t feel my toes anymore and I see myself sinking into the ice as it melts around me. I look for the source of the noise and my eyes dart across the room until I spot my father right in front of me. I can see every feature of my fathers face. His brow burrows as he screams as if trying to break down the walls with his words. His eyes burn into me and I can see them going right through me and out the other side of my back. His arms are flailing in wild motions around his body. I can hear every word he says. I hear them come at me in the form of icicles dropping from the ceiling. I cannot avoid them because I am trapped where I stand in this chamber. The first one that falls nearly misses me but slices through my forearm on the way down. The blood cannot turn red. It comes out of my body in its most crude form and as the deep blue liquid trails down in between my fingers the icicles fall with more weight and accuracy. The next one impales my shoulder and I cannot bear to look at my arm to see if it still hangs by my side. The next falls between my legs and gauges marks that look like claw marks down my inner thighs. At this point I am thankful for the cold because it must be numbing my pain. I can barely feel anything anymore. I can’t see my warm breath as it enters the room. Even the walls have stopped to watch my pain. I can no longer look up for fear of watching them as they come down. Several smaller shards make their way down my back as if slicing through butter. The pain goes unnoticed. I raise my head to look at my parents. They are angrier than ever. My father looks as though he might burst of rage. He never raises a hand but his words continue to make this roof of ice collapse on top of me. I focus my eyes on his. I look into them with terror and desperation. I open my mouth to yell to him but nothing comes out. My tongue is dry and I can’t seem to formulate words let alone sentences. As a tear drips out of the corner of my eye it barely rolls down my cheekbone before freezing solid to my face. I raise my head in the hopes of seeing a bit of the blue sky. I look above my father to through the hole in the center and I see no sky. I see nothing. I feel nothing. I hear nothing. I am nothing.