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About Traditional Art / Student Zipporah MichelFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Full Body + Chibis | Backgrounds
Will do a...

full-body + full background (color) = $20

full-body + full background (grayscale) = $15

full-body + full background (line-art) = $10.05

chibi + full background (color) = $10

chibi + full background (line art) = $5.05

chibi (color, no background) = $5.05

chibi (line art, no back ground) = $5

sketch = $2.05


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Zipporah Michel
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
United States
I'm currently a student in Miami Dade College-Wolfson Campus for academics and I am also continuing in art education to receive a Bachelors in Art. My goals were to always work in an animation studio. Completing my Character Animation courses and creating an illustrated book series are my current goals. After reading on humanities and philosophy, I had more interest in characters than anything else. Until my I attain my Bachelors, I shall be freelancing and continuing my education in Animation.
Interests
The New Years have finally arrived, but artists don't vacation, really. Unfortunately, that's what my mind ended up doing almost all of 2016, so in terms of artistry, 2016 was the worst aside from current events of politics. 

My New Years resolution is to work twice as much this year and push out more work because thinking about what might happen to this country for the next four years is a legit concern, but I shouldn't let it hinder creativity. Reading some novels last month actually helped, especially since I'm a bit of a history buff, curious to see what our ancestors on earth did in found and lost civilizations. One of them was the "Book of Enoch" (something I acquired as a Christmas present), which is very riveting if you're interested in the history of religion. Personally, whether I stand to fully comprehend what I read in this omnibus of books that were omitted from the final print of the bible for centuries, I am even more curious of the variable that made modern day Christians and other similar religions to say that this book and its contents are fake.

In any case, it'll also help me complete the graphic novel/web-comic series I've been wanting to finish for some time, which I know will cost money--which is another resolution I know I can do thanks to the support I have for the story concept. Of course the typical resolution would be to also lose weight, but it's something I'll have to take seriously this year. My family has a history of heart disease and diabetes, so I can't afford to ignore my health by stressing myself out, skipping out on food or eating too much junk, etc.

2016 wasn't the worst year ever, but like any other year, certain events and situations could have been better. As someone who resides and was born and raised in the first world, I know last year to be a bogus year in terms of who are next president will be for the next four years, what legendary celebrities died, protesting getting as bold as ever, and racism, sexism, and xenophobia starting to divide us; and will inevitably bleed into this new year.

It does look dire, but this isn't the first civilization to do or experience this. I cannot sit here and be depressed over our situation forever--nothing will get done by recognizing the issues AND staying down about it. According to Toni Morrison, this is the perfect time--in fact, the best time--to do some art and share it with the world as she wrote novels during racial segregation, Tolkien wrote during WWII, so I think I can stand to fill my portfolio and profile if the worst is promised to come. 


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"Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant."

Socrates


What was once a peaceful village that rested upon sacred ground, a place of trade, a place of a free people-all of it was in flames now. Its people ventured back and forth to save one another the best they could; to shield their children from the fires that soon swallowed their livelihood and harvest. Some of the others went out into the forest to keep away from possible smoke inhalation as soon as the injured, the sick, and the elderly were in the clear. The others... Ziio kept a stoic stature as she hurried for every able person she could save. Upon saving her mother, she kept her away from the inferno the best she could.

"(Mother)," she coughed, "(Have you seen Ratonhnhaké:ton)?"

"(He was still out in the forest-)"

"(No...)"

He could still be alive since those that had preyed on their village were more concerned about the braves destroying them. She raised him be more rational of the dangers of the forest and he has yet to fall to nature itself. The native woman had to see to that the living were cared for, though. Once Clan Mother made it to the edge of the village, Ziio sprinted back into the village in relay to recover belongings that belonged to the Brotherhood. Achilles had given her those books-tomes with information of the Watchers. She made sure that no survivor was overlooked before going through the deadly fires of the longhouse. This had to be done quickly for the structure would not hold for much longer. There may not be time to save all the books, but those tomes must be saved since there were no other copy. Ziio side-stepped to dodge some debris before reaching the her prized items, lightly coughing from the smoke surrounding her. It had almost become all too easy if not for the supporting wood collapsing so suddenly.

