Cigarette BurnsFyodor stared melancholically at the house across from his. As he worked in the fields, he always noted the warmth which seemed to come from that household, the togetherness, the way they bonded with one another, the way they showed genuine love. He loathed every single one of them, for his was a father who beat him regularly, wishing to show him discipline, seemingly a replication of the rule of Comrade Stalin under the roof of his very household. How could they understand, the violence his father subjected him to so regularly, the cigarette burns left on his arm, the constant reminders that he was a bastard, abandoned by his mother? More acCigarette Burns
CasualtyThe ashen snow and flecks of gravel crunched beneath the soldier’s boot. He looked forlornly at the sky above him, a grey murky mess which was probably beautiful at one point, but no longer. The foreboding buildings of what was once a city surrounded him, seeming to tell him he was not welcome here. He nervously checked his map and denoted that he was a few clicks south of where he needed to be. He couldn’t believe his rotten luck, being stuck with a goddamn reconnaissance mission in temperature so cold it chilled your blood. But he was willing to take something, anything, to prove his worth in this echelon of soldiers. He raised hiCasualty
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“How can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter?” Woody Allen
But yeah, awesome, swing by my gallery if you have the time, I don't think you've had a chance to see what I've done in the genre of digital art.
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Ninjas never go down easy. Especially the l33t ones.
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