Me TooI see a kid on the subway. Gotta be somewhere around three or four by his looks and demeanor. He's just kneeling on the seat watching the speed of this thing, practically fascinated over something seemingly mundane. He hasn't a care in the world except he's along for the ride. He's happy. He smiles and laughs and babbles disjointed sentences to himself.Me Too by Walking-Maelstrom
The train stops. I no longer see the kid. It's like he never existed at all...vanished outta thin air.
People board. Chatter breaks out but when I look up faces aren't moving. The faces themselves are blobs, white and amorphous blobs that look more like gobs of white paint on a canvas. I stare out the window as the chatter continues wondering what made that kid so giddy.
Ad signs change. One or two-word slogans.
I close my eyes. I was tired anyway.
Chatter picking up agai
Commissions Information and FAQs
What do I offer?
Portraiture, scenes, character concept art for different purposes. Personal use and commercial use.
Themes I work with: surreal, science fiction, dark fantasy and horror. Tasteful nudity, no erotica.
The prices may vary depending on the complexity of the image (full rendered background or plain background; style: realism or sketchy speed painting), and depending on the intended use of the piece (whether personal use or commercial use). I'll properly inform you the total price, before we start working together, and after I had read the description of your project. My price range is typically between $150 and $400 for non commercial finished projects. Higher for commercial projects. For exact pricing information please contact me with the information of the project.
Read my Terms of Service
How Heavy This Axe: pt1How Heavy This Axe Part 1 a tale of Aiers
A cold north wind cut across Oskar’s face turning his breath to a chill white vapor. Watching it twist and eddy, he turned his narrowed green eyes to the west and pulled his furs closer.
“It will be a frigid one tonight,” he said aloud to himself. He had once heard that talking to one’s self was a sign of madness, a sign that he had been gone too long into the barrens and mountains, but he did not feel mad, only that his ears had been empty of words and needed filling. “A bad year,” he continued, rising from his perch on the dark rock overlooking the mosswood. It had been a bad year, the winter had been the worst in living memory, spring had been a stillborn thing leading into a cool fruitless summer, now autu