All of my Art that will or has ever been released.
11 replies, posted
This shall be my last post on Facepunch, enjoy.
This is not in chronological order. I was going to, but I am too tired now.
This is an attempt to cover everything atristic I have ever done, and so much of it is sketches, not masterpieces.
[B]Drawings etc.
[IMG]http://a.imageshack.us/img34/4366/stars3.png[/IMG]
[/B]My first ever tablet drawing. Not much to say.
[IMG]http://img38.imageshack.us/img38/7633/planet1.png[/IMG]
My second tablet drawing. Little more than an experimental sketch.
[IMG]http://img37.imageshack.us/img37/96/themirrorisbrokentitle.png[/IMG]
[IMG]http://img196.imageshack.us/img196/8497/themirrorisbrokenwb.png[/IMG]
A bad implementaion of generic idea. I like drawing eyes. Almost all of my drawings start with an eye. Expect to see alot of them.
[IMG]http://img30.imageshack.us/img30/9909/snowman.png[/IMG][IMG]http://img44.imageshack.us/img44/1421/toxicsnipe.png[/IMG]
[IMG]http://img24.imageshack.us/img24/3750/drfirerage.png[/IMG][IMG]http://img2.imageshack.us/img2/4571/crazybananas.png[/IMG]
Literal avatars I did for some friends. From top to bottom: Snowman, ToxicSnipe, Dr.Fire, CrazyBananas. Some of my better tablet stuff.
[IMG]http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/7279/costamengatype1vfinalwb.png[/IMG]
The final result of a culmination between a friend of mine and me. You guys already kicked the shit out of it last time I posted it here.
[IMG]http://img96.imageshack.us/img96/5372/edenpic.png[/IMG]
A tablet sketch of my cousin I did for her birthday.
[IMG]http://img189.imageshack.us/img189/4258/skull2n.png[/IMG]
A tablet sketch of a skull I did fo no real reason. Outline is traced. I like the teeth.
[IMG]http://img694.imageshack.us/img694/6130/artifactv1glow.png[/IMG]
A sketch of a custom artifact I did for a STALKER competition a while back. i never got round to entering, or finishing. Really a lighting/shading test.
[IMG]http://img15.imageshack.us/img15/8926/carrotstream.png[/IMG]
[IMG]http://img718.imageshack.us/img718/7176/carrot.png[/IMG]
[IMG]http://img130.imageshack.us/img130/7990/rabbitcarrot.png[/IMG]
[IMG]http://img337.imageshack.us/img337/9486/zombiecarrot.png[/IMG]
A few sketches I did for someone's thread here in CC. One of my few experiances with coloured pencils.
[IMG]http://img810.imageshack.us/img810/8876/lolp.jpg[/IMG]
I love you. Written in condoms. This is the result of asking the GGT for love advice.
[IMG]http://img42.imageshack.us/img42/3287/spiderface.png[/IMG]
A comic I did for Spiderface back in GGT.
[IMG]http://img10.imageshack.us/img10/1637/masseffectbannercer.png[/IMG]
A rough mockup for a banner for GGT a while back.
[IMG]http://img571.imageshack.us/img571/664/mindbreak.png[/IMG]
Quick bad comic I did for the STALKER thread. And I can't spell lying.
[IMG]http://img180.imageshack.us/img180/3121/stalker1.png[/IMG]
A WIP STALKER comic I will never complete.That one unfinished frame is the best tablet(+pencil) work I have ever done.
NOW THE REAL DRAWINGS BEGIN (most of these are doodles and sketches)
[IMG]http://img844.imageshack.us/img844/698/balagogansswirls.png[/IMG]
Two of my favourate sketches.
[IMG]http://img267.imageshack.us/img267/3654/ccf1408201000000.png[/IMG]
One of many anotated sketches I have done.
[IMG]http://img337.imageshack.us/img337/227/ccf1408201000001.png[/IMG]
A bomber jet thing. Drew this in a hospital waiting room.
[IMG]http://img705.imageshack.us/img705/1459/ccf1408201000002.png[/IMG]
The Terastalk. My handwrtiting is often this awful.
[IMG]http://img828.imageshack.us/img828/3941/ccf1408201000003.png[/IMG]
Random pencil shading tests.
[IMG]http://img801.imageshack.us/img801/7854/ccf1408201000004.png[/IMG]
Bear being shot. I was the talk of the class when I drew this in Biology.
