Saga for Pirantina Book 1: Fall of the Human

Book 1: Fall of the Human

1

The cold, dim room smelled of laundry detergent, solidified by old cinderblock walls crusted with aging, white paint that peeled like tree bark in certain places, though most of it had been covered with bright teal. A large wooden desk was shoved into the corner, supporting an elaborate computer system with three monitors. Several shelves cleaved the room in half, hiding this tiny workspace from dusty boxes and forgotten gym equipment evicted to the other side of the barrier.

The office chair creaked under my heavy body. It was old, beat-up, and had lost the armrests long ago to a younger me who happened to have my father's screwdriver.

I was hunched over, as per usual, working on my drawing tablet. This particular picture was for clients in Munich. I forget exactly how I met them, since they had commissioned the digital painting half a year ago and only now did I finally get to it.

It wasn't that I procrastinated that long. I mean, I am a person who procrastinates, but this project delay was more due to my typical onslaught of work that consistently encumbered my schedule.

In short, I was a recently-graduated college student working my ass off in a musty basement, trying to pay bills. The basement belonged to my parents. I lived on my own in a rickety apartment several minutes away, but it was so cramped and hot in the summer that I had to keep my studio at home. I worked long hours, constantly fighting the urge to jump on social media or watch YouTube videos about the Nurburgring. I had work to do, and a lot of it.

I arched back to stretch, my stiff muscles creaking in painful harmony with the chair. I held my arms behind my head, squinting at the glaring, bright screen three feet away before taking a sip of my long-since-cooled mint tea. I had worked on this dumb picture for hours without standing up, trying to get the specific details just right. It was time to take a break.

OUTSIDE, the first Pittsburgh snow had blanketed our neighborhood. I loved going for walks this late at night because everything seemed to glow on its own, even with all the lights off. My car looked like a tiny boulder, completely covered. It would take a long time to clean it off, and even with winter tires, I doubted I could make it to my apartment in ten inches of snow. My parents lived on the middle of a huge hill, which didn't help. Perhaps I would sneak up to my old room or fall asleep on the couch. Everything would be plowed by tomorrow morning, anyhow. It was a Wednesday, the world needed to work.

I took a long, deep drink of the frigid night air, crunched out of the snow, shook off my feet, and closed the garage door. I promised myself that I wouldn't stay up past twelve working, but it was already three.

I have absolutely no self control, I whispered inside my head.

You just need to keep trying, it whispered back.

I sighed, and walked up the stairs to the living room. I slowly unfurled my computer-bent body on the couch, staring outside, not caring to find a blanket. The sky was a deep red-grey, the kind of sky where the clouds hung low and there was a city impregnating the atmosphere with light not too far off. Fat snowflakes started dancing down slowly, making it feel as if you were flying through soft gobs of cotton. I tried my best to fall asleep, but my mind would not be silenced.

After an hour, I let out a disgruntled breath, put on my boots and coat, and walked outside. I crunched around the corner and up the street to the big intersection. No one was out, and the world was asleep. It was just me and the sky and the snow. I stood there, like I had many times before, staring up at the clouds and letting the soft snowflakes kiss my cheeks before they died and fell off like tears.

I exhaled, the expelled air billowing out like the steamy breath of a water dragon. Just for a moment, as if I had blown them away, the clouds parted and I got a peek of the star-studded sky.