The following is not my writing; it is the writing of my friend. I am a comic artist and we are working on a graphic novel. It is titled “The Lies of Man”. This is the opening scene. The art will be all black and white with heavy dramatic shadows. The excerpt is in a short story format as he wrote it.

The opening scene:

“Humanity is a lie.

Nothing. Just black. It was impossible to see, or perhaps his eyelids were merely refusing to part as they rightly should. After a time, his eyes opened and he felt a piercing sting. Matter found its way into the loose crevices of his eye sockets and burned with a nagging pain. He groaned and went to move an arm to rub them. This too was a chore and he soon realized it would not budge. The substance grinding its way into his eyes was moist and dense and (as he would soon discover) all encompassing. With a loud moan, he attempted again to move. Having no success, he grew enraged, feeling trapped, captive. Strength filled his veins and power rushed over him as he let out a cry. The moistened stuff fell into his mouth as he screamed and the sound was soon muffled. With a last display of rage, his hand burst through the density towards what he supposed was up; frenetic, feverish. A wild anxiety twisted his insides into cold knots. He felt water and air. One hand free, he began to wrench himself from this clay prison, his face emerging from a quagmire of muck and sludge. He took a heavy breath and spewed dirt from his mouth, screaming again as the watered soil blinded him. Rain beat down furiously on his miserable form as he struggled against the earth itself. With another furious cry, a second arm was free. A stone structure was erected before him and he grasped it, pulling himself toward it and writhing free of the miry cage as he did so. One final effort; he clawed his way to freedom and collapsed onto the stone, breaking its old, fragile form. He looked up to the skies and groaned as rainwater washed away the grime, allowing him to see at least partially. Lightning cracked through the stormy clouds and he reeled forward, confused and frightened. He took a glance at his surroundings to see headstones erected all around, standing ominously amidst the rain and flashes of thunder. Tall crypts soared in silent odium, looking down at the creature of the earth. Through watery, murky vision he saw the broken stone and picked up a piece gingerly, as if cradling a newborn ****. This meant something. These were for him. The shard he held spoke to the creature a single word. A word he would come to resent in time. Now dripping with mire and water, he read aloud what he took his name to be as dictated by this cut of rock: Man.”

I’m really just bored and curious and felt like asking some sort of question.

If you want to see any of my art, go to http://Shadows-of-ink.deviantart.com.