[IMG]http://img201.imageshack.us/img201/5117/ccf1408201000005.png[/IMG]
Bull-Spider Monster-Thing. Drew this while watching a video in RS. Also worked out the area of Jerusalem from its radius.
[IMG]http://img825.imageshack.us/img825/4642/ccf1408201000007.png[/IMG]
Some shit and a test at my version of perpective of depth.
[IMG]http://img820.imageshack.us/img820/7811/ccf1408201000012.png[/IMG]
Picture story part 1. Ignore the green thing. I was the talk of the class when I drew this in Biology in the Library.
[IMG]http://img541.imageshack.us/img541/330/ccf1408201000008.png[/IMG]
Picture story part 2. Unfinished like all my good stuff.
[IMG]http://img291.imageshack.us/img291/3747/ccf1408201000010.png[/IMG]
Evil old red guy. Drawn in Geography.
[IMG]http://img411.imageshack.us/img411/4397/ccf1408201000011.png[/IMG]
[B]TURTLE DUDE.[/B] Drawn in Geography.
[IMG]http://img256.imageshack.us/img256/4658/ccf1408201000013.png[/IMG]
Injured and freaky. Freaky.
[IMG]http://img228.imageshack.us/img228/2441/ccf1408201000014.png[/IMG]
My first go at human anatomy. Ever. A bit stiff, bent, wobbly. Not too shabby.
[IMG]http://img707.imageshack.us/img707/1609/ccf1408201000015.png[/IMG]
Muscle in Technicolour.
[IMG]http://img27.imageshack.us/img27/3451/ccf1408201000016.png[/IMG]
Groovy Dude. One of my favourate sketches. Drawn in RS.
[IMG]http://img22.imageshack.us/img22/2986/ccf1408201000017.png[/IMG]
Armour Claw Guy. One of 100s I drew.
[IMG]http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/2187/ccf1408201000018.png[/IMG]
The really random shit.
[IMG]http://img696.imageshack.us/img696/4236/ccf1408201000019.png[/IMG]
Goo Blob Creatures(s). Inspired by Gish.
[IMG]http://img706.imageshack.us/img706/5049/ccf1408201000020.png[/IMG]
Freaky Stuff Doodles. This is a semi-accurate depiction of my mind.
[IMG]http://img375.imageshack.us/img375/7130/ccf1408201000021.png[/IMG]
Less freaky doodles. contains a visit from HypnoSlug.
[IMG]http://img225.imageshack.us/img225/9476/ccf1408201000024.png[/IMG]
Baby Eater with meme.
[IMG]http://img837.imageshack.us/img837/1297/ccf1408201000023.png[/IMG]
Roboface and Jimmeh: Teh Iron Troll.
[IMG]http://img826.imageshack.us/img826/3684/ccf1408201000022.png[/IMG]
Fucking Clowns. 10 min sketch of an image that appeared in my head when I shut my eyes to sleep one night. Except 10x less scary.
[IMG]http://img837.imageshack.us/img837/4104/ccf1408201000025.png[/IMG]
N:TDSEHCU. One too may souls in the title. Quick comic.
[IMG]http://img401.imageshack.us/img401/4102/ccf1408201000026.png[/IMG]
Ol' Farmer Jones, Gnome and Unicorn Horn. (Unicorn horn reads: "Try hard enough *pic* And anyone can have a unicorn horn")
[IMG]http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/3363/ccf1408201000028.png[/IMG]
Fucked Up Clown Pirate. Drawn in Physics.
[IMG]http://img80.imageshack.us/img80/7346/ccf1408201000029.png[/IMG]
Bad Caveman-esque portrait.
[IMG]http://img6.imageshack.us/img6/2482/ccf1408201000030.png[/IMG]
Fucked up Russian. Probably racist.
THESE LAST FEW ARE UN-CROPPED AND MEGAHUGE
[url]http://img204.imageshack.us/img204/8198/ccf1408201000031.png[/url]
Possibly the most fucked up drawing I ever did.
[url]http://img411.imageshack.us/img411/9369/ccf1408201000032.png[/url]
Alien spider thing. My friends say from a distance it looks like a Ballerina.
[url]http://img37.imageshack.us/img37/279/ccf1408201000033.png[/url]
Swirls. I like swirls.
There were some more pictures that were too big to host or I never got scanned.
