BOP 3: Despair

Silvanus sat rigidly beside the gurney, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. A hand clasping his shoulderbag, the other on his arm as his fingers found their way to the sleeve.

doot doot doot do-

The monotonous drone of the EKG monitor filled the sterile room.

His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping his arm, The floor was white. The sheets were white. The walls were white. Even the curtains were white. Everything was too white.

BOP 2: On the Offensive

He clutched the pistol in perspiring hands, nervously fingering the safety lock.

Silvanus had never seen, let alone hold, a real gun, and its weight felt far greater than the mere 5 lb. the engraved label had claimed it to be. 

In his ears he heard the thump of his pulse and the painful clench in his chest. Breathlessly he slid to the ground, knees wobbly and hands shaking with adrenaline as he strained to hear something -anything- in the deathly silence. 

As if the nighttime visibility wasn't bad enough, a light fog had settled over the city, blanketing the landscape in an mist. Despite the lack of wind, the fog swirled and twisted, ghosting around the streetlamps, wisps curling under their light.

Still he heard nothing, and he shivered lightly. The night was neither hot, nor chilly, yet he felt cold inside as hot prickles ttickled his skin. 

Then, out of nowhere a gunshot rang out, near deafening as it broke the stillness of the night. 

A gasp escaped him and he shrank back, pushing deeper into the corner where he had jammed himself into.

A sob threatened to bubble out, but he forced it down. Igneus and Forswua were out there. Forswua had been the first to notice the footsteps, and their continued presence trailing them all the way from the party. 

With a knocking of shoulders, the stoic twin had nonchalantly grunted a warning to Iggy and the two together had casually, but with all due haste, donned on their respectful Blitz Gear while shoving a G-lock pistol into Sil's hands. 

The recent reports of prowlers and student attacks, likely having some root in the recent riots and political upsetting, had resulted in the allowance for students to carry their Strife Allocaters off school grounds.  

As the footsteps trailed behind the trio even as they winded past several empty streets, not unusual given the late hour, Iggy had leaned down and whispered to Sil, "Lay low, and don't come out no matter what, okay? One of us will come for you."

And just like that, on the next turn he had, in one smooth and fluid push, been nonchalantly shoved into an alleyway as Iggy and Forswua continued on, carrying on a facade of smalltalk as they did. 

He heard more than saw them quicken their pace and likewise did their lurker. They were luring the danger away from him, baiting their pursuer far from the physically compromised redhead.

Like a helpless fawn hid, still as death, while the mother doe risked her own life to draw away the would be predators.

He shut his eyes tightly as the excessive adrenaline fatigued his muscles and made him both light headed and short of breath.

Silvanus tried to even out his breathing even as choked gasps forced their way out, fear driven tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and panic flooding his senses as images of mutilation and blood from the recent media played like a broken film behind the darkened screen of his lids. 

He was hiding like the useless whelp he was.

One of his flatmates could be bleeding out on the pavement and here he was barely able to even hide properly.

BOP 1: Another Day

Breadth of Possibility or "BOP"s  were first introduced to me through my creative writing teacher, Ms. Tarn Wilson, a charismatic someone who nourishes, and inspires, respect from her students.

Here's an example of her work, Faithful Over a Few Things. With even a glance, readers are drawn in by the slice-of-life story, and a deep respect bubbles forth from within, spreading out as it sings to our hearts and minds, her words weaving only the finest of silk.

Thank you to my dear mentor, Ms. Wilson. It was an honor to be a student in your class, and one I will never forget.

It is only with the deepest admiration and respect for her that I turn back to writing the BOPs as she had once taught me, and which I now hope to impart, though I can scarcely hope to deliver it with the same words of inspiration, I hope to pass on and share her teachings if even a little, just as she did with me.

In writing a BOP, the first step is to make yourself comfortable. Find a quiet place where you wont be intruded upon. Once you're settled, take out your choice of paper and writing instrument-

-and start writing.

That's it. 

(Technically, you can do anything you want but since this is about writing we'll keep it to that.)

Write about anything, anyone, anywhat. Even if your mind goes blank -write about that too-. The only rule, if it could be called that, is to keep writing. Don't stop.

And that, my dear reader, is a BOP. 

A breadth, of possibility. Challenge yourself then, to write about everything and nothing. there is no wrong answer.

And with that, I hope you start your own BOP Journal to write and keep track of your BOP sessions. See where you start, and how far you'll go. May your sessions prove to amaze even yourself.

---

Sil let out a deep breath and turned a critical eye towards the potted plant, hands outstretched.

He felt his hands grow warm as his mind reached for the bonsai's aether. It was a slow and gentle flow, much different from that of animals.

While that of animals flowed swift like creek or streams, that of plants were comparable to clouds. Slow moving and largely unaffected by the rush of aether.

Slowly, carefully, the redhead reached out with his own and wrapped it around the plant, fingers curling and extending as he did.

As their life energy swirled together and seeped into one another, Sil started bending the plant, creating the twist in the trunk and drawing down branches to a more typically appearance as seen in Bonsai.

"Oh! You're an animater." Despite the amiable voice, the redhead jumped and the plant sprung back, rubber banding back to their original position as the connection was disrupted.

When had he shut his eyes?

So engrossed in the task, he had failed to hear the other's coming.

One of his flatmates, Forswua, set his bag down, ignoring the flustered greeting he stammered out.

Behind him his twin, Igneus, and the one who had spoken earlier, gave a low whistle, "That's rare even for us Enhanced."

Sil nodded, eyes fixated on the ground. If he remembered right the two brothers were of the Elemental class, though he couldn't remember which.

