Connor’s Catastrophic Comic Book
“Horrendous. This is absolutely mortifying.” Connor groaned one night as he frustratedly discarded yet another stack of papers into his bin overflowing with crumpled papers.
He rubbed his face in fatigue, his chocolate brown eyes scorching as they silently begged him to shut them for some well-deserved sleep, but to no avail. Connor had a deadline to meet, and he was not about to let himself crawl into bed without creating the best comic book to be read. This was truly quite the draining task; Connor loved his job, for he wanted nothing more than to bring bright smiles on people’s faces upon viewing his illustrative work. However, high quality work always demanded the utmost effort one can give. Connor felt like he was a ball of dough, rolled endlessly by a rolling pin until he was too thin; he was on the verge of tearing into countless pieces.
Connor spread out a fresh page onto his desk and ran his hand over the blank paper smoothly. His busy brain buzzed against his skull, a thumping headache gradually growing and slithering its way all around his head. He was so close to illustrating and writing his comic book’s finale, he could practically taste the sheer elation radiating off the blank paper waiting to be used. Taking a gentle, deep breath, Connor set his pencil’s tip against the paper, and slowly commenced drawing the setting of his comic book’s ending.
The clock at the top of his desk ticked incessantly, tantalisingly reminding Connor every second of the impending comic book deadline looming over his shoulder and peering over him with a callous smirk. He swiftly wiped the beads of sweat lining his forehead, and expertly moved his pencil in quick, effortless motions. He was capable of producing the content his viewers craved. Connor was aware that he had the talent to sweep his comic book’s fans off their feet and leave them in awe of his ideas, his art and his colours.
An hour ticked by on the clock, and Connor felt as though his finale was finally coming together. He discreetly eyed the stack of papers on the far left upper corner of his desk, where the rest of his comic book laid, and he allowed a soft smile to linger on his chapped lips. Glancing back over his ongoing progress, he coloured his illustration smoothly, with not a single shade out of its restrictive border.
Finally, Connor put his green coloured pencil down on the surface of his desk, and he exhaled slowly. His eyes blinked lazily, and his lips parted slightly. As his gaze scanned the ending of his comic book, he felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders. The lamp situated on his desk shone on his masterpiece with pride, offering it complete ownership of the spotlight.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Connor’s overwhelming pride seeped into his bones as his hands gripped the page gently, and lifted up into the air. He laughed, the sound of happiness traveling across his room and he toppled off his chair, waving the paper around in excitement.
It was finally done; he had done it. Connor produced the best, thrillingly adventurous ending to his comic book: Catastrophic Cameron and the Cauldron of Chaos. He could hardly wait until he’d see it published day after tomorrow, however he soon felt his exhaustion rapidly rise. He gently set the paper on his desk, dragged his feet to his bed, and flung himself onto it, his eyes blissfully fluttering shut and his mind easing into a relaxing state.
“Goodnight.” He mumbled drowsily at his comic book laying on his desk.
