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deathsmallcaps · 2 years ago

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My 45th Win a Commission story was The 2nd Imaginary Symphony! If you’d like to see the pictures in context with the story, please

Augustus: This is August Plumb; you are listening to the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. Of course, it is holiday time, and across Paris, we begin celebrating the month-long lead up to our Platypus Eve, a distinctly Parisian holiday now celebrated across the globe, observing the hatching of the Great Recitating Platypus of the North, the platypus, of course, believed by generations of French schoolchildren, to visit them when illness strikes, recite poetry while they sleep, thereby restoring them to health by the time they wake.

And as we do every year, at the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation we begin at the start of this notable month with our great Parisian Platypus Time tradition, the broadcast of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony.

As you all know, the 2nd Imaginary Symphony, a program now synonymous with the platypus holiday, was discovered forty years ago by a trash collector in a refuse bin, the trash collector taking home the cassette marked “2nd Imaginary Symphony”, expecting music, playing the strange story it contained instead at his own family’s Platypus Eve gathering. Loving the story, several family members requesting copies of the tape, so began the copying and passing-on of the symphony from family to family, from street to street, until its listening became as much a part of the Platypus Eve tradition as sending your children to school dressed as a platypus or constructing a gigantic platypus out of household items in front of one’s home.

Bringing us to the present day, where the broadcast of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony is now considered the official beginning of the holiday season in Paris. The symphony will be broadcast in four parts, each one ushering in a new stage in our month-long celebration of the platypus.

And now… officially beginning our platypus holiday, this is Augustus Plumb, and I give you the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. [More music plays]

Narrator: This is Nigh’s neighborhood. Just over that hill, factories, soon to be full of busy grown-ups hard at work. And this is Nigh’s street, Telegraph Road. There’s the milkman. [Bottles clinking]

Every morning, he delivers a full day’s supply of dairy products to all the houses on Nigh’s street. And this big white house – this is Nigh’s house. And this is Nigh. [Footsteps and rhythmic creaking]

He is running down the stairs, though his grandmother has told him not to. Ordinarily, it would now be time for Nigh to go to school, but since it’s vacation time, Nigh is free to stay at home with his grandmother and play.

Nigh’s grandmother is blind and sometimes needs his help with household chores, such as sweeping… [Sweeping over the creaking + footsteps] Doing wash… [Washing machine turns on over the noises] Taking out the garbage… [Rustling] And making trips to the supermarket. [Beeping of registers, people chattering]

Walking home from the supermarket, Nigh hears the distant song of the fire siren. The fire siren sits perched high atop its red brick engine house, luring firemen away from their families and homes. [Fire siren] It is now the dinner hour. Time for the turning sound of latched keys to echo throughout the land, as grown-ups arrive home from work. [Keys being turned in doors, unlocking sounds and jingling] Some arrive by automobile. [Doors creaking] Some arrive by bicycle. [Bicycle wheels turning] And others on foot. [Footsteps]

This is Mr. Ackerman, Nigh’s neighbor and friend. Mr. Ackerman works at the big factory just over the hill. Nigh always looks forward to seeing Mr. Ackerman. You see, sometime ago, Mr. Ackerman confided in Nigh a matter of great importance. Nigh had begun to wonder just what it was that the big factory over the hill was making. [Bubbling sounds and mechanical creaking]

Having whiled away many a twilight admiring the great factory, Nigh had come to know each of its towering smokestacks and flashing lights. But as for what it was the great factory made, of this even his grandmother was not quite sure.

When asked at first, Mr. Ackerman did not answer. He regarded Nigh silently, and after a long pause, said only, “Nothing of interest, Nigh. Nothing of interest,” and continued on his way.

This, however, served only to pique the 9-year-old’s curiosity, and upon arriving home, Mr. Ackerman found the little boy still following close behind him.

“I promise you, Nigh, what goes on inside the walls of that factory is of no interest to little boys, or anyone else, for that matter. Now, please, Nigh, I’ve had a long day and I’m tired.” And with that, Mr. Ackerman waved goodbye and disappeared into his house, closing the door firmly behind him.

There was nothing for Nigh to do but to stare for a moment at the closed door before him and walk silently away. Mr. Ackerman had never spoken so coldly to him before, and Nigh was unsure of how to react. He did, however, know one thing for sure – Mr. Ackerman was not in the least bit interested in discussing what he did all day at that factory. “Why?” he wondered. Nigh thought about the sorts of things grown-ups do not like to talk about. Usually, Nigh had found that they fell into two categories – first: [Sudden noise, chiming of bells] Things that embarrassed or made the grown-up uncomfortable. Second: [More noise + chiming] And this was the good one – things unfit for the ears of a little boy. [Saw sings] He decided that he would have to be patient, and show Mr. Ackerman that, though not entirely fond of most grown-ups, he himself was grown up enough to be trusted, even with things unfit for the ears of a little boy. [More music]

He would have to play it cool and wait until the time was right before asking again. However, it was upon arriving home from work the very next day that Mr. Ackerman found the little boy following close behind him once again.

“Hello, Nigh,” Mr. Ackerman said, and with a sigh, opened the door and beckoned for Nigh to come in.

Once inside, Mr. Ackerman remained silent for a time. He sat Nigh down at the kitchen table, clearing off from it several tools and a strange two-pronged object that he appeared to have been working on, and put some water up on the kettle to boil.

Pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor, Mr. Ackerman appeared to be lost in thought, until at last, the small kettle came to a boil, and Mr. Ackerman began to speak.

“Do you know where clouds come from, Nigh?” asked Mr. Ackerman. [Music starts up]

“Sir?” said Nigh.

“Clouds, Nigh. Clouds,” said Mr. Ackerman.

Nigh shook his head. Try as he might, Nigh could not remember learning much of anything about clouds in school.

“So no one has ever told you. Hmph, well, of course not. It is a secret.”

Mr. Ackerman cleared his throat in the manner of someone about to give a long speech. “It’s been said, Nigh, that clouds are made up of fine droplets of water or tiny ice crystals, which are continually evaporating while new droplets or crystals appear through the condensation of water vapor.”

“Wow!” said Nigh.

“This,” said Mr. Ackerman, “is not true.” Falling again to silence, Mr. Ackerman looked to Nigh as though he were about to say something very important. “I’m going to confide in you, Nigh,” began Mr. Ackerman, “a great secret. And the men who bear great secrets such as this, Nigh, must never, never breathe a word of it to another, not even to their grandmothers. Men have given their lives,” he said, and seeing that Nigh was visibly impressed, fell into a dramatic silence that Nigh was sure betrayed his enormous respect for the dead.

With an air of great dignity, Mr. Ackerman poured himself a cup of tea, adding to it a drop of clear liquid from his silver flask, and sat himself down at the table. But then, just as it seemed he was about to speak, something strange happened. The look on Mr. Ackerman’s face changed. It was no longer one of dignity, but the look of someone who had suddenly come to his senses to find himself quite ashamed, and all at once it looked to Nigh as though Mr. Ackerman had changed his mind and was about to say nothing at all.

“Please, Mr. Ackerman, please!” pleaded Nigh, who in all his wildest dreams had never imagined that the big factory harbored a secret so important and could contain his curiosity no more. [Singing saw music] “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Mr. Ackerman glanced at the little boy, and looking slightly defeated, clasped his work-worn hands. It was quite clear to him that there was little hope of shaking the boy’s interest now.

“Okay,” he said, and took in a deep, deep breath. “I am a member of the secret society of cloud-makers. My father was a cloud-maker. My father’s father was a cloud-maker, and now I, too, am a cloud-maker. Our clouds are distributed across the globe, Nigh, made right here, and sent wherever they are needed, to shade people from the angry sun. This is our secret, Nigh. Our secret, and calling – a solemn duty for which we must never, ever take credit.”

“How come?” asked Nigh.

“How come?” repeated Mr. Ackerman, searchingly. “Well, you see, Nigh,” began Mr. Ackerman, “a cloud is a powerful thing. As long as a cloud is considered a happenstance of nature, then it’s a helpful and friendly thing. But should this power to create and control clouds be in the hands of all men, well…

“Consider nations at war, Nigh. Imagine what would happen if one nation were simply to just steal all its enemy’s clouds, leaving the other’s Earth infernal, or scorched. Or worse – fill the other’s sky with thousands of cumulus clouds, perpetuating a torrential downpour that need not ever end. Why, it’d be the end of us all. That is why the cloud-makers have always been men and women without a country or a faith, with no allegiance at all, but to the clouds themselves.” With that, Mr. Ackerman looked upwards with a gleam in his eye, as though he could see right through the kitchen ceiling the clouds in the sky above. “Our secrets are passed down from generation to generation, Nigh. We pose always as ordinary citizens, our factories disguised to look no different than any of the others in their midst. Why, as far as the outside world is concerned, our factory exists solely for the production of the three-pronged one slot widget.” At this, Mr. Ackerman chuckled. “Trucks full of the things travel to and from our factory all day. They arrive full, and so they leave. Of course, we do keep a good deal of these widgets on hand, in case of a visit from the outside world. But who wants to visit the widget factory? Men and women toiling for hours on end with molten ore and soldering irons, riveting rivets until they can no longer even feel their fingertips. No one. And if they did, they’d never be allowed past the front gate, not without an appointment.”

“Are all widget factories really cloud factories?” asked Nigh.

Mr. Ackerman shook his head. “No, Nigh, no. I suppose most any factory could be a cloud factory. You never know, and that’s the point – no one does. That is, except for the cloud-makers. And I’ve even heard tell of people who worked at cloud factories who, for security reasons, hadn’t even the slightest idea.”

“How?” asked Nigh.

“By the same process usually reserved only for unexpected visitors – atomic hypnosis.”

“Atomic hypnosis?”

“It’s just like ordinary hypnosis, only much, much smaller. These people go to work every day, completely unaware how entirely irreplaceable and important they are. All they see is an ordinary factory, in which they are asked to perform only the most mundane of tasks, never for a moment suspecting the incomprehensibly beautiful process in which they are taking part.”

“Do they ever find out?”

“No. I don’t believe that most of them ever do.”

“How come?”

“Well, you see, Nigh, atomic hypnosis is a very powerful thing.”

“It doesn’t seem fair!” said the little boy, quite visibly disappointed.

“Fair?” said Mr. Ackerman. “Fair? I don’t know. I am afraid, though, that it might be necessary. It’s just not easy for people to believe themselves capable of such great things, Nigh. It’s simple insecurity. And as a matter of security, insecurity is simply not to be tolerated. Secrets such as this can be put at risk for no one.”

“You told me,” said Nigh, causing the flicker of shame to return to Mr. Ackerman’s face once more.

“I… I live alone here, Nigh. I haven’t any children with whom to share my secrets.” Mr. Ackerman poured himself another cup of tea, emptying into it more of the clear liquid from the silver flask in his front pocket. “The life of a cloud-maker, Nigh – it’s a lonely thing. To the outside world, we must purposely appear as unremarkable as possible. We lead lives designed to attract very little attention. And sometimes, Nigh, sometimes we attract no attention at all.” Mr. Ackerman’s gaze turned down upon the kitchen table. “When you grow up someday, Nigh, you’ll come to understand that there are some things in life that, if you don’t share them, well, they can fade. Grown men have been known to disappear into thin air.” Though still in the room with him, Mr. Ackerman looked to Nigh to be far, far away. “You’re a good boy, Nigh,” said Mr. Ackerman, “and I believe I can trust you.”

With that, Mr. Ackerman excused himself and withdrew to the bathroom. Nigh, who had been sitting quietly and attentively, for much longer than would normally be expected from a boy his age on vacation, began to wander about the house in Mr. Ackerman’s absence.

“After all,” thought Nigh, “I have never been in the house of a cloud-maker before.”

In the living room, a little to the left of the front door, Nigh noticed a large, yellow raincoat hanging from a wooden coatrack. Whereas normally, a large, yellow raincoat hanging from a wooden coatrack would be of little interest to a boy like Nigh, this large, yellow raincoat appeared to be covered from top to bottom in no less than a full inch of undisturbed dust.

This struck Nigh to be rather odd. As Nigh reached out to touch the dusty coat with an outstretched finger, Mr. Ackerman stepped into the room, and with a booming voice that scared and startled Nigh, cried, “Don’t touch that! Now, I told you never ever, ever, ever, under any circumstance, may you ever so much as touch that raincoat! Do you understand?!”

Nigh backed away from the raincoat and nodded his head vigorously.

“This raincoat is for use only in the most severe of drought emergencies!”

Nigh had never heard of a raincoat that is only to be used in the most severe of drought emergencies before, and was quite visibly shaken by the severity of Mr. Ackerman’s tone. “You d-didn’t…” stammered Nigh.

“I didn’t what?”

“Tell me about the raincoat…”

“I didn’t… oh, my god, I didn’t.” And there the two of them stood, neither boy nor man knowing quite what to say. Mr. Ackerman sighed a sigh of such sadness that it made Nigh shiver. “I… I’m sorry, Nigh, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I had no right. I was afraid you were about to…” Mr. Ackerman trailed off, and with a look of embarrassment on his face, knelt down to the height of the little boy. “I’m afraid I’m… I’m just not feeling very well right now, Nigh. You’ve been a very good boy today. You know that, don’t you?”

Nigh shook his head yes, because the way Mr. Ackerman was looking at him, he thought he ought to.

“I think old Mr. Ackerman needs a little rest now,” he said to Nigh. “You won’t forget what I told you here today, will you, Nigh?”

Nigh shook his head no.

“Okay, Nigh. You go run along and play now.”

[PBC music] Augustus: This is August Plumb and you have been listening to part one of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. On behalf of all of us here at the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation, we wish you a happy holiday season. We will return with part two in just a few nights, ladies and gentlemen. Until then, try not to eat too many platypus-shaped cookies. Goodnight, everyone. [Ending music]

The Orbiting Human Circus (Of The Air): The 2nd Imaginary Symphony - Part Two

Augustus: Auggie Plumb here. You are listening to part two of the PBC’s broadcast of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. It is, of course, Platypus Night, the night in our month-long lead up to Platypus Eve, where all Paris goes dark. The city of lights is extinguished and one finds not a single lit electric light or candle. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, at the strike of 8 in two hours’ time, the Parisians will gather with friends, with loved ones, with only the moonlight to light their way, and later this evening, waiting, all of us, waiting.

And for whom do we wait? Well, for those of you listening to this international broadcast in some remote enclave such as a mountaintop, jungle, cabin, or perhaps one of the Earth’s poles, we are waiting for the Great Recitating Platypus. Yes, on this night, the platypus travels the Earth looking not for signs of stuffy noses or sickness, but for darkened houses, the dark house being a sign that the dwellers within are inviting the platypus to visit.

And we wait. Our eyes close, as if in unison. When the platypus enters your home, it shivers, entranced by a feeling of absolute peace. The platypus will move through slighting certain objects, one for each of us, and touching them to its bill. And when the platypus leaves our house, and we all open our eyes at exactly the same time, we light a candle and place it in our window and all of Paris spills out into the streets, and in the streets all of Paris wonders just which object the platypus has touched for them. And we go through our bedrooms, and we go through our living rooms, from thing to thing. We ask, ‘Is this the object the platypus blessed?’ For when you see that object, one will suddenly be seized with the same unmistakable feeling of warmth and safety one felt when the platypus had just left our house.

A memory or idea will pass into our heads and that will be the key to our well-being and happiness in the coming year. And indeed in times of struggle or adversity, if the object is touched, the path to follow will come, and all of this tonight.

But first, part two of our classic holiday broadcast. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. [Music playing]

Narrator: “This raincoat is for use only in the most severe of drought emergencies!”

Nigh had never heard of a raincoat that is only to be used in the most severe of drought emergencies before, and was quite visibly shaken by the severity of Mr. Ackerman’s tone.

“You d-didn’t…” stammered Nigh.

“I didn’t what?”

“Tell me about the raincoat…”

Nigh shook his head yes, because the way Mr. Ackerman was looking at him, he thought he ought to.

“I think old Mr. Ackerman needs a little rest now,” he said to Nigh. “You won’t forget what I told you here today, will you, Nigh?”

Nigh shook his head no.

“Okay, Nigh. You go run along and play now.”

And so it was that Nigh became the guardian of a great and profound secret. In the weeks and months that passed, Nigh never looked at the big factory or the clouds above in exactly the same way again. The world seemed a new and exotic place to Nigh, where new mysteries waited to be discovered around every corner. He would spend hours on the hill overlooking the big factory, watching the newborn clouds drift this way and that.

In the evenings, he would sit out on his front stoop, anxiously awaiting Mr. Ackerman’s return home from work. It was the complicit look that he and Mr. Ackerman would share that he looked forward to most of all.

Nigh felt very lucky indeed to be the bearer of such a great and important secret, and dreamed some day of becoming a cloud-maker himself. Cloud-making seemed so much more interesting than the other jobs he had learned about at career day in school.

When asked, Mr. Ackerman just shrugged and said, “Not anybody can be a cloud-maker, Nigh. Sure, most anyone is capable. But the title of ‘cloud-maker’ is something that must be earned. Right now, you’re just a passenger, along for the ride.”

“A passenger?” asked Nigh.

“This world, Nigh, this world of men and women,” said Mr. Ackerman, his cheeks and nose a good deal redder than Nigh had ever seen them before, “little boys like you… you’re nothing but passengers.”

Mr. Ackerman was quiet for a moment, seemingly struggling to find the right words. “It’s like… like a crazy carnival ride, gone out of control,” he said, his eyes widening. “It’s all our fault.”

“Your fault?” asked Nigh.

Mr. Ackerman laughed a sad laugh. “You know who built this crazy machine, who’s operating it?” he asked.

Nigh shook his head.

“Grown-ups,” Mr. Ackerman said, bowing deeply. “We build the damn thing every day. Problem is, most of us don’t even know it. Even though we’re driving, each and every last one of us, we think we’re just passengers like you, or worse – victims. We’re terrible drivers, the whole lot of us. But sometimes, Nigh, sometimes a little boy like you grows up and finds that despite everything, he can still see clearly. He finds that he can look straight ahead and steer the whole blessed thing. And when a boy can do that, he can be…”

“A cloud-maker?” asked Nigh.

“Any damn thing he pleases,” finished Mr. Ackerman.

Nigh thought about how before meeting Mr. Ackerman, he had been afraid of growing up. He enjoyed how he spent his days and was yet to find a grown-up who did. Watching the grown-ups travel to and from work every day, he had witnessed looks only of boredom and stress upon their faces. Nigh was always amazed by how well Mr. Ackerman was able to mimic this look of discontentment, how well he was able to mask his heroic purpose and disappear daily into the ceaseless flow of adults who had made the whole idea of growing up look so unappealing to Nigh in the first place.

Mr. Ackerman was indeed so good at appearing tired and unhappy that sometimes, for fleeing moments, even Nigh himself was fooled. And then, early one vacation morning, Nigh awoke to find something horribly wrong. Mr. Ackerman’s hat and briefcase were strewn upon his front lawn, and the door to his house left hanging open. Through the open door, Nigh could see that Mr. Ackerman’s wooden coatrack had also been capsized and was laying on its side.

Nigh cautiously approached the house and called out to Mr. Ackerman.

“Mr. Ackerman!” called Nigh. There was no answer. “Mr. Ackerman!” he called yet again, poking his head through the front door. And still there was no answer. The house was completely silent. Nigh, becoming more and more concerned, decided to ask his grandmother if she had heard Mr. Ackerman leaving for work that morning. Unfortunately, she had been busy splicing tape and hadn’t noticed anything at all. Nigh thought for a moment of asking his grandmother’s help, but was afraid of compromising Mr. Ackerman’s important need for secrecy. He would have to try and find Mr. Ackerman by himself for now.

Nigh returned to Mr. Ackerman’s front yard and, gathering the hat and briefcase, cautiously entered the house. Closing the door behind him, Nigh placed the hat and briefcase upon Mr. Ackerman’s kitchen table and began searching about for any clues as towards Mr. Ackerman’s whereabouts. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, with the exception of the capsized coatrack and raincoat, he returned once again to the briefcase.

Hesitating for a moment, Nigh decided that there was no other choice. The briefcase must be opened. After all, he thought, Mr. Ackerman might be in trouble! Nigh gently released the latches [latches clicking] and was quite surprised by what he found.

Inside the case, a second slightly smaller case was housed, this one ice cold and made out of some sort of aluminum or other light metal. Upon this metal was etched the phrase “FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. Underneath this statement was etched a good deal more information. The etching was so small, however, that Nigh had to press his face up against the ice-cold case and strain his eyes in order to read it.

“WARNING”, it said, “FOR THE GROUND TRANSPORTATION AND CONTAINMENT OF NIMBUS, STRATUS, CIRRUS, AND CUMULUS CLOUDS ONLY. NOT TO BE OPENED IN AN UNREFRIGERATED INDOOR ENVIRONMENT”. As Nigh was straining to read the last part of this statement, his nose accidentally made contact with the small red button that he had not previously noticed. [Shaking, gears turning]

Suddenly, Nigh’s ears were filled with the sound of gears turning, and a mechanical whirring filled the air. [Bubbly noises] The case sprung open and out of it sprung a tiny and perfectly formed nimbus cloud. It was the most amazing thing Nigh had ever seen!

The little cloud drifted upwards, drifting higher and higher, until at last, it came to a rest against the cool tiles of the kitchen ceiling. Nigh pulled out his chair and climbed upon the kitchen table in order to take a better look. From his new vantage point, however, it seemed as though the little cloud had not come to a rest at all, but was trying to pass through the tile ceiling in order to reach the sky above. Nigh noticed also that the cloud seemed just a little bit smaller than it had been only moments ago. It was almost as if the cloud’s inability to reach its proper altitude was causing it to somehow shrink.

Then the words etched on the aluminum cloud case suddenly came back to him. “NOT TO BE OPENED IN AN UNREFRIGERATED INDOOR ENVIRONMENT”.

“What will Mr. Ackerman think when he finds out I destroyed his cloud?”

Nigh was reminded of the time a bird had found its way into his grandmother’s house and the horrible panic he had felt as the bird flapped about, crashing into closed windows. [Banging noises]

He had to do something, and quickly!

But the cloud was much too high and well beyond reach. How would he ever get the cloud back down and into its cloud case?

Then Nigh thought of Mr. Ackerman’s old-fashioned refrigerator. Perhaps this could provide the sort of refrigerated environment the cloud needed.

Filling his lungs with as much air as he could muster, [sound of someone blowing air, bubbles popping] Nigh began to blow the cloud in the direction of Mr. Ackerman’s ice box. It’s working, thought Nigh, it’s working! Nigh blew and blew until the cloud was floating just a few feet above the refrigerator door. Nigh was hoping that the cloud would be drawn into the coolness of the ice box, as it would the coolness of high altitudes.

However, upon opening Mr. Ackerman’s refrigerator door, he found no room whatsoever for the little cloud. It seems the refrigerator was already full, not with a single grocery, mind you, but from top to bottom with clouds, clouds of every imaginable shape and size. Stratus clouds, and cirrus clouds, so many clouds, in fact, that Nigh had to immediately slam the refrigerator door shut in order to keep them from pouring out.

Just then, Nigh felt the most amazing, cool sensation on the top of his head. The chilly little cloud had begun to lose altitude and was now hovering only centimeters away from his face. Nigh grabbed the cloud case off the kitchen table and held it open beneath the sinking cloud. He closed the aluminum case around it and placed it directly back inside of Mr. Ackerman’s briefcase, closing all the latches. [Latches closing]

This is getting me nowhere, thought Nigh, who with a great sigh of relief, decided to resume his search for Mr. Ackerman outside. [PBC music]

Augustus: You were listening to part two of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. The Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation will be going off the air in observance of the Platypus Night. This is August Plumb, and the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. Goodnight. [Ending music]

The Orbiting Human Circus (Of The Air): The 2nd Imaginary Symphony - Part Three

Augustus: August here, this is the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. Welcome to our broadcast of part three of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony, and of course, to week three of our lead-up to Platypus Eve, tonight being the night, of course, when all Paris spills into platypus-shaped sea craft, in many cases passed down from parents or grandparents, and float upon the Seine, sharing delicious nighttime picnics.

But of course, you don’t need me to tell you. You’re probably pulling your boat out of your basement or boathouse right now. And while you shore up your craft and patch up the holes, like all the rest of us, you’ll be listening to part three of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony broadcast right here on the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation.

And last week, our cloud-maker disappeared. We return you now to the story moments before we last left. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. [Music playing]

Narrator: “This is getting me nowhere,” thought Nigh, who with a great sigh of relief, decided to resume his search for Mr. Ackerman outside.

On his way to the door, however, Nigh found himself suddenly tumbling forward, [sound of someone falling], falling face-first to the floor, and there, beneath his feet, lay the culprit – the infamous large yellow raincoat, with its inch of undisturbed dust.

Retrieving the raincoat, [thunder] and straightening the coatrack from which it had fallen, Nigh heard the unmistakable sound of distant thunder. “Oh, no!” he thought, “Rain would be of no help at all.”

Nigh poked his head outside to find that, indeed, it had begun raining [rain and thunder] and soon it became quite apparent that this was no ordinary rainstorm. With each passing moment, [rain getting louder] the rain fell harder and the wind blew stronger, until what had begun as a pleasant sprinkle had become no less than a torrential downpour.

In his mission, however, Nigh would not be discouraged. Mr. Ackerman might be in trouble, and if this was the case, it would be with the bravery and strength of the most grown-up of grown-ups anywhere that Nigh would strive to find him. And so out into the storm Nigh went, protected only by an ill-fitting large yellow raincoat that he now wore.

All around Nigh, the skies grew darker and darker until not the tiniest trace of sunlight remained. Huge tornadoes began to gather upon the horizons, their deafening winds so loud that Nigh was unable to hear the sound of his grandmother calling for him to come home.

Spiraling raindrops filled the air, turning the Earth to mud and flooding the streets all about him. And then suddenly, a tremendous gust of wind came along, blowing Nigh off his feet and blowing the open raincoat right off of him. [Rain and thunder stops, squeaking of birds]

Nigh looked up from his seat in a puddle and was astonished by what he saw. The moment the raincoat had blown off of him, the rain had stopped and the sun came out. There were chirping birds, and all shone with the warm glow of a clear sky as the powerful cumulus cloud that had been pounding the Earth with its torrential downpour just a moment ago had all but withdrawn.

Nigh looked at the raincoat, which was now strewn on the ground a few feet in front of him, and looked back up at the sky. He got up, went to retrieve the raincoat, but as soon as he touched it, [thunder, birds stop] he found the sky darkening, and the distant sound of thunder again returning.

He took his hand off the raincoat [birds chirping] and found that the sun had once again come out. He repeated this several times, [thunder] and found that every time his hand made contact [birds] with the coat [thunder] the cumulus clouds [birds] were once again drawn to fill the sky [thunder] and the moment he released [birds] the coat, the clouds withdrew.

This was another of Mr. Ackerman’s possessions, Nigh decided, that should only be touched by trained and authorized personnel. He reached for a small branch that, in the storm, had been blown off of a nearby tree, and with it, lifted the raincoat carefully, and returned it to Mr. Ackerman’s wooden coatrack. [Music changes]

Then, a thought occurred to Nigh. What if early that morning, there had been some sort of emergency at the cloud factory, one that required Mr. Ackerman’s immediate attention? An emergency of such great importance that he was unable to pause for a moment, not even to close the front door or retrieve the fallen hat and briefcase that he had dropped in his haste?

If such had been the case, then Mr. Ackerman would certainly appreciate having his hat and briefcase brought to him. Certainly, he would, thought Nigh. And so, Nigh climbed to the top of the big hill, Mr. Ackerman’s hat and briefcase in hand, and looked down at the great factory has he had done so many times before.

He knew he’d never get past the guards at the front gate. At best, they would simply take the hat and the briefcase from him and send him on his way. Nigh wanted to see that Mr. Ackerman was alright with his own two eyes, and to see inside the cloud factory more than almost anything in the whole wide world.

He had discovered some time ago that around the back of the factory, there was a small hole at the base of the barbed wire fence, just the right size for a skinny nine-year-old boy to fit through. Nigh made his way carefully down the hill so as not to slip on the wet grass and climbed quietly through the hole, pulling the hat and briefcase behind him.

The factory consisted of two tall silver buildings, one rectangle and one square, connected at the center by another giant bubble-shaped building, roughly double the size of the others. The whole of the structure was covered from top to bottom in long lines of blinking lights and lighted windows. It looked to Nigh like a giant version of the old recording equipment that his grandmother kept in their basement.

Looking up at the smokestacks, Nigh wondered if he had ever seen anything quite so tall. Standing right up next to them for the first time, he had certainly never felt smaller. Just then, [voices, footsteps] Nigh heard the sound of voices and footsteps coming from somewhere nearby. He looked around for someplace to hide, but could see none. Moving along the back of the great structure, he came to a single unmarked door and gave its knob a try. The door was unlocked, and Nigh, hearing the voices and footsteps draw nearer, slowly and quietly cracked the door open and stepped inside. [Singing]

What Nigh saw then was at once the most amazing and beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life – rows of singing, white-haired women, sitting on a vast and spiraling assembly line, in front of each, a small and perfectly formed cloud, floating only inches above a frost-covered silver tray; men cranking cranks and pulling levers upon huge machines made of silver and bronze; hundreds of workers suspended in midair by string, pulleys, and wire, peddling upon small contraptions whose pedals and gears were linked to bigger gears, and those to bigger gears, and those to bigger gears yet, above them, giant fans blowing the larger completed clouds towards smokestacks high along the factory’s vast lightened ceiling, creating huge cloud-shaped shadows that drifted over the men and women working a hundred feet below.

He saw several raised platforms, upon which sat workers surrounded by huge control panels of blinking and flashing lights; buttons and knobs of every imaginable size and color; frost-covered golden tubs, housing hundreds of tiny floating clouds waiting for inspection; suspended from the ceiling, a giant clock, the sort that he had never seen before, flanked on all sides by a towering bank of gauges and levers; and rising above it all, on the tallest platform yet, he saw the elder cloud-maker, who from his perch high above, directed the flow of the entire factory with graceful waves of his left hand while calling out through the megaphone in his right.

“Nimbus, two hundred of three thousand! Stratus, forty-four of fifty-three! Cumulus, twenty-seven of four thirteen!” And on, and on.

Nigh realized that he had begun to shiver and noticed also that he could see his breath. Looking around at the singing silver-haired women seated all about him, Nigh noticed that their breath could be seen as well. In fact, upon closer inspection, it almost looked as if the women were singing the clouds before them.

Putting on Mr. Ackerman’s large hat and crossing his arms against the chill, Nigh proceeded to look about the building for any sign of Mr. Ackerman. He noticed that every single chair in the building seemed to be filled, with the exception of one, and that this one empty chair seemed to be the focus of many an anxious glance by the workers in its midst. Even the elder cloud-maker, directing the whole factory from his platform high above, was seen to glance worriedly at this empty chair from time to time. Indeed, this chair located high atop the only empty examination platform seemed to be a matter of great concern to all the cloud-makers.

Crawling his way along the factory’s back wall so as not to be noticed, Nigh made his way slowly but surely to the platform in question. He waited silently until he was sure no one was looking and climbed slowly up to the platform’s top.

Peeking over the edge, Nigh could clearly see a silver plaque bolted to the back of the empty chair, and etched upon this silver plaque, he could clearly see was the name “R. A. Ackerman”.

Nigh suddenly became quite aware that every sound in the factory had ceased, and it had been replaced with a shocked and deathly silence. Looking up, he saw that all work in the factory had come to a stop and that every last eye in the vast building was upon him. “A little boy?!” boomed the elder cloud-maker, who in his shock, did not realize that he was still speaking through the megaphone.

Several of the cloud-makers began slowly to rise to their feet, and Nigh, now aware that he might be in terrible trouble, collected the briefcase and ran as fast as he could towards the door through which he had entered. [Fast footsteps]

Finding the door still unlocked, Nigh made a hasty exit, not looking back even once outside. Hearing the growing commotion behind him, he made his way to the gate and squeezed himself back through the small hole. Once through, he ran as fast as he could up the hill and to the road just beyond it.

At just that moment, a fire engine with its lights flashing slowly turned a corner and began sounding its alarm, having just pulled out of the engine house. The firemen on board were under the luring influence of the fire siren, and did not notice the small boy as he climbed on board. Nigh hid himself underneath one of the fire engine’s big benches, and exhausted by the day’s adventures, drifted off to sleep.

He awoke a good time later to find a wet group of firemen looking down at him. “Don’t you know that fire engines are dangerous places for little boys?” asked a firemen with a kind face. “You could have been hurt! What’s your name?”

“Nigh,” said Nigh.

“You mustn’t ever go near a fire engine when it’s in use, Nigh. Now, if you were to come by the engine house some afternoon, that’d be a different story. Why, me and the boys, we’d even give you a tour. But when we’re fighting a fire, that’s business only for a trained firefighter, and even trained firefighters die fighting fires. Do you understand, Nigh?”

Nigh nodded yes, and the fireman smiled.

“Someday, Nigh, you might even grow up to be a real fireman, just like us!”

Though he tried not to show it, Nigh shuddered inwardly at the thought of being forever subject to the whims of the fire siren.

“Where do you live, Nigh?” the fireman asked. Nigh looked up to see where he was, and saw in the afternoon light that the truck had traveled rather far from Telegraph Road. However, not wanting to answer too many more questions about his day’s activities, Nigh pointed to a spot vaguely down the block. “Well, you head on home, now, Nigh.” Relieved, Nigh stepped down from the firetruck. “Oh, and Nigh, where did you get the hat and briefcase from?”

“They’re… they’re my father’s,” said Nigh.

The fireman smiled, and with that, the engine was off, leaving Nigh standing alone on a street corner. Realizing that he had a very long walk ahead of him, Nigh started for home. As he walked, he reflected upon the day’s events and became more and more concerned that something horrible really had become of Mr. Ackerman.

Soon, the day began to turn slowly into night, and Nigh noticed that though he had been walking for quite some time in the direction of home, things were looking less and less familiar until soon they were no longer familiar at all. Nigh realized that he was lost, and in a part of town that he had never been to before. The buildings loomed larger, and somehow grayer, with dark alleys that spread like vast spider webs between them. There were more and more grown-ups everywhere, all rushing to and from with haste and impatience.

Nigh was becoming worried that he might never find his way home. He had walked a long, long way and his legs were aching as it was. He knew one thing for sure – he was tired and did not much like this new part of town in which he had found himself. Nigh sat down on a curb to rest his legs for a moment, and was almost tripped over by a large businessman who had been rushing past. “Watch where you’re sitting, little boy!” scolded the cross businessman, who dusted himself off and continued on his way.

Not wanting to be tripped over again, Nigh gathered himself up and entered one of the nearby alleys. At least here there would be less traffic and he could rest. The alley was dark, and Nigh, moving carefully so as not to bump into anything, settled against the wall of the building, finding a nice, soft spot on which to rest his head.

It was now almost completely dark, and as night settled on this strange part of the city, [chattering] Nigh found the sounds coming from outside of the alley to be more violent and foreboding - drunken sounds, bottles smashing, and men fighting; wild laughter that offered not a hint of happiness. Nigh wished more than anything to be safe and at home with grandma. He realized that he was hungry, and that grandma had probably had his dinner ready long ago. He knew also that once the dinnertime had come and passed, she would have begun to worry.

Nigh promised himself that he would take only a short rest and then immediately continue on his journey home, and it was with this conviction that Nigh’s already heavy eyelids became altogether too heavy to lift at all, and Nigh fell once again into the deepest and most pleasant of sleeps. What Nigh did not know as he drifted off to the land of dreams was that the soft object he had come to rest against was not a bundle of rags, nor a wastepaper bag; in fact, it was not an object at all. It was a man, a very tired and sleeping man by the name of Rudolph Abacus Ackerman.

In a matter of moments now, Nigh and his friend, Mr. Ackerman, will awaken and discover each other in the morning light, but let us first take a moment to discover for ourselves the difference between the sound of a sunrise on Telegraph Road, as we experienced at the beginning of our adventure, and the sound of a sunrise on the streets of a sleepless city, as the first rays of morning light glitter peacefully upon the empty silver flask in Mr. Ackerman’s outstretched hand. [Birds chirping] [PBC music]

Augustus: You’ve been listening to the PBC’s broadcast of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. Do be careful not to tip your boats, and we’ll see you tonight on the Seine. [Ending music]

The Orbiting Human Circus (Of The Air): The 2nd Imaginary Symphony - Part Four

[Music] Augustus: You are listening to the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation! It’s Platypus Eve. I cannot begin to describe our Platypus Eve festivities. I can only tell you that it is one of the most lovely evenings of the year, and that it begins with all of Paris listening to the final broadcast of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony.

And ladies and gentlemen, the moment has come. This is Auggie Plumb. [Singing saw music]

Narrator: But let us first take a moment to discover for ourselves the difference between the sound of a sunrise on Telegraph Road, as we experienced at the beginning of our adventure, and the sound of a sunrise on the streets of a sleepless city as the first rays of morning light glitter peacefully upon the empty silver flask in Mr. Ackerman’s outstretched hand. [Birds chirping, wind blowing] “Nigh!” said Mr. Ackerman.

“Mr. Ackerman!” said Nigh, who rubbed his eyes, for a moment not quite sure at all of where he was. “Mr. Ackerman, you’re all right! You’re all right!” he cried.

Cringing at the volume of the excited boy’s voice, Mr. Ackerman squinted at Nigh. “I’m fine, Nigh, fine. What… what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you!” said Nigh.

“Looking… for me?” repeated Mr. Ackerman. “Does your grandmother know you’re here?” Nigh shook his head. “Oh, Nigh,” said Mr. Ackerman, “she must be so worried.”

Watching Mr. Ackerman squint, it occurred to Nigh that the early morning sun was hurting the cloud-maker’s eyes. He carefully retrieved Mr. Ackerman’s hat and handed it to him. Mr. Ackerman thanked Nigh, but did not put it on, instead returning it to the ground where it had been. “How in the world did you find me, Nigh?” he asked.

