Blending in. Just like what everybody else is and what they all want me to be.

A faker. Of my own self.

From so, so long ago when I was very small, I have been fascinated with the horrors in this accursed world. The same horrors that had once brought joy and happiness but now are twisted into the remnants of the things they used to be; faded memories of the past and the broken and fractured now has always intrigued me to my core, and has inspired me to start creating the art that reflected on those horrors, and even brought me opportunities to expand my horizons, leave the confines of my comfort bubble, and make myself friends that have accompanied and been supportive of me in this hellscape we call Earth.

But there was a very long period of time where I didn’t have any of the things that helped me build to be who I am right now.

From when I was small and still lost on who I was, I can vividly remember that one cold dawn when a group of cruel kids trudged over to me asking me to take part and challenge them in some sort of “art contest”. Even though this was a very enticing and fun offer to me, if I had learned anything from that one “creepy” story I read and poked fun at about some weird video game that turned out to be possessed by some creepy hedgehog character (who was possessed within himself) that wanted to play some “innocent games”, I would have known to not take my chances with this suspicious contest that they so eagerly wanted me to play; who knows that I could be playing for more than what I bargained for. And I did.

They deceived me; they caught me in my moment of vulnerability when they took a glance at me with a notebook and a dinky little pencil and decided that they wanted to play a game with me. In truth, they never wanted to see who was the better artist from this contest. They just wanted to see who was more gullible for falling into their trap.

After struggling but managing to sketch up some of the horror art I have been practicing for a while, I had expected the other person I was competing with to also try to whip up something they were passionate about, or at least had a lot of effort to put into it. I was wrong. 

After struggling but managing to sketch up some of the horror art I have been practicing for a while, I had expected the other person I was competing with to also try to whip up something they were passionate about, or at least had the care and effort expected of promising artists put into it. I was wrong. He was not an artist but a deceiver. A faker of an artist.

I sprung their trap the moment my submission was taken by their hands. My palms were shaking and sweaty, but I was compliant with defeat and okay with showing my sportsmanship. And what happened next? The judges took it and analyzed it without much thought or care put into it, and by the “meh” looks on their faces, I thought that either my art skills have not been sharpened enough or that they were just really picky judges. But right in front of me, the judges turned their heads towards my competition, who scribbled on a piece of paper (and very maliciously the way he exaggerated his arm movements), and submitted his intentionally terrible work of art, to which he received much praise and laughter. As he scratched and danced on the paper with his broken pencil, I felt those scratches jutting into my heart. Nobody in this “art contest” truly valued the art, but treated it like it was a joke. And I was the clown.

My heart was played around with and scratched on by the pencils of their uncaring, sadistic hands, and I couldn’t handle the scars that time. I swiped my notebook from behind their ugly evil grins’ backs and made a run for it, on the other and opposite side of the boundary everyone was confined to. As they giggled like imps and treated me a mockery of this desolate world, I sat down with my notebook in my lap and my tears dripping from my knees. At that point, I shut my eyes and then my own self for years, welding and confining shut me to myself only. I did not have anyone to look to.

Fast forward many years later when I moved away from them, I realized that they were only a small group of pests, cockroaches that only set out to take and tarnish, and that I had to finally cut myself open and see what was really inside me. I have learned many things ever since that gloomy dawn, and I have found loyal and supportive friends who, just like me, are also passionate about art and even the darker aspects of life.

I have also joined a niche sub-community within the Sonic community that, at first, I was unsure if they would really take me in as their own. I uploaded a few of my drawings on social media, not knowing how people would think. As disappointing and expected that my art did not blow up the way I wanted it to, the few that saw my art and commented with praise, I felt a glimmer of hope within myself, that with patience and determination, I could build my art skills and my presence up within this community.

This sub community revolved around Sonic.EXE and its cult following, a badly-written spooky story about Sonic turning evil and killing his friends. The writer behind the story turned out to be a terrible person, but the children that were afraid of the evil hedgehog character grew up and bonded over their experiences with the shoddy story, being able to distance themselves from the creators and the origins of that story to make their own re-imaginings of that story, who then make interpretations of the re-imaginings. At first, it was only a few people, but the community grew and has found success and the many friendships that have happened in this community. One of those re-imaginings was EXE, a character that expanded on the “faker” element that was used once in the original story, and even though the creator also received hot water and a ton of drama for a good while, their character gained a cult following in the cult following of the original story. 

Even though I am always facing problems within the environment I reside, I know that no matter what your origins were or what you were like in the past, you can always expand your horizons and you must remain standing strong and tall; stray from your origins and build who you are now. And to quit being a faker. Like I hope to soon.

Break free from my disguise.

Rise under the black sun.