Everything had escaped her grasp as soon as the first torched lumber fell, easily wrenching a sickening "pop" from her left shoulder, knocking her back. Others followed after the first left her clutching a third-degree burn. Thick, burning wood toppled themselves on her legs hastily before she could think to crawl away helplessly. She let out a short cry as she felt the wind gusting out of her body as well as a spray of red before her eyes. The books fell from her reach, instantly embraced by the fires and soon she, too, would be consumed by them. The native woman gasped for the polluted air as the warm, coppery taste overwhelmed her mouth. Her vision had already begun to blur from the onslaught of pain once she settled against the burning wall behind her. The heat became more unbearable.

Am I to die here?

Now...?

No.

Ziio slouched over to the books that were nearly taken completely by the flames and took a handful of pages. Not caring for the burns she received, the ink was somewhat visible enough to read. It was desperate, but it needed to be done. The girl she saw so many times in her visions needed to be here. There was so much to be done; so much to protect. It was a large burden to place upon a child, but the girl had promise she was not aware of yet. Smoke began to rise from the notes that would become ash, yet the woman persisted in the chant.

"Please... come... Please... c-come..."

The words turned frail and a coughing fit shot forth from her injured chest. Profanity slipped from her lips as she threw the book aside as it was now ash and dust; so, too, was her fate in the next few moments. Strange, though, she mused of how heroic her death would be. Dying as a warrior with no regrets, yet here she was, scrambling in desperation. What was left of her people are now safe outside watching the destruction. Her mother probably still thought of her as a foolish daughter who brought this chain of misfortune to the village and its people. She could never come to Achilles' aid when he would need it in the near future. She would never have a chance to see Haytham again if she was ever able.

And her son...

Ziio's eyes glazed over in sorrow, thinking of whether or not Ratonhnhaké:ton was out there in the forest safe from harm. He was a smart boy; one would assume he'd be far from the danger here. Her bloodied hand clutched her intricate necklace as if the girl in a distant time would hear her plea to be there for him since she could not. Not anymore, it seems. She would not even be able to say goodbye to him. Perhaps it was for the best that he would not see her this way-crippled by the scorching hot lumber that braced her to the ground. He should remember her as the stern, strong warrior she was that solely devoted herself to her culture, her people, and her family. Ziio closed her eyes and exhaled with that contentment that she did all she could. Her boy would grow strong even without her.

"(MOTHER)!"

What...?

"(MOTHER)!"

That voice...

The wall adjacent to her rattled from the banging on the other side. A small hand tried to make its way out of the hole it created from the initial collapse with a peeking eye following suit. The native woman coughed, clearing her throat enough that she would speak. It was him. Her son had made it back to the village in search of her, only to find her half-buried under debris and the fiery inferno eating at her flesh. Ratonhnhaké:ton's voice was filled with urgency and despair, promising his mother that he would save her. Circling around the ruins, he made it inside the partially destroyed longhouse and to his mother. He hastily lifted the burning lumber, not caring for the injuries his hands were receiving. Residue of sparks flickered from the debris in a spray that caught on to his little arms. The boy hissed at the small burns they were sure to leave, but stubbornly tried to shift the weight of the lumber that held his mother in such a critical state. His little palms were going to char to nothing if he kept at it. There was little time. Ziio felt the structure she leaned against begin to snap. Her son couldn't be dragged with her. She couldn't let that come to pass.

"(Ratonhnhaké:ton)..." she gasped, making every last breath count, "(You have to go... it's too late)..."

"(No, I can save you)!" he pleaded as he tried to pull the hot lumber still.

