more family matters
In some kind of art class or something where we to pair up and do a drawing with another student. There is animosity towards me because I would rather work alone, so I cave in and we are projecting our ideas onto some kind of screen.
I had originally intended to draw an armored warrior woman with a strange shield that my mind calls a “pregnant shield”, it has a large belly-like bulge in the lower part, with a demented face crudely drawn on it; being menaced by a demon vaguely like an undead anthropomorphic ibex. But since I have to work with someone we are simplifying it. The woman I have been partnered with wants to draw the warrior, and I decide to draw another woman with a bow taking aim at her figure. She says they should be cooperating, not antagonistic, so we settle on a scene in which she is fleeing/leading some enemy into my character’s line of fire, so it appears she is the target, when in reality the target is off-panel. I agree to this and we sit down at my family’s dining room table to begin.
I notice a largeish spider darting from between the pages of my sketchpad across the table, and chuckle that we should pin it to the page to be the monster our characters are fighting. It crawls between the leaves of the table, which are for some reason glass, and seem to magnify it as it finds a beetle at the base of the table and snaps it up in its claw- due to the magnification, both have taken on crustacean-like qualities, the beetle seems lobsterlike, and the spider is akin to a monstrous crab. It grips the helpless beetle in one claw and snips off its antennae with the other. Then it jabs its claw into the poor thing’s back and viciously and noisily scissors it in half lengthwise. As the halves hit the floor, they mindlessly continue to trundle forward on their respective legs in a horrible fashion. The spider-crab-thing picks one half up in both claws and chomps it loudly and messily, with an uncharacteristically horizontal mouth for an arachnid.
Then my attention is distracted by an iridescent viridian flash, and I turn to see a hummingbird hovering noiselessly in the air near the table. I am amazed and move my chair closer to it. I call out to my younger siblings to come see, and put out my hand beneath it to see if it will land. I can see that it has green feathers with glittering black flecks all throughout, and strange markings under its eyes in a color that seems simultaneously blue, red, and gold, but not any combination thereof. Actually I think it is secreting some kind of substance from its tear ducts, but I have no idea what purpose it serves. It dips toward my hand, but instead of landing smoothly it kind of bounces off, and I desperately try to catch it as it tumbles, fearful that my onrushing siblings will maul it if it lands on the floor. Each time it rebounds from my hands, the black flecks splash from its body, like pixie-dust. As my sister finally catches it, I am calling to my mother, who is in the kitchen, to come see. The bird lays pitifully in her hands, clearly unable to fly, and I begin to realize I have probably doomed the poor thing with my thoughtless interference. Kneeling, I lay my head on the chair and hide under my arms, starting to sob “It’s my fault, I ruined it” over and over as my family goes to look up a way to save it.