Story time, ladies and gentlemen. (I apologize for the wall of text in advance)
Several years ago, when I was still a little seventh grader over in shitty little Dysart elementary school, someone I cared deeply for was taken from me and my family.
Rewind, back before I started school, back before I was even old enough to walk, one Danial Nixon was diagnosed with leukemia. Cancer of the blood and bones. He wasn’t looking so hot, but the thing about this kid was that he was a little beacon of fucking light and joy. Everyone he met loved him, and wanted to be his friend. And I do mean everyone.
Fast forward a little, I was now six years old and my bond with Danial was strong, though not as strong as I would have liked it to be. But then, I was only 6. He was in high school now. And though he still had the disease, if it weren’t for the bags under his eyes and his thinned hairline, you wouldn’t have known. Danial was doing fantastically.
Jump forward again, and here I am starting the seventh grade. And Danial had finally gotten the news we had all been waiting for. None of us were at all surprised he had beaten it. We were just waiting patiently for the day.
But hey, life is a cruel fucking mistress. Early one morning, I was preparing for school when my mother got the call. I heard her scream and cry from my room, and rushed out of my room to find that Danial had been killed in a head on collision. His little V8 commodore stood no chance against the road train, speeding on a heavily foggy night.
It took a while for it to sink it. As it does for some people. It wasn’t until I was sitting on a bench outside of class, waiting for school to start when it finally did. One of the usual… I hesitate to call him a bully, more of a heckler really. He meant no harm. One of the usual hecklers was poking fun at me when I snapped. Screaming “My uncle died in a car crash.”
I did, I screamed it. I feel terrible in retrospect, because by the look on this kids face, he really felt horrible for picking on me at the time because of this. But yes. I broke down there, and I cried.
I got home that afternoon and I cried some more. The next week was like this, but it stopped after a little while.
And ever since then, it still hits me. Randomly. And it keeps me up all night, as I cry into whatever is closest.
I guess you can figure out why I’m writing all of this down here. It happened again tonight.
And by now I’m sure you’ve figured out why I’ve drawn James Colt. (The sick pony in the hospital with RD, for those that don’t know his fandom name) Or at least have some idea.
It’s just one of those silly things. I see him, his pale coat and baggy eyes, his bald head. I am reminded of my uncle… Kind of. It’s complicated but anyways. Have this picture I drew.