My pencil sits, poised, ready, just\nabove the page. I let it hover there for a moment, pondering my\nsubject. Slowly I build up the courage to mark the virgin paper. Its\nquick, but there it is, I’ve started. It looks lonely, so I don’t\nallow it to linger there for long without companions. Swiftly the\nindividual strokes form a circle. Its not perfect, but I don’t care,\nthat’s not what matters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Wit a few more strokes, the circle is a\nface, tiny on the page. I toy with the face in my mind, hundreds of\npermutations rushing through my head until out of the blackness of my\nsubconscious a decision surfaces. Yes, this would be good. Within\nseconds my pencil makes its way down the paper. Behind it, the\ngraphite nib leaves a curved slender frame. It’s still so very small,\nbut it’s got some identity. It’s no longer an it. It’s a ‘her’.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I decide to take a back seat, and let\nher develop herself. It would be slow, but… Here she comes… I jot\ndown a few more long lines, her hair now comes down to her waist. She\nhas a pair of large open eyes. I think you’re going to need them,\nyou’ve got a whole world to see. From her face, a nose emerges, small\nbut definitely there. I draw another line, and she’s scowling at me. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This won’t do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I flip the pencil over and wipe the\ngrimace from her face, and give her a grin as compensation. That’s\nbetter. If you’re going to survive you need to be able to smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her body however is looking rather\nneglected. Lets see. Who are you going to be? A warrior? No, no-one\nstarts as a warrior, you wouldn’t have a reason to fight. Besides,\nyour too young. How about something smart? A pair of nice trousers\nand a blouse. I sketch it in with lightning speed, just lightly, she\nmight not like it. No? No, its too formal. Hmm. How about jeans and a\ntee shirt? With a quick show of pencil acrobatics, the trousers are\njeans, and the blouse a tee shirt with a slogan across it, ‘ph3ar th3\ncut3 on3s’. OK, I stole that, so I can’t use it. Besides that hair,\nthe lovely flowing river of light pencil cries for better use. I up\nend my pencil yet again and once more she is but face and skeleton.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Fine then. What do you want to wear,\nI’m obviously not good enough to decide for you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Simplicity is beauty, so here we go. It\nonly takes a few strokes, ans she’s wearing a simple dress. As per\nher want, the hem sits at her shins, the shimmering material wavering\nin the native wind of my paper. It only has short sleeves, but she’s\nwarm enough. I flesh out her skeleton, the pencil dancing to its own\nbeat. Before me her arms, hands, legs and feet all form themselves in\nthe flurry of scratching. There she is. But you don’t have a name.\nYou need a name hun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I try to think of something, but I am\npre-empted. She grabs hold of the pencil and throws it across the\npage. By the time she’s done the word ‘Hope’ is spelt out in neatly\nswirling letters. Okay. So you’re Hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But hope needs somewhere to live now. A\nhome. I try to draw a forest, but before I’m finished it’s a cliff.\nHigh on its top, I allow my pencil to jot down a small house. It\ndoesn’t seem fitting for someone as important as Hope, but then, you\ncould find her in the most surprising places. She agrees though, this\nis her home. But there’s something missing. In this world you have to\nbe colour blind. I place the pencil down and heft my flesh marker\ninto place. I daub her face, as if taking a cloth to it, revealing\nthe real Hope underneath. My Grampa had done it so many times to me,\nhe called it a ‘Grampa surprise’, so I suppose this is a ‘Fish\nSurprise’. That sounds like a bit of food though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No I don’t think I should hide from\nHope behind a nickname. Hi Hope, I’m Andrew, and this is an Andrew\nsurprise. She smiles back at me, but that quickly fades as she sees\nthat she is now the only thing in the world with colour. I draw my\nyellow marker and pull it down her hair like a brush, bringing it to\nlife. I switch to a sky blue and dye her dress. Finally I take up the\ngrey marker and fill in those big eyes. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But you’re right. Its sad just to have\nyou filled in. lets do your house. I switch back to my flesh marker\nand wash over the roof of the small cottage. Hope is watching,\ncurious. I click the lid back on, but don’t bother putting it back. I\nfetch my red marker and draw it across the top, just lightly mind,\nbuilding up the colour to a bright terracotta. The house has been\nfaced, so its a kind of white, but in the dark corners its showing\nits age, so I switch again to my yellow marker and pull it lightly\nthrough shadowed surfaces of the walls, giving it some age. I grab my\ngreen marker and over paint down one corner of the house, across its\nfront, then up and over the door frame. Quickly before it dries I dab\nthe ivy so it stands out against the white wall. Suddenly I notice\nthat Hope is looking ponderously at the door. So she’s taking an\ninterest. That’s good. I switch to a brown marker and go to pen in on\nthe door, but she shoves the nib away. Not brown? What then? She\nseems to like the ivy. I take out my black marker, but there is\nresistance as I try to put it to page. Trust me, I know what I’m\ndoing. I barely allow the marker to touch the paper, even then I\nstill don’t cover the whole thing. I allow it to dry then bring back\nthe green pen and go over the whole door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
