he woke up, being only partially drawn. but what the hell, life could be worse. so what, he's missing an arm, and a stick figure isnt exactly the most attractive of people- but hey, at least he's alive. and that stick figure would soon come to realize that life is not to be lived, it is to be terrified of death. this perplexed him to no end; so one day, while his artist was sleeping, he discovered a pencil. with all his might, he slowly scratched out his legs. crumbling to the ground, he felt so weak. but he didnt bleed, he didnt feel pain. he just felt numb. and in this decayed numbness, he erased his torso. "this isnt so bad," he thought. and then he erased what else he could, he went straight for the head. he was nothing but one arm, being crushed under what was from his perspective an enormous pencil. and just like that, he was nothing.
the next day, his artist found this a peculiarity. nonetheless, he redrew the same lines again, and finished his creation.
"what," again questioned the figure, dragging a pencil closer, "is everyone so afraid of?"

06/20/2003

Author's Note: the first piece of fiction or whatever that i've written in forever. and, it is really just a draft; lol

Posted on 06/20/2003
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