Astounding artwork!

So happy with some of the artwork done by myself and my illustrators. It's trickling in but it's adding up!!

Girl in the End
I drew this. It took me days, mate. Days! 

Val! Done by Robbotostudios on fiverr, really cute!

The Pantinium Blade, Chapter One: A Premature End To The Last Normal Day

The Art & Design workshop was empty when Tara arrived. Most were still on break, but she preferred getting to art class early in order to find a good seat. So she dropped her bag on a table before the large windows spilling sunshine and made for the storeroom where she’d stashed a few art supplies.

Tara was in Year Ten. She’d chosen art as one of her subjects because she enjoyed it, not to mention it was one of the few classes where she actually achieved good grades. Sure, she enjoyed French and Geography fine, but barely scraping a C on each test wasn’t exactly the thrill she was after. Frankly, she couldn’t replace the feeling of making a neat doodle, so if she could get a grade at the end of it then she’d be truly happy. Still, she doubted life as an artist was as glamorous as a life as a student.

That’s when she entered the storeroom and realised life as a student had its downsides, too.

“Oh come off it!” she cried after stepping in a puddle of drying paint. The rest of the storeroom was in a similar state with last semester’s art-projects piled against the walls, ruined paint brushes and paint-hardened pots were stacked across the sink, and the shelves were a mess of paper, crumbling clay, and pots of spent glue and broken pencils.  

She trudged through it to a part of the shelf boasting pots of glue sticks so badly clumped together that it looked like an iceberg. Behind them sat a box of oil pastels provided by the school, this meant she wasn’t allowed to take them home but no one said anything about storing them away safely.

But the mess wasn’t the reason she was depressed as this merely acted as a reminder of what she’d lost at the beginning of the school year back in September. Ten months ago, Tara had been thrilled to receive her planner and find that she’d been accepted to be an Art & Design student. Even her parents (who’d been less pleased to see her go into art rather than English Literature) had forked out over a hundred pounds to pay for supplies. But she’d turned up to class to find her teacher, Miss Chechiana, had been replaced by an unknown face sporting a blasé attitude as he’d told her that Miss Chechiana had left.

Tara had been so crushed that she’d even tried finding her beloved teacher outside of school. They’d been close in the years before, with constant encouragement for Tara to take on the class and really excel herself as an artist. She’d felt let down, but most of all, she felt the amazing legacy that Miss Chechiana had left had been abused. The store cupboard was evidence of that.

She sulked as she returned to her seat. Before her was her work, a portrait of Mother Teresa rendered in different shades of green. It had been a lacklustre project set forth by their permanent supply teacher who knew as much about art as she did about mechanics. He’d been so oblivious that when she’d asked if she could do her work in a Van Gogh style, he’d turned around and said a what? She’d made it her mission to not interact with him after that.

Quarter of an hour later and the noise outside the classroom increased. The first few students to bundle in shattered the atmosphere, but she’d snuck a headphone in to help drowned it out. None of the racket improved when their teacher finally showed up half-an-hour late.

His name was Mr Neil. Kids cheered when he arrived and he waved them down, half smiling, half not caring as he slumped at the computer. That’s where he’d likely remain for the rest of the class and it annoyed her to no end. Sometimes she’d stare daggers at him as the noise of the class would grow to unprecedented levels, and yet none of the other teachers ever complained. She knew why, it was down to him being incredibly charismatic and handsome.

She was sure that he was in his mid-thirties, though she sometimes she thought him older. His hair was jet black as if he topped it up with bottled dye, but his skin was pink and flawless. His brown eyes always looked bored and he only smiled when people were flattering him, so he knew he wasn’t half bad looking. He detested art, he hated giving lectures, she’d even had a fight with him because he was against having the blinds up, and even the computer seemed to get on his nerves. Something was bringing him to work every day and if it was the money then they were paying him far too much.

With forty minutes left of the class, Tara was beginning to wonder if finishing her work in the library would be a better idea. All it needed was the background colouring and it’d be done; one more useless project to add to a wasted year. That’s when the door flew open and in walked a group of kids hollering like howler monkeys, and the two taking the lead were the worst of the lot.