See? A nice deep green. In a heartbeat\nshe dives into her home, out of sight. While she’s taking a look\naround, what about a garden? It would have to be a decent size. I\nswitch back to my pencil and draw a line a little ways out from the\nhouse. I don’t like it. It would make the garden too small. I leave\nthat line where it is and draw another double the distance away. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Swiftly I erect a picket fence around\nthe house and begin to fill it with herbs and flowers. Some heather\nhere, a cherry tree there, hmm, how about a bird bath here as well.\nI’ve come full circle and come back to the line I started with. Its\nnot right. Half of me wants to rub it out, the other wants to find\nout what it could be. I decide to colour the rest of the garden first\nthough. Hope wouldn’t be pleased to walk into a black and white\ngarden. My page is a flurry of activity, vibrant purples and reds\ntrade places happily with warm browns and floods of green. But I cant\nget away from this one stick. It stubbornly points skywards. I allow\nmy pencil to flick some curves its way, allowing it to reach that\nlittle higher towards the white sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hope emerges from her house, she now\nhas a wide brimmed sun hat, and starts to wander around the garden,\nfinding all the little features I put in. There’s a little bench\nunder the cherry tree, the blossoms falling on an ornate paved floor.\nThe scent of the Lavender fills the air, and Hope seems to like it.\nI’m suddenly aware that in all this wandering, my hand has finished\nits activity, and the stick has become a solitary black rose. I go to\nerase it, but Hope arrives before I have a chance. I don’t dare go\nanywhere near it, I might hurt hope. Come on girl, get away from it,\nlet me get rid of it. She looks at me, disapproving. I admit its a\nnice looking rose, but it gives me the creeps. It’s also very close\nto the edge of that cliff, so don’t get any closer. Why did you\nchoose a cliff to live on anyway? She bends down and takes a deep\nsniff at the flower. She seems to pause, not even making a judgement.\nHer eyes glaze over, and she collapses. Damn! I knew it wasn’t good.\nShe slumps to the side, but the wrong one, suddenly she’s falling\nfrom the cliff, down and down, crap, gotta do something, but what,\nbut what? I cant just make a ledge, it’d break her, a hand maybe,\nsomething that’ll give a little. As fast as I can I try to draw an\nout-stretched hand, but its no good, I get but a couple of strokes\nout before she’s past it. What’s at the bottom? I haven’t drawn it\nyet. Damn. With three deft strokes the floor of the valley becomes\nocean, deep without anything for Hope to catch herself on. Like a\ndart Hope drops into the water. But she’s not coming up, she’s not\nmoving. Cant just sit here. My pencil scratches furiously across the\npage and soon some driftwood rises from the depths to carry her to\nthe surface.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Is she alive?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But the current is treacherous. Where\nis it going? I haven’t drawn that either yet. Keeping one eye on that\nsheet of paper I pull another free, and quickly draw a rough circle.\nHope’s house is on the south east corner of the island. There’s no\ntime to draw in the island but I quickly map our the currents\nsurrounding it. It’s odd, some of the currents seem to come from\nnowhere, and disappear out to the west. The island is only taking up\nhalf the page, there’s another one, out here. My pencil goes into a\nfrenzy, first making an outline then filling its coast with cliffs\nand beaches. But where is Hope?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There she is, on that beach, but she’s\non the wrong island. Deftly I tear a new page free and begin to draw.\nThe driftwood seems to have done the job, she’s alive. Poor thing is\nsodden through though, the waves still rolling up to her waist. I let\nher rest for a moment while I fill in the rest of the beach. Its a\nbleak affair, the black pebbles filling most of the space with jagged\nslippery spikes forming the backdrop before a sheer cliff face\nstretches away high above. It reminds me of an Italian beach, the\nvolcanic rock then had been a novelty, but here it feels forbidding\nand cold. I look back to see Hope has managed to roll over onto her\nback. She’s blinking up at the white overcast page. I swiftly outline\na square and fill it in with a woolly texture and colour it a deep\ngreen, but the towel falls uselessly into the water, too far out of\nperspective. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That’s not right, I should be able to\nhelp her. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stands, but the hard rock is sore\non her feet so she hobbles her way out of the water. I draw a pair of\nsturdy boots, but she reaches down to pick them up, and she seems\ndisappointed. She flips them over and shows me that they’re just\ncardboard cut-outs. Maybe if I could just draw some string. No it’d\nprobably tun into something nasty. I don’t think I can help from\nhere. Hope walks her way slowly up the beach to the cliff. It seems\nthat part of the cliff is an optical illusion, and Hope begins to\nclimb the hidden staircase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There’s something at the top of the\ncliff, at the far end of the stairs, Hope looks up, but I manage to\nonly get a few strokes down before its gone again. Damn. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She keeps climbing and I’m forced to\nrip a new page free. All I can do Is watch her from here, but I cant\njust abandon her. She reaches the top of the staircase and my pencil\nscans across the page. Finally I found some detail off in the\ndistance and fill in what I can. There is absolutely nothing close\nby, its desolate. I draw out my flesh coloured marker and fill in\nmost of the ground, then go over it lightly in yellow, making the\nkind of sandy earth that spreads out in front of hope. I switch to my\nblack marker and begin to drag it heavily in swift downward strokes.\nThese are what should be trees, but the forest is either burnt or\nburning. Hope’s hands are clasped to her mouth in shock. In the\ncentre of the picture however there is a figure shaped hole. I reach\nover to it, but find it difficult to fill it in. I cant do it, I cant\nsee who it is. Hope grabs hold of the nib of the pencil and using\nlong sweeping lines shows me what she sees, its a cloaked figure, no,\nnot even, there are no feet, no hands, no face, its just a cloak.\nHope opens her mouth, she’s speaking to the cloak. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I can’t hear her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A speech bubble, that’ll do it!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Quickly I draw a circle and it fills\nwith text in ink from my ballpoint pen. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I draw another bubble above the cloak,\nbut it remains empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I go back to Hope’s bubble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI just need to get home, can you\nhelp me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The cloak turns and hovers away from\nthe cliff and the burning forest. I don’t like this Hope. I don’t\nlike this one bit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stood, her hands on her hips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You’re going anyway aren’t you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She strides after him. I already know\nI’m going to need another sheet so I have it ready for when she\ndisappears as a dot from my page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My pencil throws down a wide arc across\nthe paper, and the cloak comes to rest for a moment at its edge. The\ncloak then descends the sloping hill to its right, hastily outlined\nin pencil as he goes so I can see what it’s doing. Hope goes to the\nedge, but stops and stares down. The cloak seems to have paused, so I\nallow my pencil to track across and fill in the hills at the other\nside of the valley. I try to draw the valley floor, but I can’t.\nAbout halfway up the hills on either side, the image stops. I bring\nout my grey marker and sweep across it in long wispy strokes. I then\nfill in the gaps with light strokes of my purple marker. The whole\nvalley is engulfed in a thick smog. Hope tears herself away from the\nedge and follows the cloak down into the purple clouds. I reach for\nanother sheet, but the meagre pile I’d started with is now exhausted\nso hastily I dive into my drawer and grab a wedge and dump it on my\ndesk. I check my wrist and its already gone twelve, but I’ve already\ndecided. I’m not going to give up on you, not if it takes all night.\nI got you into this mess, I’ll get you out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put down a grey, purple wash and\nbegin to sketch the walls of a house in the gloom. The smog is\noppressive, I can barely make out Hope, still following her floating\nguide. They turn a corner and I’m forced onto a new page, but when I\nget there the cloak has vanished, and its a dead end ally. The alley\nis surrounded by the whitewashed facings of the houses either side.\nThe wall at the back looks the same, but there doesn’t seem to be a\nhouse behind it and it’s far to high to climb. We’re lost Hope. Told\nyou it was a bad idea. My pencil is drawn to the shadow that is\ndraped over the corner of the alley. I have to concentrate really\nhard to pick it out, but Hope is already backing away from it so\nwhatever is there it isn’t friendly. A figure steps out of the deep\nblack, and into the half light of the fog. I switch to my black\nmarker and scrawl in the squared off shoulders and tall top hat. Hope\nis trying to talk to it, I swiftly outline a speech bubble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201csorry, I didn’t mean to wake you…\nI’ll just leave you in peace…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She turns to go, but then suddenly she\ncant move. Did I miss something? I concentrate, and I realise that\nI’ve actually been too slow to catch the action, the figure has\nstepped out now and Hope is bound with thick ropes. It takes a few\nseconds for me to pencil this all in, but then I’m behind again, and\nHope is on the floor, the figure hanging over her, taunting her. I\ndraw him a speech bubble, its like I’ve just managed to get the\nmicrophone in front of him. Crap I’ve already missed half of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201c…dress. So pretty, so pretty. Sell\nit I could, but no. That’s not me, I know who it is, but its not me.\nNo, I can see you, squirm, struggle, mmmmm. Yes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201clet go of me! I just want to go\nhome! Please let go!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cno, no, no, no, not now I have you.\nYou’ll be mine. Belong to me. I love to see you like this. Maybe I\ncould see you dance. See you run, and cry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the figure bends down and runs his face\nup her body, sniffing as he goes, over her ankles, up her shins over\nher thighs, past her waist up to her neck. She recoils away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cmaybe, even get to see all of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