[B]Photos
[/B]Look at [URL]http://cercerd.deviantart.com/gallery/[/URL]
[B]Story[/B]: Deadwalkers (Definately Unfinished)
[QUOTE] [B][U]Chapter 1-Part 2[/U][/B]
He stared, the monstrosities of nature had most defiantly seen him now, and there was little chance of escape; these things were dead, but they still had basic animal instincts and memories, of a sort. The deadwalkers had no memories from before they were turned, as many had misconceived, leading to many unfortunate deaths, but they could remember things from after the turning, which has baffled many people to this day, seeing as many have little actual grey matter left in their heads; but I digress. Many of them had probably died down here, and many more had probably been here for most of the five years since, and they knew their way around, they probably knew it well.
They were coming for him now, frantic and angry and dark and screaming. He had to run, he had to escape. But he just stood, staring, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, memories and thoughts and fears rushing through his head. *outdated content to be moved* But he just stood. He had to move or die. But what was the point? Why should he run, what was there left for him to live for?
His mother had died ten years ago, when he was just seven. His father had always done his best to comfort Jack, but it had never fully worked. He was always sullen, often morbid and never really a team player; in the old days, before [I]the event[/I], he was a relatively normal boy, just slight hints of depression and anger starting to rise. But there was little to be happy about these days, and all that had happened had never helped. *outdated content to be moved*
There was a clunk, not at all heavy, more of a tap; still, it pulled him from his heavy thoughts. He glanced upwards, towards the swarming mass of limbs descending like a swan upon him, a dull shine, like painted corrugated iron, caught his eye. Something metallic, something metallic and somewhat spherical was rolling, rolling ever so precisely to the feet of the beasts. He knew that shape, he could remember that occasionally the rough old bearded veteran hunters had those.
“Are you fucking stupid? Take cover!” A rather agitated voice yelled from further up the station. He realised what the mysterious object was, if not all too late. He was deafened by the enormous sound of a thousand drums being beaten at once. He was thrown off the platform and onto the sharp rails by the sudden blizzard of fire. You never, [I]ever[/I] use a grenade in an enclosed place such as this, where the pressure could be felt pushing down though tunnels hundreds of metres away; not at this proximity, even he knew that.
And a grenade. Who had a grenade these days? They were extremely hard to come by, and rarely used in anything but a major emergency, like a great stash overrun by deadwalkers, or a house infested with them. So [I]who the fuck[/I] was using one to save... Or maybe kill him.
“Get over here, now! You damn retard!” he barely heard the voice over the ringing in his ears, but it was female, and most definitely alive. “What are you, just plain mental? Get the fuck over here before I leave, and seal the access hatch!”
Well, he couldn’t argue with that now could he?
He slowly got up, his head spinning, his skin painful, sharp pains flowing forth from his back. He realised that the tracks had caused a deep gash in his back. Painfully he pulled himself back onto the grimy platform, picked up his back-sack, shoved his food in; and roughly slung his Nailer through the straps on the back. He sprinted as best he could towards the figure; he had to duck as a pistol round whizzed over him, causing his back-sack to rub painfully on the wound in his back.
“You trying to save or kill me?” He rasped as he swiftly scaled the broken escalator stairs to the source of the voice, the mysterious figure fleeing, his rifle bashing against his legs every step of the way, painfully repeating the same bruising motion against the same place. Wishing he had secured it properly, he reached the top of the stairs, but the figure had gone. [I]Great, not only is she crazy, but she’s also going to trap me down here.[/I]
Her echo-ey voice brought him back to reality. “Depends, you got anything I need?” He was at the top of the stairs, but her voice was distant, reverberating from down the tunnel to the left.
“I’ve got some supplies and some know-how, but I certainly haven’t got your speed; slow down, you’re gonna lose me in this damn rat trap!”
“What are you doing down here if you don’t know your way around? You got a death wish?” She had a slight American accent. And she was young, probably only twenty or less. Which brought up the question, where did a twenty year old woman get grenades and the training on how to use such weaponry?
He reached the end of the tunnel, and was faced with another station, nearly exactly the same as the last. He stood and took in the details; there was no sign of anymore deadwalkers at that moment. Old trash-cans, battered and crushed by hundreds of trampling, panicking feet. Floor tiles covered in grime and rusty flakes. Blood. There was blood all over the floor, dried, from years ago, from when it spread. But there was nothing else, nowhere where could she have gone. The dust hung in the air, sparkling in the shafts of sunlight. [I]Dust[/I], he thought, it meant that someone had recently disturbed it, probably running, and sunlight, shafts of sunlight, he ran to the source, wincing as he tried to both cope with the sudden burning flood of light in his eyes, and the painful sensation of his back adjusting, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw that it was one of the old emergency access panels. And there was the rough outline of a figure at the top.
