A fantasy novella by my dear friend: Ciara Ballintyne. You can get her book from here:
Amazon - http://goo.gl/ZYMjmK
Barnes & Noble - http://goo.gl/Wbd2Eu
Apple - http://goo.gl/Zm2rBr
Kobo - http://goo.gl/ZYMjmK
Book trailer credits:
Illustrations by Isaia (worldsbeyond.lydiakurnia.com) and myself (lydiakurnia.com)
Art direction by myself
Cover illustration by Nadica Boskovska (theswansmaiden.deviantart.com/gallery/)
Music by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
An animated music video with my good friend Isaia. This one took us four months to do but we had a lot of fun. Check out the process here: worldsbeyond.lydiakurnia.com/home-the-process/
All sketches are drawn using Sketch Club. Animation using Sketch Club and Sony Vegas. Music done using Sony Acid and Garageband.
His final steps echo through the hallway made only of concrete, through the ears of the other inmates, each of which press their greasy faces up against the cold metal bars, and through his own mind, each step growing louder than thunder, striking lightning in the back of his eyes that begin to fall with rain.
His final breaths increase once his rounded hands are strapped forever to a padded table by a man in uniform, one of the many who wear it as a mask, hiding their own sin behind it. Perspiration seeps slowly from his hairline until its comes to contact with his tear dried chin, almost as fast as the chemicals that drip into his bulging veins, however their destination is to his heart.
His mind rushes to the night of the fair, eleven years previous to this day, her black shirt clenching every curve of her body, her shoulders turning a light red from the afternoon’s sun. He suddenly feels the intense urge to kiss her, but instead he continues to watch the several beads of sweat race down the soft skin of her face. He is brought back to the room where he lay stranded on a table, his own sweat falling from his fingertips, making a silent puddle on the floor beneath him.
His bloodshot eyes take in the room, investigating the faces of the audience, the sick bastards who find delight in other’s sufferings, his sufferings. His eyes close in immediate desperation for something more and his brain pulses as it brings her eyes to memory, her eyes slick with betrayal and her head shaking side to side for a final time. He drops to his knees, both of them cracking as they hit the tiled floor. His pleading causes her to spin on her heels and walk the other direction in their life, leaving him behind on the floor then, leaving him on this table now.
His muscles tighten as more of the chemicals work their black magic, creeping in and out of every pore on his trembling body. A fire worse than Satan’s blazes throughout his veins, burning every one of his nerves to ashes and melts every feeling he has ever felt into nothing. The slowed beeps of the heart monitor across the room remind him that these are the last moments until the end. His mind races to find a single picture, a remembrance that will help the struggle of his final breath. The picture of her body rests on the back of his eyelids and he gently embraces it for the last time. She lays limp on the blood pooled bed, next to the other man whose face is no longer recognizable. He watched awhile longer as the last of their blood emptied from their bodies and slowly showered the tiled floor.
He stretches his hand out to touch her face one last time but, reality bounds back to him as his hand is caught by the straps keeping him pinned on this table. His vision darkens around the edges and a sensational numbness crawls through his body, aiming for the gradually dieing heart. His eyes close for the final time, her picture no longer waiting to soothe him, instead there is nothing and he embraces it as he inhales his last breath.