Igneus glanced at the bonsai and let out a small noise of realization, "Sorry,did we interrupt your practice?"

He quickly shook his head, Igneus was alright. The man was friendly enough.

His twin on the other hand... Well. Time would tell. Forswua was rather stand offish, and it unnerved him.

Even now he had yet to speak, opting to nab a bottled glass of soda.

Faster than he could comprehend, the glass seemed to gain a frosted look to it, condensation gathering on its surface.

The disbelief must've been obvious, for Igneus let out a laugh.

He reached up and caught a bottle Forswua passed and held it out for the redhead to see.

It was room temperature.

"We're Elementals, aspected towards heat and plasma." With that he brushed his hand across the bottle, and like magic, the surface gathered condensation, small wisps visible with the difference between room and glass temperature. Impressive still were the ice crystals that he saw form as the surface frosted over.

"Comes in handy when you run out of space or forget to stock more sodas in the fridge." He said, still grinning.

With a twist of his hand, the top came off and he offered the cool drink to Sil.

The Animator took it, his awe changing to astonishment at the frosty chill of the glass.

Unbeknownst to him, Igneus exchanged a look with his twin.

Forswua scowled as he caught the cheery twinkle in his twin's eye, ignoring the gleeful grin directed at him and the nod of his head towards the redhead.

Silvanus, as their new flatmate had identified himself, seemed alright. Kept to himself, was clean, organized, and most of all, quiet.

Forswua sipped slowly at his drink before going back to observing his roommate.

There was a childish awe and glee on his face as he stared mesmerized at the bottle, and the manner in which he took a tentative sip stirred up a warm feeling within him.

He was proud of his abilities as an Elemental, and seeing the other's admiration helped to rekindle his own interest.

Perhaps the year wouldn't be half bad.

Slice of Life: Fly Away

“If you truly love it, let it go.”

“But… I love it so much”

In my hands I held the bug cage, watching the little red beetles climb stray branches and test out their new wings. Some others, having newly morphed, were resting under the warmth of the sunbeams.

In my hands I held a precious thing of irreplaceable value, Life.

Young though I was, I was mesmerized by it, and the small creatures I had grown fond of in the process of rearing.

Reluctantly I opened the cage and watched them take off. First one. Then another. Then more as they climbed high up as they could before their shell split to reveal transparent wings.

For a second they seemed still, then they were up in the air, zooming off till their small red dot became untraceable.

Not one looked back, and I hadn’t expected them to. Though a small part of me hoped and longed to imagine that they’d come flying back. To give personify them.

They flew away, and I stood holding an empty cage.

A large but gentle hand held my shoulders as a frown etched into my face.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be back next year, and there’ll be more of them you can raise.”

“I know.” was the mumbled reply. I knew they would be back, they always do every year. But when they do they’ll be different.

Ladybugs only live a short few weeks to breed, and then they die.

She left to go in and cook dinner and I allowed myself to sit squat on the ground, still clutching the cage.

When I was little, I remember those who cried, would get attention. I was a fairly egocentric as a child such that attention was what I wanted. But, even then I was having a hard time bringing up the tears. A small worry that hit me was whether or not my feelings were sincere.

I loved the little critters, I truly did, but was it not enough to wring the water to my eyes? I felt sad yes, but it wasn’t enough to make me cry.

It had never been easy for me to tear up.

So I stood and put the cage away. Next year I would be there to greet their offspring, bring a few home, and set them upon the aphids in our backyard. To watch the cycle of life start anew.

“I’ll see you all again next Spring.” I looked up at the skies and mustered up a smile I didn't really feel.

With that I ran back into the house. My 1st grade teacher Mrs. Williams had assigned us a short essay on our reading, and I hadn’t quite finished.

Concept and Prologue: Bad Start

As practice for graphic design, concept, and art, I've thought of making a combined journal and diary in the form of a graphic novel. Yet at the same time I hesitated in its making as it had a considerably narcissistic quality to it.

Thought it would end up as can be seen here. Despite the internal conflict over its making, I settled with starting the comic. Though I do desire to share it, as is the case with most artists who are proud of their work, similarly am I keeping it to myself for the most part. That being said having it on a blog may seem controversial given the nature of such forms of media, yet as can be seen in the statistics of the blogs in truth it's quite limited in audience, distribution, and an overall easy storage for mindless thoughts and recordings.

Moving on, the picture is an "in-progress" cover for Bad Start. The graphic novel diary and journal of your's truly.

Taking on a new style of "border-less" coloring, mostly exemplified by her pants and sneakers. May or may not keep at it, or simply use it as a flourish here and there.

Zoomed into some of the finer details I was satisfied with. As you can see the pants are "border-less" and one differentiates shape and form from color and light variance.

Poem: Silent Melody (Voiceless)

Summary: The fear that they have no meaning, that the voice will go unheard and never will be. That it would disappear. A written piece about the ignored cries, unpopular thoughts or beliefs, as well as the inability to speak out.

Usual copyrights please, no quoting, rewriting, excerpts, abridging, or borrowing any part of the poem, thanks.

The voice that will never be heard,

A sentence, a phrase, a word.

From the harp, strung strings from hearts,

Strummed a melody that at once departs.

Words and lyrics are they without,

If heard would never bring about.

Till strings strung taut meet inevitable end,

Beyond the means of any possible mend.

At last to be banished and sent,

To the darkest abyss as was meant.

For solo alone to endure and fend

And at last disappear, with Winter's forthcoming Wind.

Scribbles: Diridon Station

A sketch while waiting to board.