The native woman leaned forward with a grunt to clasp her son's hands, intervening with the hopeless rescue. Gasping heavily, she took one hand to undo the necklace she wore and opened his hand, slipping the necklace into his ruined palm. She clasped both hands around his to push him away from the hazardous debris she suffered. The boy felt his body run cold as he watched his mother perform this act. This necklace meant so much to her; to her beliefs. She was ready to part with it? Now? His heart was caught in his throat. He hadn't the strength to even remove the fallen structure for his mother to escape. She was going to die here-No. He can't accept it. He won't accept it. Yet, there she was, speaking to him for them to part... forever.

"(You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton... You must be brave)..."

"(Stop it! Stop it)..." he can't believe this was happening.

"(You will think yourself alone, but know that I will be by your side)," everything was starting to fade, "(Always and forever)..."

She knew it to be the truth. She sent for someone to watch over him-for him to be alright-to watch him in her stead. She did not know when she would arrive to his side, but it would be soon and the time would be right. Before she urged him to leave once more, one of the elderly tucked through the fire, taking the boy away much to her son's dismay. He yelled and screamed that he would save his mother, but that time has long passed. Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't look away as the flames took her into it's cruel, unforgiving arms. The native woman raised her voice enough for him to hear that she was proud of him, that she treasured their time together, that he would never be truly alone even after this...

"Konnorónhkwa."


An onslaught of memories kept at Tsipporah's mind. It struck her as something seen in an X-Men movie. Through telepathy, she was receiving a large flow of events to decipher as if the user was trying to tell her something. She closed her eyes to pinpoint moments, faces, places, people, objects-anything incriminating in her findings. This enigmatic pattern of images were taking over the contents of her sketchbook as she could finally identify that it is in fact a native woman sending her fragments of her memories. There was a village behind a wall in a forest (as far as she could tell), First Nation people, and the woman in question was buried under burning rubble and the entire structure collapsed on her person soon after. Someone else was there with her though, in her time of crisis. It was a small boy who tried to get her out. The woman obviously saw how useless it was and probably urged him to leave, but not without parting with a special keepsake. He kept screaming and she said something, but with deep affection behind it. Unfortunately, the language was lost on Tsipporah; the gestures were there, though. The woman also had a book, too, long before the boy came and wondered if it had any importance.

The girl began to make notes and quick sketches for any detail she could recall. It was clear that she would have to look up certain symbols that belonged to a specific indigenous group. It was nothing she recognized from her Social Studies textbook at all. Maybe it was time for it to be updated. She couldn't reach for other things that may help her. She had already packed her laptop, flash-drives, CD-player with headphones, CD wallet with CD's, clothes, shoes, books, toiletries, art supplies, first aid kit, novels, sketchbook... She was ready to go on any trip with one backpack, really; and it's only her carry-on! Her guitar-she would prefer to carry herself since those in charge of handling shipments and luggage aren't very gentle with these works of art, she's learned (the hard way). The girl rubbed her temples and got off her bed to play some Green Day. The silence was deafening. The whole family planned to leave for New York early in the morning, so why not pack earl-

"Time for a nap," Tsipporah put her sketchbook and dry mediums aside, plopping her head on her pillow. Well, until an unwelcome voice startled her. It was as if a chirping monkey was getting ran over repeatedly or someone was trying to laugh at a bad joke. She reluctantly rolled from her rest to get to the living room to happily greet an eternally uninvited guest.

"Tsipporah-Jean, guess who's here? It's Myrtle." her mother smiled ear to ear as another woman stood next to her, much to the girl's dismay.

"Oh, it's you," she shrugged, "If you're looking for my dad, he's still doing a gig at a cathedral downtown."

"Tsipporah-Jean Martell!"

"What?" she turned to the other woman, "Did you actually come by to say 'hi' to us? I wasn't born yesterday."

Her mother and Myrtle suddenly turned sour at the girl's words. The two had always gotten along and her other siblings didn't mind the woman's presence at the house whenever she decided to drop by, but Tsipporah felt a twist in her gut every time that woman came by. She clearly wasn't someone to be trusted at all. Period. There was no physical proof yet either; just a creeping feeling that she was trouble to be taken care of or just banished forever. The mother made a move to grab her daughter by the arm.

