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A quick visual ditty accompanying a quick literary ditty...as follows:
A grimy, sodden figure watched a group of homeless entering to huddle around the glory he was extending to them. They weren’t much, less than what he had before…in the beginning. Pathetic finds, really. He watched from the old foreman’s quarters on the second floor of the abandoned refinery. It was pitch and dust, black, broken windows, leaky roof. The bemired panes reflected dimly, the life-saving fire that spluttered and flashed from the metal barrel in the center of the barren work-floor below. Tatsu was there among them, tossing what dry wood he could scavenge into the glowing container and sending sparks swirling into the heated air. It turned out that wood was plentiful here if only one sifted through the layer of filth that blanketed the floor. Saki wiped his grimy face with an equally dirty hand, scraping the melted freezing rain from his taut skin and eyes, shaking the excess onto the floor. They had both only just come in from the terrible elements, the untimely nor'easter that flung a mixture of freezing rain, snow and brutal winds at the coastal city and its hapless inhabitants. Together they had scraped up a half a dozen freezing street dwellers. He would hence offer warmth and eventually food. From there, he hoped the situation would improve significantly. Saki sneered at nothing as his unfortunate circumstances haunted his conscious again as it tended to do every ten to fifteen minutes or so. It caused his whole body to tense into an unpleasant twitching shrug. Unseated again. GAH! It was bad enough when he realized he wasn't being sent to build the Foot but instead being flung unceremoniously as far from the Foot as possible, half-way across the globe in fact. Now that he exceeded the betrayal of expectations, he was thrown yet again. WHY?! Had he not proven himself? Why was success so threatening? Certainly they feared his vengeance that he did not possess, his power frightening his superiors into believing he was out for revenge. Well, perhaps he should... Shortly thereafter, the subordinate joined his master in the upper quarters and stood well behind, just inside the empty door frame where an empty hinge hung limp. Nearby, a battered door rested neatly against the wall, as if it had been tenderly pulled from the floor, brushed off after so many years of collecting dust and paint chips, with the intention of someday replacing it in its frame. The man, like the door, had clearly seen better days; faded bruises and mean scars from cauterized wounds covered his all too serious face. He needlessly grunted his arrival. Saki did not turn to greet him, back in his company after stoking their fire and leading the homeless to it. “It is… not enough.” He stated simply, returning to the present and in effect condemning his man to search for more in the storm. Neither of them enjoyed the task but had agreed it was time. This weather was prime for trappings. Desperate homeless, especially the young, new run-aways and rebels were easy targets when the weather turns deadly. Saki knows this well. He shivered, himself, under the weight of the damp dogi he wore, the undergarments from the armor of that night. As he pulled several strands of wet hair from his cheek with icy fingers half-covered, the sleeve reaching to his knuckles, Saki turned to Tatsu. “Go!” He snapped, as if Tatsu had overstayed his welcome. The man bowed hesitantly and quickly disappeared into the blackness to search for more misfortunate souls to “save”. Saki returned to the broken glass window, drew closer and wrung his bony white fingers, his breath visible in the cold damp air. He would be forced to join them, if only to steal a bit of fire for his quarters to dry. Broken window from  The rest is original digital painting in Photoshop7 Oroku Saki and Tatsu are likely legal property of Mirage et al. |
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#Into-the-SewersA TMNT art archive! Details
January 6
342 KB 342 KB 830×525 StatisticsCamera Data
FUJIFILM
FinePix2800ZOOM 1/147 second F/2.8 17 mm 100 May 1, 2003, 3:56:22 PM Share |
Community News9355 The Road to 100 Million Deviations!$Heidi
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 reports, 8h 35m agoDarksiders: Your Last Days Contest - Create a piece of artwork in any visual medium depicting a creative and personal interpretation of the last days of Earth during an ‘apocalypse’ and earn a chance to win amazing prizes! 70 Daily Literature Deviations - December 28, 2009=DailyLitDeviations
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Sometimes the truth is strainger then fiction
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Sorry about my bad spelling ><
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Icon base is by *Kiss-the-Iconist <3
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"Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world. The writer's job is to use the tools in [their] toolbox to get as much of each one out of the ground intact as possible." ~Stephen King, On Writing
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My brother`s page: [link] ^^
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