Screams. Stampeding feet. A smell of foul rotting flesh. The deadwalkers had finally caught up with him. He knew that anything could be up there, for all he knew, she could be a thief, but that seemed somewhat unlikely. A loud rasping scream, deeper and rougher than the rest echoed through the cavernous station. He span to see one deadwalker, well built, and wearing strange, smooth clothing, like metal, but flexible. It raised a hand towards him as it ran. The wall next to him threw chunks of rubble and dust to the floor, as if an explosive had been placed there years ago. [I]Oh shit![/I] He thought.
He had no idea what was happening, but he knew that soon it would be him and not the wall that was blown apart. He sloppily span, and dove for the ladder, practically flying up it, the rust grazed his palms at every interval, the familiar sound of blood filled lungs and rotting throats grew as he climbed, more and more creatures entering the station. He had to skip a rung, it being heavily bent and broken, with a sharp edge to it. His back-sack was roughly bashing against his back, but he didn’t care, the hatch was so close, five or six rungs now. A slimy hand grasped his shin, soon followed by a second. The entire weight of another being was now upon his already tried arms. The reason the beast was able to catch up with him was because it was heavily decomposed, but even so, it must have weighed a good seven stone. He held as tightly as he could, his hands slowly losing their grip as rust came away from the bars, meanwhile his legs flailed, trying to lose the added weight. The rung he was holding gave way. He reached out and grabbed the rung two below, and then regretted the decision as his left hand burned with an icy-hot pain. He lost his grip again, falling all the way back down again now. He screamed as he fell those long 15 feet, seeing the large crowd of the undead below him.
***
He awoke at the bottom of the ladder, his senses dulled. His head was throbbing, he raised a hand to his head, he felt a sticky warm sensation. As his eyes began to focus and his ears stopped ringing, he began to hear the desperate moans of the hungry dead as hot lead shredded through the tender flesh. He tried to get up, but was met with a deep pain resounding throughout his entire right
He reached open air, as soon as he was through the hatch was covered by a large iron plate. Two bulky men quickly fixed it in place with large bolts and even larger powertools. There, in front of him, she stood. She had chestnut brown hair, a slight tan that was uncommon among the new world, where many sheltered in buildings and caves. She was slim, athletic, no doubt about that. She had brown eyes, dulled, greyer than normal, like she had seen more and knew more than most would in a lifetime. He collapsed on the floor, his pain and exhaustion finally catching up with him.
“Welcome,” she announced, his vision blurring, sound becoming sloppy and dull, “To [I]Fort Northwood[/I]”
[B][U]Chapter 2[/U][/B]
He opened his eyes to find himself in a station, no, he thought to himself, that station. He found himself walking along in the strange, yet familiar world around him. The station was overfull, brimming with crowds of people pressed against one another, going about their daily business. He was with his mother and father, and all seemed calm. But he knew it couldn’t last, he knew was was going to happen, the moment approached, he tried to yell and scream but his body would not obey. Closer and closer the moment came, harder and harder he tried to warn those around him. A blood curdling scream sliced its way through the air, it was too late. A woman at the other end of the station held her hands to her face. Her skin began to change, rotting, her eyes turning dull, grey and bloodshot as she began to cry crimson streaking tears. Like a wave, one by one people started rotting, touch after touch. But that wasn’t how infection worked, none of this made sense. People were running, trying to escape their fate, but to no luck, the faster they ran the slower they seemed to move. Business men in suits pushing young women, whom they had been proposing their love to only minutes ago, into the path of other fleeing people, a group of burly cage fighters smashed their way through the crowd towards him and his parents. They smashed and trampled any that got in their way. The lead used the back of his arm to fling his parents into the crowd. A foot came down upon his head, time gradually slowing until time unbearably passed slowly enough to make the seconds into years.