"Apologize! Now."

"...Sorry." it sounded more snarky than it did sincere as if she wanted to add a joke after the fact. Her mother scoffed and sent her back to her room, but not without her adding more. "What time do we go tomorrow, mom? I wanna good pictures of the lodge we're going to-"

"Go to your room."

"Ok, fine," she'd rather pretend the "fish-faced-whore" wasn't there, anyway. She obeyed in retreating to her room to blast more rock music and bury herself in her current research. It would have been better to complete her homework-her reading for the week-but trying to figure out what this "ghost" wanted was just something beyond imperative. She dug through her piles of books of almanacs, world history, historical conspiracies, memoirs, adventure novels-

"Aha!"

She pulled out a seven-inch textbook that contained details of all the world's indigenous tribes. Most chapters contained the typical synopsis of respective cultures, branches, hierarchies, architectural structures, and the like. Her dreams were mostly a blur, but even when the village she saw in her dreams were up in flames, she had to guess they were longhouses.

"Longhouses," she mumbled, "The Iroquois Confederation, then."

It was hard to admit, but if a native woman was indeed contacting her with disturbing images, then one had to wonder if this was a cursed Native-American burial ground case she was dealing with because they never do end well. Perhaps the sooner she figures out what was happening, the better. Her eyes and finger continued to trail the page for anything that matched up to her dreams. Funny, she had only known a little about the Mohawk when the subject was introduced in elementary school. Such a poor representation that was shown in her school textbook that she was glad her mother bought this one from a historical society, knowing her daughter would find great use for it. The more she skimmed, the more she was able to uncover. The woman's necklace she saw was a rather unique object. It turns out that it may have a strong connection to the Turtle Clan-a people who have turtles near their village and with observing these creatures, they learned to be patient with life and to be steady. At least, she can now readily identify with the "what", "when", and "where". The "who", "how", and "why" was still out.

Who is this woman?

How is she sending these messages/memories?

Why is she even sending these messages/memories...?

"()." is for when characters are speaking Mohawk.


"Savages may indeed be a formidable enemy to your raw American militia; but upon the king's regular and disciplined troops, Sir, it is impossible they should make an impression."

- British General Edward Braddock to Benjamin Franklin, 1755


Clouds of steady breaths filled the air as her firm hands were helpless to resist the urge to feel her stomach. Covered in brown furs and intricate embellishments of a proud people, brown eyes stared across the endless white that blanketed the land and a grey that masked the blue of the sky. The silence of her once jovial companion bear no boon to her as well for the very news she disclosed brought about a heavier weight upon them both. Her eyes continued to gaze and wander about the cold laid at her feet as her face tried for a show of less fear before her comrade.

"You..." a hooded man tried for words as the onslaught of emotions raptures them,"You aligned yourself with a Templar then?"

Her body stood completely still at that claim, finally lifting her eyes to gaze into his directly. A man of dark skin stood proudly on the porch of his mansion overlooking the woman at a complete loss. Long braids swayed as she comfortably shifted her weight in defense.

"I did not know he was a Templar," she started firmly, "Believe me-"

"You are a Watcher! How could you not have known?" his voice raised as he drew closer so that they were but a few feet away from each other. "If something so urgent as locating a Precursor Site was asked by someone outside the Brotherhood-"

"He came to my aid and that of my people. What would you have me do? Not repay the favor? He did not even find what he was looking for."

"Ziio..." he began, "What you have done not only places the Brotherhood in danger, but your people as well; you do well to remember that. Your actions against Braddock will inspire retaliation. And fraternizing so casually with someone as malignant as Haytham..."

