#100DrawingsOfWater #52Water Otter
#penandink #handdrawn #sketchbook #drawing
The snow feel gently against a grey sky. The house was quiet, for the most part. The little girl was in bed, slowly waking by singing songs to her teddy bear, and the house gave off it’s normal working sounds. The rumble of the furnace, the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of several clocks. All was steady and still, poised for the beginning of a new day.
She sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and wondering what important thing she’ll make important today. Lately it seems that every time she looks around the house, she can actually see the 12 years that they’ve lived here. For 12 years, she looked out the kitchen window to the branches of the fir tree next door. For 12 years, she’s walked down the three steps separating the bedrooms from the living room. For 12 years, she’s watched the house revert from what was once shiny and new, back into the old tired place of the cranky seniors who lived here before, the sounds of yelling at dusk to the kids playing in the street echoing back from 1975. The slick coat of paint that had covered up all the discontent was cracked and faded, letting the smell of wasted life and bitter memories seep into her own life. It was time to move on.
The water glistened off the mare’s flank like a million precious stones. His breath caught in his throat – he’d never seen anything with such beauty in his entire life. Up to that point his days consisted entirely of dirt and rain and a constant defense of his own survival. His only memory of anything beautiful was from when he was seven, and for a painfully brief moment, there was a break in the clouds.
He was frightened then, but when he saw the setting sun twinkling between the slowing raindrops, cascading light and color everywhere it filled him with such joy. The experience was achingly brief, and in the years that followed he resented it more and more, angry that he should see such beauty, only to live out the rest of his days in depressive hopelessness. He wished he had never known there was such beauty in the world.
When he tried to explain the experience to the other kids at school, they created a whole new level of psychological abuse based on his feeble attempts to explain something too fantastic to believe – that the rain had stopped and you could see through the clouds to the sun. All these things let to his acidic bitterness towards the world. A world that would show him such beauty, only to rip it away creating a gaping wound so deep and full of torment that it never healed.
So when he first saw her, his brain didn’t even process the information presented by his eyes. He didn’t ‘see’ her at all – he had no where to put the sensory input he was receiving. But, even in that, his heart skipped a beat, and he had to turn around. When he finally saw the unicorn for what she was, he began to weep.