***
“Fort” Northwood was not what one would imagine as fort, but rather a housing estate surrounded by a ram-shackle wall made of wood, bricks and metal, held together by rope and nails, and a little cement. Like much of London it was crumbling, nature re-claiming the land it once owned. The curling creepers lavished the great halls of the gutted building shells with glorious regal walls of lush greenery and colour. As he stirred from his slumber the room started to focus upon the sun-rays being cast upon the recently disturbed dust hanging like a veil in the air. Following the light slowly he moved his heavy eyes over to a single, downtrodden window lacking panes, and paint; through window like a flood came the green carpet that lay beneath him, etching its ways up the walls in spirals and curves all around him. It covered the roof, holding back the sunlight that tried to burst forth from the places where tiles once sat. Nature rebuilding from what man failed to keep.
He rolled over, his entire body feeling weak and heavy, as if his entire body were submerged in thick tar. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of movement, a figure sitting upon a high beam, looking out through yet another, quite sizeable hole in the structure’s already weak integrity. As he tried to sit upright against the green brandished wall, the figure hopped down agilely and made its way over to him. The large African-American crouched purposefully but carefully beside him, balancing his weight while also retaining an heir of power. The man stared hard into the his eyes for a long, long, terrifying moment; he felt as if his very essence was being examined through his soul’s windows, but he could not move away, both because if he wanted to his body could not, but also the stare held him in place, locking his view. Unexpectedly a hefty grin grew across the man’s face.
“My name is Jason, how are we today?” The man’s voice was American, certainly, but it was educated and spoken with a somewhat British tone. Raphael tried to respond, his head buzzed, his mouth flailed, but no coherent responses spewed forth.
“Easy now,” the man responded to Raphael’s muteness, “You have a rather dire blow to the head. After you collapsed Samantha brought you here, told me to look after you while she went for someone more qualified to help.” He placed a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, holding him in place while taking a look at the back of his head. “You had better stay still, Sam left a while ago, her and the Doc should be back soon; until then, stay sill and rest.”
Raphael sat for what felt like hours, his vision losing and gaining focus, his head throbbing. Jason went back to his beam, and kept watch. After a while Raphael found that the world was beginning to get dark, unable to tell whether it was actually getting dark or if it was him, he decided that either way he should get some rest.
Sleep is a strange thing, sometimes you can sleep for mere minutes and feel like it has been hours, sleep for hours and feel like it has been days, or sleep for days and feel like no time has passed at all. Unfortunately for Raphael, he experienced the latter. In his view, as soon as he shut his eyes he was opening them, a large bang jolting him upwards from his lying position, he quickly took in the situation, he was in some form of tent, he was in a bed, he was quite warm and he felt as if he was indoors. He also noticed that bandages constrained his head and others engulfing his chest were making breathing uncomfortable and difficult.
He rose slowly from the bed, testing his strength tentatively. His legs could still take his weight, which meant he had not been out for too long. He undid the string bound canvas tent doors, peeking his head out through the gap. He found himself in room full of similar tents. The room was a faded white and was deathly silent. Listening to his own heartbeat, he wondered if he had floated to heaven. He disregarded such nonsense, why would he need bandages in heaven?
He decided that his best option was to go and look for someone who could help.
[/QUOTE]
[B]My Suicide Letter:[/B]
[quote] This is it. My final act of cowardace, my final act of laziness. I have always been a coward, a whimp, occasionally pushing myself minimally out of my comfort zone. This is an informal rambling, written thoughts rather than structured prose. I. I have draughted this so many times, planned this so many times; in my head, on paper, on the computer, for various reasons: to prove I could, to see what it would be like. I only really started considering suicide since we moved to devon. There is nothing wrong with here, nothing wrong with the people. I think the change was a little too much, allowed a little too much of myself to alter. When I think, I realize that I was as young as 5 interested, and planning, ways of killing myself, just to see what would happen, just as an experiment, but never truely considered it. Not until . Not until I gave myself reasons. In year 5 and 6 it was the teasing; my weight, my high trousers, my nerdyness. Actually it want those directly that brought me to suicide as a way out. It was, and often since has been, as a way of getting attention, of showing that I was unstable and not to be messed with. Back then it backfired. My attempt became a joke, a mockery that still resides with me to this day. In years 7 and 8 it was mainly the same, more self indulged though, more self hate rather than taking hate. Any hate given to me I tured over and over and it became poisen that I would use onmy own view of myself, only multiplying in effect. More recently though, it has still been self caused, but out of hate and fear and knowledge that I am twisted and broken. First off I am a failure, a let down. Not neccicerily to my parebts, to my peers or seniors or society or humanity, but rather just myself. The more I fight it the harder I spring back, like running down a corridor in a nightmare and all you do is go backwards. I am lazy, lazy to the core. Lazy enough to not care about my life. Lazy enough to not do the stuff I WANT to do. I am. I have motivational issues. I cannot motivate myself, and any motivation given to me I am