“Yo yo, Mr N!” Ellie cheered as she bowled her way inside. Her cherry-blonde hair sat in a bob around her jawline and her shoulders were the envy of any rugby player. Following was Billie with her long black hair swaying like silk and her healthy physique attracting every hormone-driven boy in sight. Together, they were the bane of Tara’s school life. They’d had maths together that morning and she’d been picking spit balls out of her hair during her walk to English.

Tara was taking no risks. She shoved her items into her bag and scooped up her pastels before making for the store cupboard. She made sure no one was in there whilst hiding her things and even tried to make it look messier than before so no one would spot her treasure. She stepped back to admire her work when her backside bumped the sink. It was wet with water, paint, and god knows what. She cried at the sticky substance left on her butt and ran freezing water from the taps to clean it away. It just made it worse and now her hands were cold.

She groaned, “Come on, this isn’t funny.”

A sudden movement by the door had her turning. A kid had poked his head in but scarpered when she’d seen him, so she followed to see what it was about. That’s when she saw a group of kids around her table and the boy was whispering, “She’s coming!”

“What are you-” She stopped when she reached the table because Billie and Ellie were leaning over her work. Ellie had a black marker in her hand. “What have you done? Let me see,” she cried, reaching over to grab it.

Ellie tore it away and held it high. “No, slug.”

“Have you drawn on it?” she gasped in horror as she caught glimpses of black pen. “That’s prep work, it goes towards my final mark!”

“Does it really?” Ellie asked, looking at it with mock criticism. “What, this crap thing is prep work?”

“Mr Neil!” Tara shouted, but she found he’d moved outside to use his mobile. She shouted louder still, “Sir!”

He looked annoyed as he poked his head through the door.

Ellie was fast to hold up Tara’s picture and asked, “Umm Sir, we need a professional opinion. What do you think of this?”

Tara gawped at the vandalism, but Mr Neil just shook his head and went back outside.

Kids about the horrible pair were laughing. Billie even had tears running down her face as she pointed at the pair of glasses and the villainous moustache Ellie had adorned Mother Teresa with. The rage was building but the more Tara tried to get her picture back, the further away Ellie held it.

“Give me it!” Tara snapped.

“No way, someone take a picture, I need to tweet this!” She cried. “Call it Tara’s Finest-”

She couldn’t finish as Tara had thrown herself across the table and grabbed for the picture, or at least that had been her intention. Rather she’d balled up her fist and punched Ellie between the eyes, throwing her back against the other kids who jumped aside in astonishment.

Tara held her pulsing hand and looked as wide eyed as her victim. The entire class went silent as Ellie held her face, but when she pulled her hand away and saw blood from her broken nose, she started screaming.

Tara, however, dared to grin.

“What the hell?” Mr Neil barked as he stormed inside.

“Tara just punched Ellie!” a kid cried in exhilaration and the excitement caught the others who began cheering.

He didn’t share in the merriment as he stormed over. “What did you do?”

“She ruined my work,” Tara cried in defence.

“She… she… she…” Ellie stuttered, her lip and chin now smeared in red.

Mr Neil grabbed Tara’s wrist and barked, “You’re in for it now. I’m going to make sure you get expelled for this!”

“Expelled? No!”

He wasn’t listening and her wrist hurt as he continued to drag her into the corridor. The students followed as she tugged against him whilst her trainers squeaked over the laminate flooring. The noise had brought others to their doors and, at first, no one protested. It was as if they were in as much shock as her.

“Please!” she cried as the fear peaked. “Just let go!”

“I’m taking you to the Head Teacher. No one assaults a child in my class.”

“Phone the police!” Ellie screamed from the door, making teachers gasp as the sight of her nose.

“Make sure she gets expelled,” Billie said venomously, and the words echoed in Tara’s head.

“No!” she cried. When her pulling failed to free her, she pushed him instead. The reaction was instant as he fell to the floor like a sack of bricks, and a pained cry made everyone jump. Mr Neil sat holding his wrist, his cheeks and forehead reddening from evident pain.

“Oh my god,” cried a female teacher.

“Tara just assaulted a teacher!” one of Billie’s friends cheered.

“No, I didn’t,” she whimpered, backing away as a teacher assisted Mr Neil, but another was advancing on her. He must’ve seen her intentions because he held up a warning finger before saying, “Don’t you dare move from that spot.”

She didn’t listen and rushed down the corridor.

