Where Sad Drawings Come From

A Story by JeffandWilbur

Something written in the middle of the night on a PalmPilot. Now I understand more than ever that inspiration can come to you at any time. Part of a little collection of mine, Stories&Songs

Once upon a time, I drew a child in a little square, and that was enough for me.

It was the purest, most perfect thing I had ever created, and I cherished it from the moment the pencil left the paper for the last time. She moved around in her room as anyone of her realm would.

"Hello" I wrote within the square above her. She looked up and jumped back. I could see her, but she couldn't see me. She backed into a corner, terrified of the sudden appearance of my words. I quickly erased the message and replaced it with another.

"Don't be scared. I'm your friend. I'll take care of you." That seemed to calm her down. I wanted to see if she could respond to me, so I drew her a pencil. She picked it up and sure enough wrote something, but it was far too small for me to read even with a magnifying glass. I realized she'd easily grow bored in that tiny square, so I drew her a window. She looked out at the miniscule landscape of woods with awe. It made me feel proud; I was a father showing my child the world. Rather, I was making the world for her, but the sentiment was still the same.

When she had seen all that she possibly could, I drew for her a ball. She threw and kicked it every which way, fascinated of how it moved. Suddenly, she stopped playing and clenched her belly. I frantically looked for clues of what she wanted. How could I have been so stupid? She was hungry, of course. I drew a table, and on it I put bread. It was all made out of the same thing, graphite, so I imagine she could've eaten the table if she so desired. Then again, it was likely the thought that counted, not what the object was made out of. She approached it cautiously, then nibbled at the loaf. Deciding it was okay, she devoured the thing monsterously, having not learned any table manners.

Regardless of how she ate it, she was now satisfied and though she couldn't see me she waved in thanks. Once she was done, she looked around her space. I saw her laying a hand on the walls, testing her boundaries. This wasn't an environment for a little girl to grow up in, so I drew for her a door so that she could go outside. To my shock, the door faded as if sinking into the paper. I tried over and over again, but every time it faded before it was a fully realized object in her realm. She watched in confusion.

"I'll get you out somehow." I wrote. She nodded in understanding. I decided to erase the wall entirely, but it drew itself back, rising from what seemed to be within the paper as the door had sunk. Finally defeated, I feared that she would forever be trapped in the prison, the hell I had made. Despite how sad I was, she didn't seem to mind a bit. Once she lost interest in how to get out, she returned to playing with the ball. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from her optimism.

The window slowly shaded itself in. The moon rose from the horizon, but in my realm it was barely noon. She yawned and stretched, so I drew her a bed. She climbed in gratefully. Time moved faster in her realm than mine, so she slept for perhaps twenty minutes. Scattered across my table were hellish pictures, drawings of imperfection and shortcoming. I had put forth the same effort into every single one, and still they all came out unholy, like monsters. All but that little girl. I knew that she'd be the only salvagable creation, so I crumpled up the rest of my infernal creations without remorse. I knew she was all I needed.

When she awoke, I knew something was wrong. She lumbered around with her head sagging, and an enormous frown on her face. I drew her another loaf of bread, but she refused it. She touched the walls one last time, sliding her hands down in hopes of finding something before going back to her bed. She stopped and looked back, looked at me. Her face was so gaunt, so deathly, I had no idea what could possibly ail her. She was just fine just minutes ago. She sat on the mattress and sighed. I tapped her on the shoulder gently with the tip of my pencil, but she shoved me aside, making a line through the room. I erased it and her frown became mine. Since she was a part of me, I could understand to an extent what bothered her. She was lonely.

I drew for her a companion. Whether it was a boy or a girl I never knew, since its arms stuck out where its head should be and it had several legs that stuck out from all over its body. I swore, cursing myself for the blunder. I thought for sure that after her I could produce something decent, or at least not monstrous. She screamed soundlessly and bolted to the other side of the square to cry in a heap. I quickly erased the monster, and tried to draw another. Oh, why did I try to draw another?

This time it had a head, but its cheeks were ripped to reveal hideous fangs. Its eyes were enormous and bloodthirsty, and its tongue stuck out like a snake. In some places like the side of its torso, flesh and cloth was missing, showing only bone and organ. I was able to erase that one as well, but not until just before it grabbed her.

"I'm sorry. I just want you to be happy." I wrote. She looked up at it, then turned her back to me. It was then that a thought came to me. What if the monsters were perfect and the girl was imperfect? Perhaps I was better than I thought I was, and I had just been shunned by everyone else because they didn't understand my true methods. On the other hand, I had destroyed everything else I had spent my life working on to dedicate myself to her. Even though I had only known her for forty minutes, I cared too deeply for the lass to destroy her in the same way. Even though the forgiving Lord couldn't deny I was a sadist, I couldn't bring myself to feed her to my other creations. No, I had to preserve her, but now she wouldn't even respond to me.

Then, another thought came to me. If I couldn't do anything with my own methods, there was one other person who could. I drew a long, winding line which served a rope.

Once upon a time, I had a picture of a little girl who had hung herself, and that was enough for me.