too lazy to accept. But this is just the foundations of this act. I am a failure to myself, and I cant face it, so I am running. This isn’t just because of school or my parents. Its because of life. Why do we live? To live just to live does not settle well with me, its illogical. Do we live to reproduce, no, because that is living to carry on the living of life. Do we live to serve society, no, because that is living to help others to live. Do we live to reach some final goal? Maybe. The conclusion i come to is that we live to do the things we want to, no matter what they are, no matter how illegal or immoral or strange they are until they get us killed or we die. I cannot do this. I am too afraid to do the things I want. I want to live normally and have a family. I want to have children. I have darker desires. Like I said I am broken, twisted, “F’ed in the A”. I am a sexual monster. I wank every day. I have wanked up to ten times in one day, without lube (I am boasting about wanking in my suicide ramble). But what really scares me is what turns me on. I am now sure that I am bi-sexual. I am also sure that I am a danger to society. When I am horny nothing that I want to get me off seems wrong. I get off on the idea and actualizeation of: rape, murder, piss, shit, pedophelia, vomit, incest, beastiality, bukake, abuse, violence, men, women, shemales, half-human half animal hybrids (I am a confirmed furry), pain, and a great many lesser things which slip my mind aat this late hour. Why am i doing this so late? To avoid bing disturbed, because in the moring this will seem stupid, because I don’t want to face another day. I am leaving this un-edited including grammer, spelling and thoughts because I don’t want any lies in here. I am not really depressed, just angry. At myself. No one must blame anyone but me for this. This is my fault. Another thing is that I don’t know if I really feel any opinion at all. I feel the same about almost everything, which previously I would have called likeing but now I feel must be indifference, and so the things I love I must only like. In which case how do i know what I love? I think I love Rachael Bundy, I think I love my family. Speaking of family I am going to admit that I much prefer my Paul and Gabby to my parents. The again I prefer most parents to my own. That is not to say I dislike my parents but if you spend that long around people you will either be really close or turn sour on them. I am sour. That does not in any way change who they are in terms of people. And you may parents are good people. I reference my parents both formally as you and informally as them purely because I am attention seeking enough to stick this on the internet, and to want it sent out to many people. I am craving of attenbtion, that is most likely, combined with how twisted I am, why I wnat to be a goth. But I am too lazy and scared to be one. That does depress me What also depresses me is that i have never had sex, never done drugs, only got half drunk, and never travelled beyond france.. I have now been writing this for well over an hour. That includes the time I spen going for a shit. That reminds me. Now I forgot. God I hate my memory. I rmember now, check my internet history if you want to know me, but be warned, it is a bad place to go. I suggest only doing so if you are desperate to know me (this is aimed at close friends and family). On friends, in my head I have an ideology of friends. None of mine live up to it. Friends are trust worthy, friends are there for you, friends will support you no matter what, friends will keep secrets, and firends will expct all these things of you. This is an ideology that leads to me not getting overly close to any friend and having a large basew fo friends each with a purpoe in this ideaology. Over the last few days I realized that my longest serbving best friend still in action is my small yellow teddy bear, sunny. The friend I trust the most is Gearsguy, or Chandler as he would rather I didn’t know him, I have told him more about myself than any other person I know; the reason for this was my self hate lead me to need to tell someone, so i told someone I knew i would never meet, someone I kew relatively well but would not miss. Int he act of spewing my guts we became best friends, which means I can no longer tell him stuff beacue I don’t want to lose him as a friend. My most annoying, yet best friend overall is Saupe. The friend I look up to in terms of personality is Japser, and in terms of brains Costa, and as a mix McPherson, and as cool guy Lawrence, and as a level headed, down to earth person is of course Sam. As my only potential love Rachael Bundy. My other best friends and people I remember fondly include Philippa, Oliver, Osirison, Inu, Mitch (on Steam), David my brother, Simon my brother, Harry my brother, Mr.Roberts-Jones, George from Langley, Sam from Langley, Jordan from Langley, Georgina from Langley, Amy from Langley, Kate the babysitter, my parents, (su)Benji from Steam and Facepunch forums, Air from Windows Live Messenger. There are others that I am sorry I cannot think of at this time. I should wrap this up, i have things to do. Things to do. Those are what saved me before. I always had things to do. Until i stopped caring and realized none of it mattered. What saves most people from suicide is aspirations of things. So what do I want to do when Im older? The problem is, I don’t know. I want to be an actor, a singer, a programmer, a game reviewer, a family man, a Victorian Englishman, an American businessmen, a member of the SAS, a world renowned scientist, A freelancer, a game reviewer, a magazine editor, a director, a scriptwriter, a game designer, and SO MUCH MORE. And I know that if I choose any of these I will be disappointed that I didn’t do some of the others. I should stop justifying this. This is me. This is my cowardace, my lazyness, my easy way out. To whomever it concerns I am sorry if I cause you any emotional disruption. I just feel that either this will make things better eventually for everyone or not effect them at all. This, my life, is nothing. It is everything. If you want my philosophy it is somewhere on facepunch. I am also a Pyromaniac.