The dark-skinned man pulled away from the gaze they shared, pulling back his hood to rub his nape in frustration. He had never expected his own friend-calm, collected, and determined in her convictions-to have close relations with an outsider because of a few detours, rescues, and misadventures. Ziio was groomed to be the next leader of her village and in that she vowed to protect them by any means necessary. An exterior as hard as hers should never have been breached so easily for she respects confidentiality above all else and would not have given herself simply because someone came to her aid. The man sighed roughly, musing on how it was as if he does not know his own companion. However, with her pauses and short words, he sensed that fraternizing wasn't the only activity she had partaken in with the known Templar.

"What else is there?" he huffed softly, as his gaze slowly returned to her fully,"Did you speak of other things?"

"I am carrying his child," she stated.

Somehow it had gotten much colder. Though, Ziio was not entirely sure if it was for better or worse; the prospect of the latter was stronger. Perhaps this was all in bad time. After all, the man had recently lost those close to his heart and had much to grieve. The last thing he needed was to feel that the Creed had been betrayed again. First his pupil and now this. He was beginning to wonder what of her plans-her next course of action.

"As much as you insist on staying in the cold, I suggest we should discuss things further inside."

He nodded to the front door of his home. Ziio looked upon him with her eyes slightly widened. He was reluctant to speak with her for weeks on end after his loss and even now speaking of the Brotherhood's greatest bane being the cause of her swelling belly secretly made her apprehensive of his reaction, but now... She blinked the snowflakes that gently fell on her lashes and followed her friend into his home.

"Thank you," she smirked despite herself, "Achilles."


Both have settled inside and sat by the warm, lively hearth of brick and stone. Ziio sat on steady, soft furniture, tapping her fingers on the mug she held. Her eyes focused into the flames as Achilles went back and forth between and the kitchen before finally pulling a chair near to her. She made no move to acknowledge his presence, but to his words-the words he was sure to use carefully. Most likely the man would say something logical, but insensitive. She could take a lecture of how this was all one huge mistake; of course it was. Haytham had lied to her of his promise to take Braddock's life for her sake and the sake of her people. She took him to a place so sacred to her tribe and imperative to his findings. All in vain. All for nothing. Her mother's own words, voicing the obvious consequences still echoed in her ears.

"(I have told you countless times to not act, to not fight)." a woman with withered features and narrow eyes that had a glint of both deep wisdom and disappointment looked on her daughter as if she had carried the plague.

"(And yet, I did)," Ziio stood tall, "(I acted and now there will be no advances on our land; no enslavement on our kinsmen)."

"(And that will be so... for now)." she started, "(Your way has endangered this sacred land. Your way would see our people killed)."

"(No, it is your way that would see our lands taken and our people taken as slave or worse! You would have us stay our ground doing nothing as more strangers come to these lands and take what is not theirs! I will not sit in the dirt and let those pale men of fire and iron destroy us for all that we are and all that we have. I was raised to protect this village and that I shall)."

"(Yes, that is true...)" the old woman took in her daughter's passionate words, "(Which is why I will consider removing you from the position)."

Ziio's brows furrowed and wrinkled her freckled nose that her own mother declared. Something in her sparked as her mother spoke those harsh things with such a calm execution. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

She was no longer fit to lead?

She, who had pushed back those who would take everything from them?

"Make no mistake, I still believe you have done something so criminal as to assist the Templars out of a favor, but to be with child from one of them?" Achilles snapped his native friend from her thoughts, her head jolted up to look at him. Ziio pursed her lips.

"How much longer until you are due? Should the time come..." he sighed deeply, "I will see to it that you are assisted."

"My mother is aware of my condition..."

"Hmph, I doubted she would have you exiled at such critical times, but with how you handled yourself against your 'enemy', I imagine leading your people will no longer be your concern."

"-What of my child?" she stood suddenly, "You have said that these Templars seek to control all and rid the world of free will-of everything!"

"Ziio-"

"How long would it be until my child desires power and control as their own father?"

"Because you will be the one responsible, Ziio," he interrupted with a calm demeanor, "The child would fear nothing and desire nothing more than committing to the greater good as you have. Perhaps your child will be different than you would have previously expected-maybe better than the generation before. Take it from someone who knows."

