Splice of Imagination
Prologue
Sebastian Baye sat at his drawing desk, brooding, rubbing his grubby hands through his straw yellow hair. Once again his comic had been refused syndication. 5 years he'd poured into his work, with nothing to show for it. Sebastian had dreamed early on of seeing his work in the local paper, of people walking down the street and suddenly asking "Hey! Aren't you that guy who made the comic about-?"
Then the dream ended. It ended with the problem Sebastian had faced the last half decade of his life. What was his comic supposed to be? He tried an alien comic, prehistoric, medieval, and most recently, his comic about an 8,000 lb mongoose named Speedy. Now that he looked at them, he could see why his career was full of rejection. He looked away from his failures and over to a picture near the door. The cartooning legend Jim Davis was looking back at him with a broad smile. Sebastian had met him at a carton seminar five years ago. Jim had signed it as well: "To a very talented young man, ready to take the crown from us reaching geezerdom." JIM
Sebastian looked at it affectionately. It was the only possession he had that the repo man wasn't threatening to take. Sebastian mused to himself, "Looks like I might be in geezerdom before I get syndicated."
He pulled himself from his comfy chair and walked over to his bed. Neon digits on the clock showed it well past 3 AM. The shambles of Sebastian's apartment were filled with an eerie silence, one he had become accustomed to quite early in his career. If you could call it a career. Sebastian wasn't what you would call "wise" with money. It would take a miracle to move him out of his credit card debt alone, not to mention the stacks of bills filling his mailbox every day.
Sebastian gave an exasperated sigh, and slid beneath the covers. Tomorrow would be better. And if not, the day after that would. No matter the situation, Sebastian always felt it best to be optimistic. With that final thought he drifted off to sleep.
Evil dreams drifted in front of Sebastian. Swirls of twisted figures and black shapes haunted his sub-conscience. It was the same dream he had had for the last week: A house of torture, a horrific scene, and him. It was the only name the young cartoonist could find to describe it. It appeared as a large beast, with two great curling horns and eyes of crimson. Blood red. This creature stood on cloven hooves with a main of blue fire trailing down his back and a scaly tail arched up over its head like a scorpion's. Sebastian awoke with a start; a cold sweat dribbling down his face. He looked over at the clock. It was only 5:30, but he got up anyways. He often told himself, when this dream occurred, that he might as well stay up now that he was up. But truth would show his fear, the fear of returning to that haunting figure.
Sebastian rubbed morning grit from his eyes and moved over to the refrigerator door. He reached for a container of milk that had probably already expired. Sebastian suddenly stopped as an epiphany struck him. He was a failure. He had always known it deep inside; he'd just refused it. But now, standing in his lonely apartment, no job, no family, curdling milk in hand, Sebastian realized what a waste his life really was. A glint of self-loathing shone in his eye as he slammed the refrigerator door. He was no cartoonist. He was a life's personification of failure. A guide to show all teens what not to do with their life. Sebastian hated himself. His life. All he had become. He stared at the kitchen countertop for a while, unable to decide whether to scream or cry. Just then, a knock sounded on the door.
Frame one
Of pens and perils
Again, the knock sounded. Sebastian was quite unsure of what to do. He had never entreated a guest at this hour. He stepped from the room and to the living room. Each knock was progressively louder, thunderous bashes against the doors oak frame. The moment Sebastian neared the door, silence. He peered out into the hallway for a moment, then retreated back into his apartment. Not two steps from the door, the knock sounded again, threatening to reduce his door to splinters. Sebastian jumped to the door and looked out. Nothing again. Confusion gave way when he noticed a small cardboard box laying against his door jam, wrapped untidily in tape. He picked it from its spot and looked at the label. He had never heard of the postal company labeled on it, and there was no sender name attached. Only his name under the recipient. Sebastian took another nervous glance down the hallway, and returned to his kitchenette. The package was in a state of dis-repair; crushed, cardboard corners; frayed edges; horrible taping techniques. Thoughts of homemade bomb stories drifted through Sebastian's mind for an idle second before his prompt curiosity took control and immiediately sent him digging through the box. While the outside was indeed packaged horrifically, the inside was lined with tissue paper which inturn concealed a polished, black jewelry-type box. Sebastian carelessly threw the box and paper onto the floor as his finger worked the silver clasp of the box open. There was a click, and the top opened, revealing the most spectacular thing Sebastian had ever laid eyes on. It was an ornate, silver pen with intricate vine patterns etched up the side. If Sebastian would have been a little more observant, he might have noticed that the decorative vines were actually made of jasper. This majestic pen was laid on a blue silk pillow, fashioned around the burgundy velvet lining. Sebastian could hardly believe he was seeing this majestic pen let alone owning it. He moved his hands cautiously across its sleek exterior, afraid his usual klutz-iness woulder end in him breaking it. With effort, Sebastian managed to pull his eyes away from it long enough to think.
Sebastian began to pace across the crudy linoleum as he spoke to himself," Must be a mistake. No one in their right mind would send me something this exstravagant. Of course last I saw Aunt Mauvis she wasn't exactly in her right mind."
