Broken Canvas (by me)
(Content warning: themes of violence)
“There were flashes of white, blinding him to the point his eyes began to boil.
Laughter. Devious, uncaring laughter.
He could feel her breath on his body, the way her hands trembled as she continued caressing him, despite his protests.
He wanted to scream. Scream so loud that his voice would tear down the walls around them.
Breathe.
Breathe.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't fight her, he couldn't defend himself.
He was raised to be polite after all and had taught himself to avoid all confrontation, let them point and laugh, endure the suffering and then move on with his life.
This was no different.
This was the same.
Please stop.
Someone stop her.
More names. She calls him vile and disgusting.
Pervert. He's always been that to her.
This is something he desired. She knew this is what he wanted.
Memories of his painted canvases. They weren't beautiful, but they were his. Then they were torn.
Ruined.
His mind could no longer perceive the colors.
She ruined the colors of his world.
Help me.”
- “Away we go”, by: TheGoldCard
This fan work I read presents a dark scenario at its premise. So much gone wrong, and near permanent damage in its wake. When the others first reunite with “the artist”, he is a shell of himself, his colors robbed from him.
Such an idea is one that haunts me. I love drawing, I love art. And to be robbed of such a thing, I have to wonder what sort of person I would become if my escape from the toughest times was just…twisted out of my grip.
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and love is something reachable…
(Content warning: themes of violence)
“There were flashes of white, blinding him to the point his eyes began to boil.
Laughter. Devious, uncaring laughter.
He could feel her breath on his body, the way her hands trembled as she continued caressing him, despite his protests.
He wanted to scream. Scream so loud that his voice would tear down the walls around them.
Breathe.
Breathe.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't fight her, he couldn't defend himself.
He was raised to be polite after all and had taught himself to avoid all confrontation, let them point and laugh, endure the suffering and then move on with his life.
This was no different.
This was the same.
Please stop.
Someone stop her.
More names. She calls him vile and disgusting.
Pervert. He's always been that to her.
This is something he desired. She knew this is what he wanted.
Memories of his painted canvases. They weren't beautiful, but they were his. Then they were torn.
Ruined.
His mind could no longer perceive the colors.
She ruined the colors of his world.
Help me.”
- “Away we go”, by: TheGoldCard
This fan work I read presents a dark scenario at its premise. So much gone wrong, and near permanent damage in its wake. When the others first reunite with “the artist”, he is a shell of himself, his colors robbed from him.
Such an idea is one that haunts me. I love drawing, I love art. And to be robbed of such a thing, I have to wonder what sort of person I would become if my escape from the toughest times was just…twisted out of my grip.
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and love is something reachable…