piece of filth. With all the pace I can\nimagine I draw various weapons to destroy this parasite, but they all\nfail. The swords are made of foam, the guns shoot sucker pad arrows,\nthe 100 ton weight is full of helium and blows away. The figure draws\nher to her feet, but she struggles free of his grasp and runs. He\ngrabs hold of the trailing rope, and she almost falls flat on her\nback, but she manages to stay upright. With frenzied strength he\ndraws her closer and closer. She’s trying so hard to get free. The\nscissors I draw are blunt, the knife is rubber, the fire suffocates\nin the smog, I can’t cut the damn rope! Suddenly they’re face to\nface, his toxic breath making Hope gag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He’s speaking, right, the speech\nbubble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cif I cant have you\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hope twitches. What? Hope twitches?\nQuick, he’s talking again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cthen no-one will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She leans against the wall. What’s\nwrong hope! What’s going on! There’s something near her stomach. My\npencil darts around, but then to my horror I find its not near her\nstomach, its in it. I pause for a second. Gingerly I pick up my red\nmarker. The knife is only small, but its still a knife. The red\ntraces its way in a circle, staining the blue dress. Even with the\nblue, it doesn’t turn purple, there’s just too much red. It seems to\ndrip down to the pavement. She slumps down, leaning her back against\nthe wall. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No. I cant let this happen. Everything\nI draw over here just turns to crap. Got to do something.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Her eyes close. No\nHope, don’t sleep, stay with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fine if I cant do\nit here, I’ll do it from the other island. I gently tease the page\nfee and set it to one side. Working as quickly as I can I begin to\ndraw another figure. I know who I need. I’ve drawn him before. I\nglance across, to the other page, she still breathing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Within a few\nseconds I’m finishing off the deep red background to Courage’s\nkimono. The white cherry blossom on his chest is in stark contrast to\nthe rest of his clothing. The long curved sword he always carries is\nby his side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I peek back at\nHope, she’s still there, still living.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Courage, I need\nyour help, she’s across the water, they’ve got her! You need to and\nget her back!<\/p>\n\n\n\n He raises an\neyebrow at me and opens his mouth to speak. Ah, yes a speech bubble.\nI quickly draw the circle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCalm down sir.\nWho is it, and why are they over there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Its one of ours,\nher name is Hope, she’s new to the island. You need to go quick,\nshe’s hurt, the bastards over there have stabbed her. If you go and\nget her, we can get her healed, she’ll be fine, but I cant do a damn\nthing for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I look across at\nthe other page, but I cant see her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lines that made\nup her dress, her hair, her face, they’re all there, but its just a\ncollection of lines. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hope?<\/p>\n\n\n\n She’s still. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Come on, you’ve got\nto be there somewhere. I childishly place my hand on the page, as if\nto nudge her, to wake her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There’s too much\nred. I haven’t drawn it in, but I don’t need to. Its pooled around\nher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hand is\ntrembling, I can’t draw any more. I should have erased that line when\nI had the chance. Now there’s nothing I can do. No, there is\nsomething.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I turn back to\nCourage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Burn it down. Burn\nthem all down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hand is oddly\ncalm as it traces the words that he tells me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI do not burn\nislands. I go where I must, I am a warrior, not a murderer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n So I am betrayed.\nWithout Courage’s support my hand trembles again. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n You can at least\nbring her body back for me. She belongs over here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat I can do.\nWill you provide a ship?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"excerpt","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":34,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"templates\/template-fullwidth.php","meta":{"episode_type":"","audio_file":"","podmotor_file_id":"","podmotor_episode_id":"","cover_image":"","cover_image_id":"","duration":"","filesize":"","filesize_raw":"","date_recorded":"","explicit":"","block":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-36","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","comments-off"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/36","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/36\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":37,"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/36\/revisions\/37"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/34"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/curious.fish\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}