Prologue
Sebastian Baye sat at his drawing desk, brooding, rubbing his grubby hands through his straw yellow hair. Once again his comic had been refused syndication. 5 years he'd poured into his work, with nothing to show for it. Sebastian had dreamed early on of seeing his work in the local paper, of people walking down the street and suddenly asking "Hey! Aren't you that guy who made the comic about-?"
Then the dream ended. It ended with the problem Sebastian had faced the last half decade of his life. What was his comic supposed to be? He tried an alien comic, prehistoric, medieval, and most recently, his comic about an 8,000 lb mongoose named Speedy. Now that he looked at them, he could see why his career was full of rejection. He looked away from his failures and over to a picture near the door. The cartooning legend Jim Davis was looking back at him with a broad smile. Sebastian had met him at a carton seminar five years ago. Jim had signed it as well: "To a very talented young man, ready to take the crown from us reaching geezerdom." JIM
Sebastian looked at it affectionately. It was the only possession he had that the repo man wasn't threatening to take. Sebastian mused to himself, "Looks like I might be in geezerdom before I get syndicated."
He pulled himself from his comfy chair and walked over to his bed. Neon digits on the clock showed it well past 3 AM. The shambles of Sebastian's apartment were filled with an eerie silence, one he had become accustomed to quite early in his career. If you could call it a career. Sebastian wasn't what you would call "wise" with money. It would take a miracle to move him out of his credit card debt alone, not to mention the stacks of bills filling his mailbox every day.
Sebastian gave an exasperated sigh, and slid beneath the covers. Tomorrow would be better. And if not, the day after that would. No matter the situation, Sebastian always felt it best to be optimistic. With that final thought he drifted off to sleep.
Evil dreams drifted in front of Sebastian. Swirls of twisted figures and black shapes haunted his sub-conscience. It was the same dream he had had for the last week: A house of torture, a horrific scene, and him. It was the only name the young cartoonist could find to describe it. It appeared as a large beast, with two great curling horns and eyes of crimson. Blood red. This creature stood on cloven hooves with a main of blue fire trailing down his back and a scaly tail arched up over its head like a scorpion's. Sebastian awoke with a start; a cold sweat dribbling down his face. He looked over at the clock. It was only 5:30, but he got up anyways. He often told himself, when this dream occurred, that he might as well stay up now that he was up. But truth would show his fear, the fear of returning to that haunting figure.
Sebastian rubbed morning grit from his eyes and moved over to the refrigerator door. He reached for a container of milk that had probably already expired. Sebastian suddenly stopped as an epiphany struck him. He was a failure. He had always known it deep inside; he'd just refused it. But now, standing in his lonely apartment, no job, no family, curdling milk in hand, Sebastian realized what a waste his life really was. A glint of self-loathing shone in his eye as he slammed the refrigerator door. He was no cartoonist. He was a life's personification of failure. A guide to show all teens what not to do with their life. Sebastian hated himself. His life. All he had become. He stared at the kitchen countertop for a while, unable to decide whether to scream or cry. Just then, a knock sounded on the door.
Frame one
Of pens and perils
Again, the knock sounded. Sebastian was quite unsure of what to do. He had never entreated a guest at this hour. He stepped from the room and to the living room. Each knock was progressively louder, thunderous bashes against the doors oak frame. The moment Sebastian neared the door, silence. He peered out into the hallway for a moment, then retreated back into his apartment. Not two steps from the door, the knock sounded again, threatening to reduce his door to splinters. Sebastian jumped to the door and looked out. Nothing again. Confusion gave way when he noticed a small cardboard box laying against his door jam, wrapped untidily in tape. He picked it from its spot and looked at the label. He had never heard of the postal company labeled on it, and there was no sender name attached. Only his name under the recipient. Sebastian took another nervous glance down the hallway, and returned to his kitchenette. The package was in a state of dis-repair; crushed, cardboard corners; frayed edges; horrible taping techniques. Thoughts of homemade bomb stories drifted through Sebastian's mind for an idle second before his prompt curiosity took control and immiediately sent him digging through the box. While the outside was indeed packaged horrifically, the inside was lined with tissue paper which inturn concealed a polished, black jewelry-type box. Sebastian carelessly threw the box and paper onto the floor as his finger worked the silver clasp of the box open. There was a click, and the top opened, revealing the most spectacular thing Sebastian had ever laid eyes on. It was an ornate, silver pen with intricate vine patterns etched up the side. If Sebastian would have been a little more observant, he might have noticed that the decorative vines were actually made of jasper. This majestic pen was laid on a blue silk pillow, fashioned around the burgundy velvet lining. Sebastian could hardly believe he was seeing this majestic pen let alone owning it. He moved his hands cautiously across its sleek exterior, afraid his usual klutz-iness woulder end in him breaking it. With effort, Sebastian managed to pull his eyes away from it long enough to think.
Sebastian began to pace across the crudy linoleum as he spoke to himself," Must be a mistake. No one in their right mind would send me something this exstravagant. Of course last I saw Aunt Mauvis she wasn't exactly in her right mind."