The native woman's face remained void of emotion as her eyes glazed over, mixed with them. He is speaking from experience and whether the sorrow was fresh or not, he would never decide what she should do. Only wait and see what the child becomes. It was all a matter of time and care. The man who had gained the title of Mentor not so long ago turned away for a moment and held out a small stack of books for the woman to take away as if reading her mind. Yes, the child would have to learn the ways of world from the mother herself rather than the world's own cold embrace. She recognized these tomes-they had belonged to his son when there was vacancy in Achilles' busy schedule and he would tutor him. These would prove useful. After all, many consequences will follow after prodding a dangerous beast. Ziio began to wonder how soon it would be until her village would be rubble, the people slaughtered, and... This could all plant a seed of darkness in her child; there's no mistaking that. Her "reckless stance" may have shortened her life indefinitely. She narrowed her eyes and looked to her old friend.

"Strengthen the fire, Achilles." she placed her cup down and crouched to level herself with the hearth directly.

"God, woman, take no chances."

"I have to," she focused, "The worst has yet to come and I will not wait. There must be more Watchers other than I."

"Watchers only come once in a lifetime," he argued, "Surely, you understand that."

Ziio had already sat, fully meditated, breathing between chants that were not of her own origin. Her hands quickly reached for a bead from her carefully designed necklace and thrown into the flames that responded with a spat of smoke that soon towered over. With that she inhaled what smoke she was given as her companion groaned in frustration of his own friend's unwillingness to keep her rituals to herself... and not in his sitting room.

This was necessary. If she did this right-the words, the enchantment-she could call the next Watcher centuries over. It was a shot in the dark, but there had to be someone out there that this spell would reach. She would have to link her memories to theirs, her spirit to bring them here, her voice to listen; her chants intensified as the smoke then retreated into the hearth, carrying a message.

The native woman saw it.

There was a girl.

Curling in exhaustion, the woman gave a smile in accomplishment as Achilles went to her side.

"Perhaps it would be wise not to continue this further," he warned.

"There is no need to," she gathered her breath, "I have seen the next Watcher." *huff* "Only there is a problem..."


"Citizens, by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles. You have in a common cause fought and triumphed together; the independence and liberty you possess are the work of joint counsels, and joint efforts of common dangers, sufferings, and successes. … In this sense it is that your union ought to be considered as a main prop of your liberty, and that the love of the one ought to endear to you the preservation of the other."

"While, then, every part of our country thus feels an immediate and particular interest in union, all the parts combined cannot fail to find in the united mass of means and efforts greater strength, greater resource, proportionally greater security from external danger, a less frequent interruption of their peace by foreign nations … Hence, likewise, they will avoid the necessity of those overgrown military establishments which, under any form of government, are inauspicious to liberty, and which are to be regarded as particularly hostile to republican liberty."

"The nation which indulges toward another an habitual hatred or an habitual fondness is in some degree a slave. … As avenues to foreign influence in innumerable ways, such attachments are particularly alarming to the truly enlightened and independent patriot. How many opportunities do they afford to tamper with domestic factions, to practice the arts of seduction, to mislead public opinion, to influence or awe the public councils. Such an attachment of a small or weak towards a great and powerful nation dooms the former to be the satellite of the latter."

George Washington's farewell address continued for eons, it seems. Of course reading it is vital to the curriculum; it was to be discussed during class, but there were other matters to attend to.

Like sleeping. Or chocolate.

Procrastinating was no longer an option since there was to be an in-class essay about what was addressed in this speech and it was all due after spring break. A long groan filled the room, struggling to stay awake and take in the written text before her. She contemplated taking a nap before carrying on with this endeavor. This proved difficult, though, with her biological clock in a flux. Passing her hand through her hair, an annoyed grunt emitted. Being nocturnal wasn't voluntary; something had always disrupted her sleep. Well, aside from sugar intake and art assignments, anyway.

The textbook was put aside momentarily so that she could stretch more efficiently on the bed. Her grunts were so unladylike as her limbs touched every corner of the large mattress. The height of her was so average, yet her legs could go on for days and the same could be said of her weight.

"Ugh... What time is it?" she finally sat up, taking her cellphone in hand, "Ah, fuck me..."

The sun had risen hours ago and flowing in and out of consciousness was starting to set in. The girl gave a disgruntled look before shaking her head in a poor attempt to stay awake. In fact, it was preferred that sleep was avoided for strange dreams took root each time her eyes closed for it; and it was always the same. Every time her dreams would show of a woman gravely injured with flames all around her, threatening to engulf her as burnt, fallen lumber trapped and fatally injured her legs. Regret had filled her eyes as she spoke a language unknown to the girl. Lastly, the flames would strengthen, burning her flesh and burying her under rubble. Someone soon cried out for that woman... it sounded with a great sorrow.

"Tsipporah Martell!" a woman burst into the girl's room. However, the state of it shook the core of her being. It looked as if a storm hit.

Aside from the web of red-pinned checkpoints on her world map across the wall that was illuminated by the string of lights hung in the room, the bed was in disarray in the worst way possible with the pillows looking as if they were the unlucky ones in whatever bar-fight they participated in. The comforter was curled up into a pretzel and set aside against the head of the platform bed while the cover sheet resembled more of a disturbed ocean ripple than something to sleep on. Just about all of the dressers were open as well as the night stands for no apparent reason. The girl's art supplies of paints and dry mediums were strewn about the floor in such a sorry, drunken state as well as the contents of her backpack; a large, unfinished painting covered the wall with detailed outlines overlooked the countless knocked over items.

"Hey..." the young one yawned, "You're late for the party, mom..."

"For God's sake, clean your room! If you're gonna stay up to finish homework, then at least organize where you work."

"Haha... sorry..." she gave a tired cough.

"If you don't get a good night's rest soon, you'll get sick," her mother frowned, "See? Already coughing. I'm getting the robitussin."

"But it doesn't do much, mom."

"Nonsense-it works every time."

"Even on a sprained ankle, mom?" the girl smirked and raised a brow.

"Yes..."

"You're a regular salesman, mom."

"Don't get smart with me," she lectured, "Anyway, if you're not sleeping anytime soon, you can help me ready breakfast because I have something to tell you and your brother and sister."


After some time cleaning her room, Tsipporah went to the bathroom after catching a whiff of her armpits. Once inside, she looked about the unadorned interior, feeling for the light switch and flipping it up. The fluorescent lighting permeated all corners of room, cuing her to disrobe and to turn the shower on. The girl extended her hand to test the water. A smile broke her face when the water eventually reached a tea-brewing temperature. She quickly fetched a body and face wash from the cabinet, and stepped in to bathe. As the scent of fresh blossoms flooded her nose, so did murmurs against her ear. Tsipporah's head jolted; her body freezing in place.

"Mom...?" she spoke loudly.

Nothing.

Just the sound of water beating down on her body.

She began to scrub herself vigorously and kept one eye open as she washed parts of her face. Only 80's killers would consider sneaking into the bathroom-where one is most vulnerable-and finishing the job before the victim can cry bloody murder. She kept close to the wall after that as she turned off the shower and got out, but also remembered that her mother would scold her 'til the end of time for not putting the gels away. It didn't take long to contemplate what would be worse between her mother and a slasher. Quickly opening the mirror cabin, she stashed her items away and closed it immediately.

Still nothing, it seemed; not even in the mirror. Perhaps she overreacted.

At least that's what she thought before turning to the door...

The New Years have finally arrived, but artists don't vacation, really. Unfortunately, that's what my mind ended up doing almost all of 2016, so in terms of artistry, 2016 was the worst aside from current events of politics. 

