What up homies? I have decided to embark on a new adventure. I found a tonne of copyright-free assets and some are just straight-up wild and I want to use them. So I decided I am going to take these assets and write stories based on them and if you want, you can do the same. The titles of these stories will just be random things that rhyme because I have a problem with chaos and order and automatically rebel against it. I want to get better at storytelling and be warned the first few may not hit the mark but we are going to work through the rust together. I will balance this with essays and art and photos and all things. Let’s get insane. Okay. Now that is done. Let us get on with it. This is part one of the picture below:

Lacy feared the dark. More accurately she feared what the dark bred. In people, in places, in the mind and the soul and too often the heart. She grew up in a small village that felt winter first. Felt the cold before the rest of the country did. Plunged itself into the night early. Her village was a big sleeper. But it was a communal town. They lit fires in the street, sang and danced their way to the sun season, playing music and existing together as one. By the time she was twelve, she had no idea who was blood and who wasn’t. In the summer there was a BBQ most weekends and it was strange to most why they even bothered with fences, curtains, locks on doors or any form of privacy. Lacy, like most of the village folk, loved art in all its forms. She was known for being able to play most instruments with little practice but found little passion within them. In the words and the strokes of paint was where her heart had always been. School for Lacy was smoother than it was for most because that is another advantage of being in a small village where everybody is made to be everybody’s friend. Hatred was encouraged out and went willingly instead of having to be forced. Then suddenly, in what felt like a blink of an eye, she was heading away from her comforts and her familiar and delving headfirst into city life. An independent life where everybody had their own swords and fought their own battles and where power was given too much power. Too quickly Lacy went from warm, fire-lit streets to dim alleyways that hummed lullabies that home had warned her about. But it was in this city she became something but the cost was much greater than she’d ever imagined….

To be continued….

Also, also, also! I am digging classical music a lot lately but let’s be honest, they have the worst album covers in the world. Here’s a perfect example: