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[dooodle-bug]

WAIT BEFORE I LEAVE FOR REALS- lemme drop this CP fic I finished last night! Aight, Imma head out now peace!

I sat myself and my tools down, staring at a blank canvas. It wasn't really a canvas; it was the top floor of that tower, which was blank, ugly, and perfect for being used as one. A canvas I mean, but you should've gotten that if you were smart.

Anyways, it was my job to fill this inviting space with one of my many masterpieces that I had already composed everywhere else on the tower. It was only the right thing to do. I also needed to pass the time SOMEHOW, and the most logical way was by exposing my talent and superiority onto this stupid tower. If I just sat around all day underneath the streamer you bet I'd pass out from boredom.

Honestly, it was nice drawing on the tower. I could pass the time in a calming way while being efficient. I could do whatever I wanted without anyone judging me for it. I could impose those below me and make them fear me and my undeniable power. More importantly: they'll praise me and my work, if they can even SEE the beauty of it all, which most people can't.

But for some reason now, I felt strange. When I searched for a concept to draw, my mind went blank. When I pressed my pencils onto the surface, they froze in place before they could even move. I didn't get it. This doesn't usually happen to someone so creative and talented as me.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. Maybe because I think you'll understand what I'm talking about, which I know you wouldn't. People just don't get us artists and what we go through. They never do. So I guess I'm telling you this because I have nothing better to do than talk to someone like you. 

It's sad, really. I don't expect anything from anyone ever and here I am talking to you about this lousy personal problem. But just because I'm telling you all this doesn't mean we're "friends" or whatever or I think you can get me because I know you can't. I just don't know what else to do and I have to rely on morons, I guess.

But don't you dare ever call me a hypocrite.

Back to what I was saying, my mind was just empty. It was really weird. 

Nothing happened. No creative spark or some sort of artistic flow happened. In fact, the longer I stared, the worse it seemed to get.

It was horrible. Torturous even. It teased me by being so blank and practically called me stupid for not doing anything. I hated it. I hate when people are like that too.

I wanted to tear up my canvas in a fit of rage so I wouldn't have to look at it. But I know that if I did that, I would feel bad later because then I'd see it as a missed opportunity or whatever. That really pissed me off. I can't stand not knowing what to do.

So there I was, staring at my empty canvas for what was probably hours, me nor my pencils moving, like I was glued to the ground and frozen. I guess my mind was just as blank as the canvas. Heh.

Even though I wasn't moving, I was still pissed off at myself and the canvas for not cooperating, mostly the canvas.

After an eternity, I couldn't take it anymore. Seeing that blank canvas was an embarrassment that was killing me. I pulled my sorry butt up and avoided looking at the canvas. It was probably taunting me like everyone else. But I was too good for it to make me wallow in self pity or something and maybe beat myself up because of it. It made me want to cry.

I looked over at my opened pencil case that sat on the other side of the balcony. Maybe I should take a nap and recharge my batteries. Obviously trying to squeeze out an idea wasn't going to work. It was still light out, sadly.

I bet someone like you would call me lazy and procrastinating, to just drop my stuff and take a nap, but clearly you don't get it. You probably never felt like this in your lousy life. Besides which, I was tired like I always am but even more so from staring at that canvas.

I threw myself into my case and closed the lid. Man, I loved that stupid case. It was lumpy and hard, but I loved it anyway. It was my little movable house that doubled as storage for my stuff. It was cozy and cool to me. It was always there for me. I could never dream of trashing it. And if I somehow lost it I don't know what I would do. Cry probably.

But you probably don't want to hear me gush about something I care about, right? Figures. Nobody ever cares because they're too stupid to understand how I feel. And that made me angry and wanted to throw my case at them. But if I did, I'd feel bad later, unfortunately.

Anyways, I quickly drifted off to sleep, curled up and cozy in my lovely case. It was nice.

When I woke up, I was tired. But in a good way. I was recharged just as I expected. The sun was rising and I was ready to finally work on my soon-to-be masterpiece.

I sat myself down in the same spot as before. I combed my hair and pulled out a pencil. Upon pressing it onto the ground the tip broke because nobody on this planet wants to work with me. But that was expected, I guess. Figures. The world just wants to watch me suffer and have a good laugh at it too. You're probably laughing at me too, right? Don't answer.

I flung the pencil overboard because it was useless to me and made me angry. It's ok, I guess. It was practically a stub anyways. I have plenty more replacements.

Great. I start the day and I'm already angry. That blank canvas I'm staring at isn't helping either. If I stare at it any longer without doing anything I'll get even more pissed off. Ugh.

So what am I supposed to do now? I could take another nap I guess, but that wouldn't help. Maybe I'll just sit here and cry because I can't do anything. No. That'd be pointless and stupid. It's annoying. But if you were here you'd probably tell me to "just get over it" like the apathetic moron you are.

After sitting and staring blankly at the canvas until the sun was beating on my back, I had an idea. Maybe I could draw some inspiration from my previous pieces! I'm sure it could help somehow.

I brought myself down to the room directly below me. It was terrible going anywhere, honestly. I have to squeeze and worm myself through doorways and crawl on the ground in buildings like a little kid. It's embarrassing and I wish people would stop staring at me for the wrong reasons. Don't you dare make fun of me.

Anyways there was a drawing of the plumber dying and some useless pencils strewn about. I personally thought it was a pretty good piece, despite the lack of shading. I did a good job on drawing the pixels of the sprite. I wish people talked about my art like that.

The drawing didn't give me any sort of inspiration, though. Maybe because it reminded me that I was forced to guard the stupid streamer from some weak paper guy. Or maybe because those stupid pencil stubs looked sad being just tossed away because they were small and useless. Whatever. I'll just find inspiration elsewhere.

The third level area was an outdoor cafe. There were only drawings of horses in a dynamic running motion curled around the tower's base poll. I thought that was pretty smart of me to make them look like they were moving.

Big surprise: I didn't feel inspired. 

The next two levels were around the same; still lifes of things, mostly food. I, of course, was proud of all my masterpieces. They were made with such fine detail I could stare at them for hours. No one in this world could ever DREAM of making such talented pieces, and that's what made me special and noteworthy in the eyes of everyone.

Just kidding. Nobody ever appreciates me or my work. Nobody has the brain capacity to even THINK of how great me or my works are. They couldn't handle thinking that someone like me was ever POSSIBLY better than them. That's just how people are. They overlook your talent and criticise and pick it apart.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. You're probably just like them, like everyone. You just don't get it, do you? Don't answer. I know you don't.

My art should be in a museum. I put so much care and attention into each of my pieces, it would fit right in. The problem is, they couldn't recognize or appreciate it. If I die everybody is going to feel bad that they'll never get another artist like me and I'll never be able to make another piece again.

Unfortunately, none of the pieces really stuck out to me as being super inspiring. I might've used up all my creativity in making them alone.

At the very bottom level of the tower were my first pieces drawn: some mushrooms, a banana, and a portrait of the king.

What came as a real shocker though was that in the center of the room, on the ground where the portrait should be, there was nothing but a hole.

I wanted to cry. Throw my stuff. Break something. Something like that. I can't stand seeing my work be disrespected in such a way. It was basically erased from existence and a total spit in the face to my hard work and the king. He'll probably never see what a great job I did of drawing him. I'm sure that at that moment, I did cry and begin to punch stuff. You could never understand it, I'm sure. You probably think it's childish and stupid of me, that I should just get over it or whatever. Clearly, you don't understand what it's like to be an artist.

From what I could tell, it was those stupid paper macho goons who did this. They probably wanted me to suffer, further proving that the world hates me. I wanted to cry again and maybe punch someone. If I ever get my hands on one of them I'll rip them to shreds with my bare fists.

I returned back at the top of the tower, disappointed and uninspired. I didn't know what I expected, probably something better than this. Everyone just wants me to fail and make a fool of myself. 

I slumped down in front of my empty canvas. I stared at it, anger beginning to bubble within me.

That stupid canvas was a bane on my existence. It was a painful reminder of my failure and everything I couldn't do and apparently, I can't do anything right.

I needed to prove them, everyone wrong. I was good for something, heck, better than good, I was AMAZING and TALENTED. They keep trying over and over again to crush me, but I know better. I'm just too good for them, that's all. I'm PERFECT, and people just can't see it.

But if I can't complete one meager task of filling a canvas, does that mean I'm... flawed? No! It's the world that's all wrong! Everyone is wrong about me and I have to shove it in their face just to prove it! They just don't understand! YOU don't understand!

You'll never understand what it's like going unrecognized and seen as a worthless being! I AM great and talented, you just can't bear knowing the truth and that you're wrong! Don't you DARE ever laugh or make fun of me you Philistines!

Ugh. Everyone's a critic. I won't let my work be disrespected like this! I won't let MYSELF be disrespected like this! 

Without thinking too hard, I whisked up a pencil missile and stabbed it wholeheartedly and bluntly into the ground. When I pulled the pencil out, there was a large gash in the canvas, some of the floor below visible. There. Now it's truly a ruined and disappointing piece of garbage artwork.

I threw myself into my case and began to cry.

The End