“Someone needs to stop her,” a teacher cried and this made her run faster, skirting down the stairs two at a time before dashing through the foyer and ignoring the receptionist’s demands for her to stop. Even after escaping into the brilliantly sunny day, Tara just kept going.

The tide was out, yet the sun made waves glisten like jewels. Even the murky, smelly brown water of the Thames was cool and inviting on a hot day like this. As she leaned on the barrier overlooking the river running alongside Woolwich Park, Tara couldn’t help except think about how much trouble she was in.

She’d left her bag in school, but she still had her mobile. She refused to turn it on in case her mum called. What excuse would she have for her, anyway? Assaulting Ellie, then the teacher; the police would surely be called. She backed away from the barrier in frustration.  

“Careful!” snapped an elderly man walking his dog.

“Sorry!”

He acted as if she’d run at him full pelt, and the dog stood with its ears down and tail between its legs.

“Ain’t you supposed to be in school?” the man asked, eyeing her rather excessively. Everything he did seemed exaggerated and he was dressed like a young man with ripped jeans and a hoodie.

“Yeah, it’s dinner break,” she lied, backing off.

“Croc! I have a right mind to go there and tell on yah,” he snapped, nodding across the park before pulling the dog’s leash to make it follow.

“Go where?”

He didn’t answer as he trudged off, but she realised there was a police station at the end of the park and the fright got her moving. I’m destined to get locked up, she thought as she looked out for others who might’ve wanted to get her into trouble. The park was pretty empty but that wasn’t good enough, so she followed a path to the end of the park where a disused boat-ramp sat out of the way and surrounded by concrete walls. It was in the shadow of a newly built block of flats and whilst it was chilly and smelly, she liked it because it reminded her of when she’d been younger and when her brothers would bring her here to play. She’d never been allowed to go near the ramp because it led down to the riverbed which was dirty and dangerous. Now she stood there looking down as the tide was going out and rubbish sat in clumps, like old bikes and traffic cones, and even a cracked television and a solitary sneaker.

She slumped down to sit. She hated how sick she felt. She always ran from her problems and that was what annoyed her more. Rather than just stop to think, or to call her mum and be honest from the beginning, she would hide away until things got worse and then she’d have so much more to deal with. Her older brothers knew her best and they’d probably have an idea that she was at the park, but that meant calling them from work or college to come sort out their stupid little sister. She hated it and it was enough to make her cry.

She was going to be expelled for sure and she knew that no one would be surprised.

Something sparkled down in the sludge. At first she ignored it as she wiped tears from her burning cheeks. But it happened again and with such flair that she thought it must’ve been electrically powered. She stood to see it better but it came from a pile of tat covered in sludge.

It was likely nothing special; a piece of broken glass or metal. Yet it captivated her. She scorned herself for being childish. She had more things to worry about then treasure hunting. Still, it was only at the bottom of the ramp, so it wouldn’t take long to scoot down and poke around. It might even ease her nerves…

Wanting to get it over with, she stormed for the ramp and inched down, holding her arms out for balance. By the time she was halfway, the moss squelched under foot and her traction vanished. She hit the deck and slid into the stinking clay. She cursed against the pain in her backside as well as the graze along her arm, and her hurt pride wasn’t helping.  

When she stood, she found mud all they way down her trousers.

“Bugger!”

Still, she’d landed near it and the gleam was no less powerful. It was caught in a nest of bicycle spokes and unravelling it revealed a necklace. The circular pendant was a tad smaller than her palm so it seemed too big to be a normal bit of jewellery, and wiping the sludge revealed gold. If it was the real deal then it would be worth thousands. She doubted this of course, but it was stunning all the same.

To the centre sat a crystal cut into a teardrop where its dozen facets were reflecting the rainbow. About it sat nine swirling icons filled with black enamel. Whilst it looked crude and simplistic, she couldn’t help but imagine it had some significant use. This led her to twist and turn it, holding it against the sun as if she could see through the stone; whilst there did seem to be something inside, she couldn’t reckon it to be any sort of spying device. So she pushed the crystal to find that it moved.

It clicked clockwise, the point moving from midday to nearer one o’clock, landing on an icon of swirls, flicks, and dashes. She was pondering its purpose when her body jolted.

“Whoa!”

Tara grabbed at the wall, but her hand went through. As if her ears had popped, sound vanished and her cries went unheard as she fell until the riverbed came and went, and Tara was left careering through a world of white.