Solace Cold and dark. Many words could be used to describe the night but those were among the simplest. However, that did not mean it was quiet. The city was bustling with noise. Cars, music, and shouts. Though, some shouts could be heard from quite a distance. One such shout could be heard from an average house on the corner. The voice was male, aged. It’s recipient was a young girl, only of 15 years of age. They were father and daughter but their relationship was not familial. It hadn’t been for a while. As the man yelled, the girl cried. She did nothing wrong, she was innocent. Her mother on the other hand was not. She cheated on her husband and then eloped, leaving behind her daughter in a now broken household. The husband steadily drank more and more alcohol, getting angrier with each dose. It had escalated to the point where some light abuse would be common. Rarely would it escalate beyond that but the signs were becoming more apparent. A loud smack was heard, followed by a slight whimper. The shouting got louder, more enlivened with rage. Soon enough, it died down. He went to the garage, no doubt to get another shitty beer to drink. In spite of all this, she didn’t hate him. If anything, she understood him. Of course, that didn’t stop the fact that she hated the actions he took. Seconds later, some light steps were heard as she walked thru the house. Arriving at the door to her room, she held it all in. The pain, hate, remorse, disgust. It was a different story when she closed the door behind her though. She broke down in a mess of tears and snot. Silently, she cried until she could cry no more. Huddled up and holding her knees, she mustered the courage to look around the room. When her eyes finally gazed over a lone sketchbook, she stalled. Using her sleeve to wipe her face, she stood. The walk to the insignificant pad of paper was a long one, no matter the distance. Reaching one hand towards the sketchbook and the other to her box of pencils, she calmed down. When they were held in her hands, she sat. As she opened the sketchbook, bursts of color seemed to leap off the page. Great depictions of scenes, people, creatures of all shapes and sizes, and even obscure shapes were so lifelike. They looked as though they could jump off the page. With steady hands, she opened up to an empty page and started giving her imagination life. What was being made could not be deciphered by anyone but her. While drawing, she was happy. She gave the characters form, and they took care of the rest. This was her safe place, this was what she could do to get past the day. This is what kept her going. In another room in the house, a similar process was taking place. It was the garage to be exact. A lone man slumped over in grief, crying his heart out. Why did she have to be so similar to her? Why did he have to act this way? He didn’t understand what was wrong with him. They were two separate people, one was a woman that had betrayed him and the other was his pride and joy. He treated her horribly. Taking another swig from his beer, he took out a pen. It was an ordinary pen, it didn’t hold any great functions but as he stared at it, he thought back to the past. Back to when times were good, she looked to him as a hero. As her father. Now though, he thought that she hated him. Grabbing a notepad that was in the corner of the garage, he simply stared at it. He hadn’t used this in a while, he was no doubt rusty. Flipping open the booklet, page after page flew by until he stopped mid-way through the papers. It held a scene of a young girl and her father. Both in mutual joy. In the background, there was a woman, presumably her mother, simply watching with a smile on her face. If no one knew better, they would say that it was taken with a camera. However, he knew that this is the final drawing that he had created before storing it away. With a shaky hand and varying amounts of hesitation, he flipped to the next page. He pressed the pen tip to the paper and stalled for a few seconds before a calm light washed over his eyes. Just like his daughter, he had started to draw. It started out with small distortions of a line, but as it went on, his previous skill was shown. Each line was perfect, even without any bold or highlighting. In this notepad, he could act how he wanted. In this notepad, he could be who he wanted to be. In this notepad, he could try his best. Father and daughter, in the same house, separated by both physical and mental walls, had found the same way to feel at peace. They had both used art as a way to find solace. __________________________________________________________________________________________________ AN: Once again.... im bored but I wanted to try something different... I dont think its as good as the last one but it seems alright @Miyuu @Frozen ink @Clown333 @Westeller @The great metalunicorn @Falhrus @Negias
I digress a few minor grammar errors but negligible.... hopefully no DILF srly fk that idea but not too shabby I hate the wife already~ also I give it a meta score of 8/10~
I posted it as soon as I finished so no editing.... if you want to point them out then you would save me from doing so No thx thx wife is a bitch
Not gonna lie, I never thought I would read this until the end. The story is very good, and I almost cried.
I could point it out but im nicer if I let you enjoy the experience yourself KUKUKUKU MHUAHUHUHUHAHUAHUAH!
you should go read my other ones... i think they are better but im not used to writing ones like this thx meh... I'll fix it when I get bored enough in a week
remove just its not necessary wtf was she crouching? held what her tears her piss what on earth could it be ~
sure y not ......... let me just put ths here >.> her emotions...... literally explained what she held in right after.... see?
my 2nd one was mainly cause it sounds odd .. not sure how to put it , it just stands odd. i am a heartless man so you know~ that last one was me being an ass...kukukukuku
This is narrated very blatantly. Not a lot of subtlety, takes a lot away from the story. Other than that, it's OK. Some grammar mistakes here and there. Didn't really 'grab' me, which is probably a bad thing considering the nature of the story.
dude.... let it die yeah.... im not used to writing anything similar to this.... my stories usually involve fantasy elements.... mostly for AG but also in the other 2 short stories that I made
ah but dreams are just that, dreams. Especially when your dreams involve a tentacle moster and my stories
Really? I thought it would exceed that number, given your reports in AG is almost always pass 5000. Guess I'll take a look later this day then.