Excitedly, Nigh began to recount the previous day’s events. [Whirring and buzzing]

As Nigh spoke, the look of sadness that had taken hold of Mr. Ackerman’s face began to deepen, and from time to time, he simply shook his head. Finally seeming as though he could listen to no more, Mr. Ackerman righted himself and silenced Nigh with a wave of his swollen right hand.

“Please, Nigh, please,” he said, seemingly quite lost in thought. There passed a moment of silence between the two. The excitement Nigh had felt in recounting his story quickly faded and was replaced instead with a creeping feeling of dread.

Mr. Ackerman was right. His grandmother was surely sick with worry, and with his previous day’s adventures, Mr. Ackerman seemed none too pleased. In fact, looking at Mr. Ackerman just then, it seemed that he too might be sick, though maybe not with worry. Nigh felt the question he had been dying to ask since he awoke bubbling up.

“What happened to you, Mr. Ackerman?”

Mr. Ackerman looked at Nigh, and for a moment, appeared to be at a loss for an answer. Nigh watched as Mr. Ackerman’s gaze first fell upon his shoes, and then to the ground beneath them. “Nothing happened to me, Nigh,” Mr. Ackerman said finally, “nothing happens to me.” The boy looked up at him expectantly, waiting. “I just left.” Mr. Ackerman looked at Nigh. “I got fed up and left. You’ll understand when you grow up.”

“But the cloud-makers, they need you!”

Mr. Ackerman looked down at the little boy before him and shook his head. “We’ve got to get you home now,” was all Mr. Ackerman said, but Nigh did not follow. He stood in place and looked up at Mr. Ackerman, clearly not understanding. Seeing this, Mr. Ackerman looked suddenly quite ashamed and stopped. He turned back towards Nigh and, feeling for the flask in his jacket pocket, quietly spoke. “I…” Mr. Ackerman said, “am not… a cloud-maker.”

At this, Nigh found his head swimming and a great sob escaped from somewhere deep within him. After all the strange and scary things he had experienced in the past 24 hours, it seemed he had found himself at last beginning to cry. Nigh could not understand why after all he had done, Mr. Ackerman would no longer trust him with his secret, and it was the thought that he had somehow lost this trust that he could not bear.

His face red with shame, Mr. Ackerman took the crying boy into his arms, and had Nigh’s face not been buried in the lining of his jacket, Nigh would have noticed that at that moment, Mr. Ackerman looked very, very old. Mr. Ackerman felt very much as if he should say something, but was at a bit of a loss as to what that something should be. “There are cloud-makers,” he offered, and the boy looked up. “I believe with all my heart that there are cloud-makers. Why, just look up at the sky!” he said, pointing upwards. “What more proof could you need?”

As Nigh’s tears began to abate, Mr. Ackerman put a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder and knelt down so as to look him directly in the eye. “It’s just that I…” he said, “Rudolph Abacus Ackerman, am not one of them. I’m… a widget-maker. That factory, Nigh, it’s a widget factory. That’s all it’s ever been. We make widgets there, three-pronged one-slot widgets. I didn’t want to tell you, Nigh. I didn’t want to tell you because I’m not proud of it. I don’t even like widgets.”

Looking down at Nigh, Mr. Ackerman suddenly realized that the boy did not believe him.

“Look at my hands, Nigh. They’re worn. They swell up. It’s from years of curing widgets, riveting rivets into slots, and molding metal prongs. There’s no place in a cloud factory for men like me.”

“But Mr. Ackerman, I saw the cloud factory!” pleaded Nigh.

“There are no clouds in that factory!” boomed Mr. Ackerman, who, surprised by the volume of his own voice, cringed and continued at a much quieter and apologetic tone. “I wish there were, Nigh. I wish to the heavens above that it were one of those factories. But in that factory, Nigh, there’s nothing at all but widgets, and that is why I must stay here and seek to once again to fill my silver flask. And you, Nigh, must be sent home to your grandmother this instant.”

“But Mr. Ackerman!” sobbed Nigh, and then suddenly, Nigh had an idea. He crawled over to Mr. Ackerman’s briefcase and opened both it and the cold, silver case within. What Mr. Ackerman saw then, he would remember for the rest of his life – a small, perfectly formed nimbus cloud drifting slowly skyward out of the open recess of his briefcase. Mr. Ackerman stood up and with his mouth hanging open, and a look of shock upon his face, moved towards the small cloud in order to examine it more closely.

The cloud, however, continued to drift upwards and away from him. Not for a moment taking his eyes away from the rising cloud, Mr. Ackerman continued in its pursuit, and Nigh, taking Mr. Ackerman’s hand, gently placed Mr. Ackerman’s hat back on his head, where it belonged.

The two followed their cloud out of the narrow alleyway and down to the busy city street, where the busy city-dwellers were far too busy to notice the spectacle of a nine-year-old boy and a disheveled man marching hand in hand behind a small nimbus cloud.

The further along they went in pursuit of the cloud, the higher also it drifted. Mr. Ackerman never for a moment took his gaze away from the cloud, like a man hypnotized, and when Nigh finally did, he found that things were once again beginning to look familiar. The cloud, it seemed, was leading them home. [Bubbling]

The boy and the man, hand in hand, followed the cloud from street to street, over grassy fields, steep hills, and deepened valleys, until the cloud had reached such an elevation that it was no longer distinguishable from the other clouds that filled the sky around it. It was at this point that Mr. Ackerman looked downwards from the sky and found himself at the gate of the great factory.

The guard at the gate smiled warmly and beckoned for both Nigh and Mr. Ackerman to come in, but Mr. Ackerman hesitated. He was no longer sure of what awaited him and the little boy inside, and was suddenly quite afraid. “I’m just an ordinary man,” he said, backing away.

The guard put a reassuring hand on Mr. Ackerman’s shoulder, and let him through the open factory gate.

Now flanked on either side by the guard and the little boy who was still holding his hand, Mr. Ackerman began to walk tentatively forward and the awkward threesome soon made their way to the huge double doors that marked the factory’s entrance. Sweating profusely, Mr. Ackerman took a deep breath, and before he could protest, watched as the guard unlatched the giant latch and pushed the huge factory doors wide open.