I have a few requests:
Please don’t blame anyone.
I wish to be cremated, do with my ashes as you see fit.
Take the records I chose into school for the dorm. Please play one a day. For me.
Give Mr.Dawson my story, it is in Deadwalker.docx, it is in My Documents on the C drive.
Facepunch and the general internet friends: Either forget me and do nothing or do somthing big. I don’t want some half-assed internet memorial. I trust you all with my home address:
Westway
Way Village
Pennymoor
Tiverton
Devon
England
EX16 8LX
Send this to everyone mentioned if you can. Some will be on my steam account, some will be on my Xfire account, some will be on windows live messenger which broke again. Some will be on the other side of the country. Link to this is [URL]https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1lY_tWH2TRL-3YwJUEq4pJ9UkSGenWYhQTFRhwlmbKF8&hl=en[/URL]
Go about your lives as normal, just think that if time works as it should in my head, then this was the only possible eventuality, aka destiny, and so do not change around it.
Do not use me in any kind of example of bad parenting of failure of the system or nay other arguments or debates. Just leave me in peace.
There were some more but I have either forgotten them or think of them as silly, miniscule in purpose.
What I am doing, in the eyes of religion, is sin. In the eyes of logic it is one of many solutions. In the eyes of society it is a short sad moment. In the eyes of those around me it is a tragedy. In the eyes of the angry it is a weakling’s way out. In the eyes of the optimistic it was an escape to a better place. In the eyes of time it in nothing. In my eyes? In my eyes this is the finishing of a book. And all books have someone who enjoys them.
I am tired. I must go.
Goodbye.
Signed,
Christopher Ryan, 15.
[/quote]Bye Facepunch
[highlight](User was permabanned for this post ("Attention seeking/leaving/dead" - SteveUK))[/highlight]
wait so are you killing yourself or something?
I hope the letter was just a letter because that's really dumb at 15.
Why is this your last post?
I can't tell if you're just trying to avoid any negative criticism by saying you're killing yourself or if you're actually going to do it.
Either way, what the fuck are you thinking?
Dude.... Quit being emo.....
Life sucks ass some times but it gets better.... wait enough time and life will give you something nice.. or quit being lazy and earn something nice...
Spend all ur emo type practicing drawing
nearly nobody kills themselves because they want to die. Mostly they do it because they want and need help, and don't know what to do or how to control what they're feeling.
Your drawings need work; many of them seem like you were still just learning how to shade and use perspective.
Also, obligatory idiotic suicide stuff as well. You being gone won't affect me, but do not be an idiot.
Suicidal people are attention whores.
Last post and a suicide note. Not to be mean, but for fucks sake this is an Internet forum. Not everyone is going to see/care sadly.
Baaaaaaaawww ;__;
Not to be mean OP, but I don't give to shits if you die or get raped horribly.
but on to the CC, they look kind of like you just began drawing, work on perspective, anatomy, shading, colouring, pretty much everything
that is, if you aren't an emo faggot who wants us to love you, which ain't gonna happen.
bro.
Wow you're quite an attention seeker. You have no reason to kill yourself other than attention seeking. Your life doesn't suck. You're lucky enough to live in a first world country, in a home. You don't live on the streets, you aren't alone. You have the internet. You're not oppressed by your government.
Stop being a stupid little bitch. I know you're reading this, even if you're not posting. Because you're getting attention.
[editline]02:18PM[/editline]
Even if you really are dead, you're still a stupid little bitch for doing it. And a selfish cunt to boot. Man the fuck up and deal with life's problems, don't take the easy way out and end it before it's begun.
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