My New Years resolution is to work twice as much this year and push out more work because thinking about what might happen to this country for the next four years is a legit concern, but I shouldn't let it hinder creativity. Reading some novels last month actually helped, especially since I'm a bit of a history buff, curious to see what our ancestors on earth did in found and lost civilizations. One of them was the "Book of Enoch" (something I acquired as a Christmas present), which is very riveting if you're interested in the history of religion. Personally, whether I stand to fully comprehend what I read in this omnibus of books that were omitted from the final print of the bible for centuries, I am even more curious of the variable that made modern day Christians and other similar religions to say that this book and its contents are fake.

In any case, it'll also help me complete the graphic novel/web-comic series I've been wanting to finish for some time, which I know will cost money--which is another resolution I know I can do thanks to the support I have for the story concept. Of course the typical resolution would be to also lose weight, but it's something I'll have to take seriously this year. My family has a history of heart disease and diabetes, so I can't afford to ignore my health by stressing myself out, skipping out on food or eating too much junk, etc.

2016 wasn't the worst year ever, but like any other year, certain events and situations could have been better. As someone who resides and was born and raised in the first world, I know last year to be a bogus year in terms of who are next president will be for the next four years, what legendary celebrities died, protesting getting as bold as ever, and racism, sexism, and xenophobia starting to divide us; and will inevitably bleed into this new year.

It does look dire, but this isn't the first civilization to do or experience this. I cannot sit here and be depressed over our situation forever--nothing will get done by recognizing the issues AND staying down about it. According to Toni Morrison, this is the perfect time--in fact, the best time--to do some art and share it with the world as she wrote novels during racial segregation, Tolkien wrote during WWII, so I think I can stand to fill my portfolio and profile if the worst is promised to come. 


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:iconminamiko:
minamiko Featured By Owner 3 hours ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you very much! Purple Butterfly 
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Placi1 Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2017
Thank you for the fave!
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deepgrounduk Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2017
Hi, and many thanks for faving The Boxers, much appreciated :D
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luceene-k Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thank you for the favourite! :)
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slshimerdla Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2017  Professional Digital Artist

Thanks so much for the +fav! I really appreciate it! Please consider throwing a watch my way if you want to see more, and have a good one! :)

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Onyx-Philomel Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Many thanks for the favorite.

Vicious Instincts by Onyx-Philomel
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Spiritofdarkness Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2017
:wave: rvmp    thank you very much for the  +fav    la-chase by KitLightning
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Chanteur-de-Vent Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the fave.
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hubert61 Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2017
merci pour les favs :)
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thanks for faving =)
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fradarlin Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the fav! :D
Orchid by fradarlin  
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Thanks so much!Leedle Leedle Leedle Lee 
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Thanks for faving Carrie, I really appreciate it
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Thanks for the fave! :D (Big Grin) i really appreciate it!
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Placi1 Featured By Owner Dec 27, 2016
Thank you for the fave!
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BroJoe2015 Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2016  Student General Artist
Thanks for the fav. Writing about that, have you checked out the other stories I have? Like this one: brojoe2015.deviantart.com/art/…
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Zaiav Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you so much for the favorite! It means a ton that you liked my work, it'd mean so much if you'd stop by and check out more of my work or maybe even watch me! Have a beautiful day! 
Hamtaro Mouse Emoji-03 (Squee) [V1] Bunny Emoji-68 (Bouncy) [V4] :squee-love: - PLZ 
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Placi1 Featured By Owner Dec 12, 2016
Thank you for the fave!!:) (Smile) 
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veeegeee Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2016  Professional Writer
A 226 by TheOnionHeadA 226 by TheOnionHeadA 226 by TheOnionHead 
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Thank you very much for viewing and :+fav:ing my work!
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Party  Happy birthday Party 
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Birthday Gift December by Maria-Schreuders  
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caddman Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2016  Professional General Artist
.....:iconthanksforthefavplz:SS my friend ...:iconkissmote: :love:
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suezn Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2016
flower ~ thank you for the fave 2 - FREESTUFF by AStoKo
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Canankk Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2016
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hi, and thank you so much for faving Bubbles, it's much appreciated :D
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