What Mr. Rudolph Abacus Ackerman saw then was at once the most amazing and beautiful thing that he had ever seen - rows of singing, white-haired women sitting on a vast and spiraling assembly line, in front of each a small and perfectly formed cloud floating only inches above a frost-covered silver tray; men cranking cranks and pulling levers upon huge machines made of silver and bronze; hundreds of workers suspended in midair by string, pulleys, and wire, pedaling upon small contraptions, whose pedals and gears were linked to bigger gears, and those to bigger gears, and those to bigger gears yet; above them, giant fans blowing the larger, completed clouds towards smokestacks high along the factory’s vast lightened ceiling, creating huge cloud-shaped shadows that drifted over the men and women working a hundred feet below.

He saw several raised platforms on which sat workers surrounded by huge control panels of blinking and flashing lights; buttons and knobs of every imaginable size and color; frost-covered golden tubs housing hundreds of tiny floating clouds waiting for inspection; suspended from the ceiling a giant clock, the sort that he had never seen before, flanked on all sides by a towering bank of gauges and meters; and rising out of it all, on the tallest platform yet, he saw the elder cloud-maker, who from his perch high above, directed the flow of the entire factory with graceful waves of his left hand while calling out through the megaphone in his right.

“Nimbus, two hundred of three thousand! Stratus, forty-four of fifty-three! Cumulus, twenty-seven of four thirteen!” And on, and on.

Nigh tugging at his sleeve, Mr. Ackerman entered the cloud factory, and the whole of the cloud-makers in their hundreds turned to face him. On his platform high above, the elder cloud-maker stopped conducting for a moment and smiled.

They took Mr. Ackerman’s jacket and hat and led him up the very steps of the platform that Nigh had visited the day before and so delivered him into the chair upon which his name was engraved.

As the look of astonishment on Mr. Ackerman’s face began slowly to turn to a smile, Nigh realized that he had never truly seen Mr. Ackerman smile before. And now, as his misty eyes gratefully surveyed the hundreds of cloud-makers in his midst, Nigh saw a single drop of moisture fall upon Mr. Ackerman’s cheek. Now, whether this was a drop of precipitation from one of the great clouds above or a single tear of his own, he could hardly guess, as Rudolph Abacus Ackerman smiled the biggest smile that Nigh had ever seen and began silently to work. [Ending music]

Art Explanation

So, did you listen? Or did you read? Just curious. I first listened to this story years and years ago, near the beginning of this coloring book project, and I knew I wanted to include it. It had that sweet air of earnest unusualness that a lot of older children’s books had in spades, but not without a dash of reality to spice it up. What reality, you might ask? It’s a story about a little boy reminding his neighbor that he is the head of a cloud factory. Well, while not saying it outright, the story shows us that Mr. Ackerman has lost hope for his future. Even with the little bright light of Nigh visiting, very little seemed to lift him out of the doldrums, and that things from the past were still troubling him.

But hey, a little (or in this story, a lot of) kindness can go a long way! I don’t suggest you go to quite the lengths Nigh did, but it's still so wonderful, what one little thing you can do can improve someone’s whole day. Will everyone appreciate it, or treat you better because of it? No. There will be people who are certifiable buttheads, and can even take advantage of your kindness. You don’t owe the world an open heart, but if your heart can afford opening even just once in a while, that’s beautiful and I’m glad you have the strength for it.

Now, I’d like to take a look at the story in two ways. Just like Birdman, there’s two ways to look at the story. So below, covered in flaps, are my two analyses, in bullet point form, following along chronologically. I’d like you to look at the one agreeing with your interpretation first, then the other, as they each will likely have details that are still relevant to the other. And if you want, tell me if they affected your view on the story!

Realist view

Magic view

By the way, I didn’t type this all up. Here’s a link to the official transcript location from the showmakers.

Alrighty, with all that said, onto the art!

While the main show and the setting are in Paris, I never imagined this story taking place outside of the USA. The voice actors were American, and sometimes I’m a little unimaginative. However, I did put a little thought into the city. Since it houses a cloud factory, it needed to not be very sunny. It has at least one big hill. The city has to be at least somewhat walkable, as there weren’t a ton of mentions of cars. And it has to be an industrial city, because the cloud factory isn’t notable. Add in the fact I got West Coast vibes from this story, I decided it was set in San Francisco! Thus, Nigh looks like a typical San Franciscan - he even has a 49ers shirt! It can often be quite chilly there, even in the summer, so Nigh has layers on.

Mr. Ackerman had a more specific inspiration. There’s a beautiful song called (Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding Jr. It’s about a melancholic drifter who ended up in San Francisco. While Mr. Ackerman is clearly established in the city, that kind of blues music would definitely speak to him. As such, I wanted to draw him like Otis Redding Jr. Unfortunately, he died at age 26 in a plane crash, and Mr. Ackerman is clearly older than that, so I had to base him off of Otis Redding III in his fifties. The hat was inspired by ORIII’s usual look, but the outfit was kind of supposed to be working man chic, with the flair of a trench coat to make it clear that the man was expecting bad things to happen (like cold, wet weather).

Now, the title was pretty basic, but It informed you of the name, which was the point lol.

The platypus was largely because I wanted to attempt making a platypus out of household items. It was actually harder than you’d think, especially since I didn’t physically test it out. Most of the books, aside from the Atlas, are all from podcasts from the same company.

The third picture was a bit of a break for me. I drew it after the factory, so it’s simple.

The fourth picture I drew last. I finally got a handle on Nigh’s face - I have trouble drawing children, but I finally did well. Like I said in the analysis above, it’s more likely Mr. Ackerman really did leave his job himself, but it was easier to portray him being fired. But all in all, this is probably my first or second favorite out of this story.

The fifth picture, where Nigh only partially has the coat on, was again an inaccuracy that made portrayal easier. On one side where he isn’t wearing the rain coat, the weather is calm. On the other side, where he has the sleeve completely on, it’s storming like crazy. I’m not too proud of Nigh’s body proportions or face in this one - a friend who also likes the show influenced my artistic choices but I definitely needed more practice.

Picture 6 is where I did my best to draw the factory. Obviously, I didn’t want to get too complicated with it, but I think I managed to convey some complexity :). Mr. Ackerman and Nigh are warped a little because I was trying to get the picture at a different angle. Just like ith NIMH, I drew a background and then stuck characters on it, although this time I drew the two straight on and then used a big Mr. Ackerman facing the audience, and a little bit of photo editing, to cover up those old lines.

Last picture, you get a good look at Mr. Ackerman. He’s incredulously happy, but somehow, he really is a cloudmaker. And I think that's lovely, and this one turned out well.

Hope you enjoyed! I got a bit carried away with the analysis again lol.

#the orbiting human circus (of the air)#the second imaginary symphony #the 2nd imaginary symphony #night vale presents #wac

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