Inanimate Insanity Papercraft Novels & Stories

Five years later. The wind over the roofs of Ouroboros was no longer cold and biting. He wore the scent of flowering apple trees and wet earth through the wide, sun-filled streets. The city of scrap and silver breathed. I sat on my solid self-welded desk on the veranda our workshop. Before me there was a thick roller bound in dark brown leather. The pages consisted of recycled, handmade paper, the Betty and I in for weeks produced from the old pulp stocks of Bunker Gamma

The room looked insane at this point; papers scattered everywhere, sketches pinned against the walls, empty coffee cups crowding the desk like they paid rent, my tablet glowing from overuse while my eyes burned from staring at screens for too long. “Jesus Christ,” Cassie muttered from the couch, staring around the room in horror. “You look like a caffeine addict who got kidnapped by a comic convention.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It wasn’t.” I ignored her and kept sketching, pencil moving fast against the tablet while my leg bounced restlessly under the desk. I had not slept properly in two days. Every time I closed my eyes, ideas kept crawling through my brain like hyperactive demon

Although he didn't know what Allen bought, he believed Allen taste and what he chooses will surely make him very satisfied. Sebestian took out the key in his pocket and used it as scissors to cut the tape that sealed the carton. Inside, there was a set of three-dimensional models about 50 cm long wrapped in bubble wrap. After taking the items out of the carton, Sebestian carefully removed it. Behind the bubble paper used for the outer protection, a set of cute versions of Allen and Sebestian paper clay dolls with big heads appeared. Two cute big-headed dolls stand holding hands on the right side of a small garden house. A sign is inserted in the flowerbed on the left with a few words written

Not even paranormal thrillers, erotic fantasies, or the sweet memory of my date with Tyler could erase it. The only thing I knew could pull me out of this useless spiral was sitting on my study desk. I dragged myself over and grabbed my favorite ballpoint pen. On a blank sheet, I doodled absentmindedly, only realizing after a while that I’d drawn a skeleton head pierced by multiple swords. Serves you right, asshole Grant. Symbolic, sure but still trash. I crumpled the sheet, squeezing my so-called masterpiece before tossing it away. That’s when I noticed the neatly folded piece of paper sitting on the table, right where my doodle pads used to be.

He held it up for a moment, examining it in the light before casually flicking it onto the concrete floor, where it landed with a tiny, insignificant tink. "One," Zandrei counted softly, his eyes glinting with a mad, ecstatic light. "Now, let's try again. Who sent you?" He asked, his voice brimming with a childlike excitement, like a madman who had just discovered a wonderfully fun new game and was eager for another turn. The man in the chair could only manage a strangled, guttural sound, a wet sobbing noise that vibrated through his shattered mouth. His head thrashed from side to side, his eyes wide with a horror so pure it was almost beautiful to Zandrei.

I turn on my phone's torchlight and move towards the curtains but he stops me. “Leave it.” There's a sharp click and a soft red glow brightens the room. I look around to see stacks of unfinished art neatly pushed aside in every corner. It's a mess of unfinished perfection. Most of them are a mutation of inanimate objects and living creatures made from wires, painted bones, clay and materials I'm unfamiliar with. But they're exquisite even in their forgotten states. Lying among them is a pair of male boots riddled with bloody eyeballs created from bone fragments and some red fiber-like material. Like something out of a horror film.

But it penetrated that person's cavernous gaze ,who was still standing at a far distance from her, but now his feets had started making their way on their own towards her, towards his insanity's sanity. Inessa , who had her eyes closed by now felt a gloomy silence to wash over her entire surrounding ,as people who were whispering murmuring talking had became completely quiet, like her entire surrounding got deprived of every sensation and movement and the only thing which could be heard was a loud and thudding sound of shoes tackling on the wooden floor, which started getting more closer to her.

He snatched the bread slices off her tray and shoved them into his mouth. After starving all morning and fueled by the rage of what'd happened the last two days, she lunged at him to snatch it back and shouted, "You psycho!" The man stopped chewing and stared at her expressionlessly. Then, he reached out and grabbed her outstretched right hand. With a sickening crack, he snapped her index finger at a grotesque angle. A pained scream that sounded like the cry of a dying animal escaped her throat. Here, all the tricks she'd learned pretending to be insane, including the fake screamings and bluffs, meant nothing. All she received was harsher, more direct, and more brutal violence.

My hands shake uncontrollably, my vision tunneling. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I force myself to open my bag with trembling fingers. Everything is there. My books. My notebook. My pencil case. And something else. A folded piece of paper. I pull it out slowly, unfolding it with care I don’t feel. It’s a sketch. Black ink. Sharp lines. A familiar grin. The Joker. I stare at it until my hands stop shaking. And for the first time all week, I understand.

This is my doing, my work, my drawing, of a creature that had hunted my dreams for so long up till now. The hollowness in the depths of it's eyes made my stomach clench. Knowing fully well that it was inside of me and it could probably see exactly what I was doing right then....or not. I remember the empty look in it's eyes like I was staring at it live all over again. But I refused to be consumed by the thought, and just like the twenty five other trashed papers littering the floor, I ripped off my current hazard and squeezed it before flinging it over to the ground again, ready to try again the twenty seventh time.