Freeform: Wounds.

      Standing in front of a mirror, I expect to see my own reflection when, instead, cast in the pale light of some long-ago moon, there sits a small girl, curled-up with her knees to her chin. Little cuts adorn her bare arms and legs, from scars freshly opened by tiny little fingernails, as she hides her face behind her silver-white hair, flowing atop her head and down past her shoulders.
      She trembles, but is afraid to cry. I want nothing more than to reach through the glass, and in doing so, I find myself in her dark little realm, looking above to see no moon, not even a star glinting in the distance. Just darkness, the cold unfathomable, and this little wounded, trembling girl, who glows just like the moon.
      She looks up at me with eyes red with tears, and irises a shade of red between warming and hurt. I bend down, crouching despite the effort, and follow my instinct to just take her in my arms, press her tight against my chest, and not let go.
      "It's okay," I whisper, feeling her tremble. "I know you hurt . . . it's okay, I'm here now..."
      She cries, and the tears run down my cheeks, as I see with her eyes all the little cuts and scars, her only desire laid bare.
      She only ever wanted to be loved, unconditionally.
      But instead, she found only pain, only the need to hide away, to keep from ever being hurt so terribly again, even if all she ever did was to keep picking at the scabs.
      She withdraws almost as soon as the tears began, returning to her curled-up position on the ground. "It's okay," I whisper, that little smile still on my face somehow, "it takes time. And we have all the time in the world, I promise."
      She winces at the word, but somehow, she doesn't hold herself so tightly. I slip away, if only for a moment, to write these very words, knowing that they, too, are flawed, but showing her all the same, as I look back into the mirror to see my own face again, wondering, hoping that she'll be in my arms to keep, that she won't have to be alone any longer.

Scribble: Last night at my old apartment...

      Empty cupboards, save for some canned goods and some bags of tea. Nothing left in the bedroom, though the entire place feels empty. Doesn't feel the same without the cats around, but that's to be expected.
      Nothing here but a futon, some shelves, and some things best left forgotten.
      No one is left in the old town, now that summer's come. All the familiar faces faded away over the years, save for a few who still haunt the old stomping grounds, unkindly ghosts they are. Maybe they're not the ghosts anymore.
      The rain's gone on for hours, the only comfort to be had here. The sounds makes it a little less lonesome, here in this great empty space.
      Eight months this place stole away, the days and weeks swallowed into the cheap drywall and the cracks in the paint. Who knows what's seeped into the tattered carpet by now, or why the sink never drained properly. At least the bed's gone now.
      Things best left forgotten.
      One more day. Another sunrise, another morning, another afternoon. Never have to come back here again, with its horrible oven or finicky heater. No more odd smells and sounds coming from upstairs, or the fear of running out of life to live. Freedom. Has a nice ring to it.
      Never could stand this place. If its walls could talk, I know what they'd say:
      I hate you. And I'm never going to let you forget it.

Things I Have Learned from Comic-Con: Day Three

• The Sucklord, in response to someone admiring his "costume": "It's not a costume, it's a way of life!"
  
• While still the most frontin'-est rapper around, MC Frontalot is as chill and down-to-earth as he is tall. And he is, of course, not a short man by any means.
  
• Octopus Pie, as a title, is just nonsensical and has no real bearing on the strip. Not that the strip needed help being awesome.
  
• Come to think of it, Meredith Gran is also quite chill and down-to-earth, and was cool about signing something for a friend who's been feelin' kinda craptacular.
  
• Actually, though I didn't get to talk with all of them, I'm just gonna toss this out there: the whole Dumbrella crew and affiliates? C'mon. You can figure out the rest from here.
  
• From The Multicultural Mask panel on breaking down barriers of race, gender, and sexual orientation in comics, paraphrased: "They need to do something like Marvel Zombies, y'know . . . but, like, 'Marvel People of Color.' 'Ah, they're turning non-white! Run!'"
  
• It is completely justifiable to spend hundreds of dollars at a con, so long as a healthy percentage of that goes towards gifts for other people.
  
• There is nothing more uncomfortable than squeezing past the sweaty, clammy dudes hanging around the hentai / erotic art / erotic comic booths, beyond the nagging, irrational fear that you're somehow being perceived as one . . . even though the most scandalous thing you've purchased is Scott Pilgrim.
  

And, finally:

• There is no quicker way to lose five pounds than by staying on your feet for eight hours straight, three days in a row. There is no quicker way to gain it back than by going to the nearby pizzeria for lunch every day.
  

Much props to Matt, Jesse, and the crew from Onell; Boris and the crew from Rocket North; Meredith Gran, Andrew Bell, and MC Frontalot; the Sucklord; the legendary Peter Laird; David Petersen; and just about anyone who I forgot to mention, but who made NYCC completely awesome this year.

Oh hey, damn me, I forgot the one person who made it possible: my ever-lovin' fake niece, Jen . . . not that she reads this, but damnit, I remembered!

Back to regular programming as soon as I recover...

Things I Have Learned from Comic-Con: Day Two

• Peter Laird, paraphrased: "We chose turtles because we thought, 'what's the least ninja-like animal out there?' And then we had it: turtles."
  
• Jesse Moore looks like he is capable of destroying worlds. While he may still be capable of doing so, he would do so in the friendliest, most positive way.
  
• "Top Secret Panel" is, much like the cake, a lie.
  
• Andrew Bell, paraphrased: "Half the people who dig my stuff are all like, 'I love your work, but now I can't afford to eat.' And I feel bad!"
  
• Yes. Someone was cosplaying as a freggin' Mudkips. The Internet has won.
  
• The Conduit. Just . . . The Conduit.
  

Also, a few notes of clarification: apparently, I'm incapable of being flirtatious, so two of the previous items can probably be stricken from the record.

Final day tomorrow...

Things I Have Learned from Comic-Con: Day One

• There is tall, then there is tall, and then there is Matt Doughty.
  
• Similarly, there is nice, then there is nice...
  
• Always ask twice before taking something you think is a free sample. At least.
  
• Never appear flirtatious with someone at a booth. That person could wind-up being one of the artists and/or writers you have come out to see.
  
• That being said, "blushing" and "awkward silence" are probably not good responses to said situation.
  
• There is no greater gift than providing someone with The Ultimate Batman Manual, unless it is to be followed-up by an interactive Batman-themed mystery.
  
• There is nothing weirder than being stuck in line for the Ghostbusters demo behind one of the guys from the television show "Ghosthunters"...
  
• ...except, of course, for about eighty different things at the Con so far.
  

More embarrassing, revealing truths to come...