My stop-motion animation is complete, please check it out.
It is based on my dance sculptures (clay and bronze) and a poem-duet I wrote the night I started creating the first sculpture in this series.
One way for Vlad to avoid me, avoid paying the price for his crimes, is to play dead; another is to play dying. And who knows, perhaps it’s for real. Perhaps it’s not a game.
Still, I can’t help but remain on guard, even if to others, it may seem pointless. Last time I saw him—about half a year ago—he lay contorted on the stretched hospital sheet, seemingly immobile, and never once lifted an eyelid to meet my gaze, which brought pity to my heart—but didn’t expunge the fear.
I keep telling myself there’s no reason anymore to be cautious. I shot him, and now he’s said to be in a coma. About that, I have my doubts. Having spent enough time in his company before the hit, I know him all too well. Vlad rejoices in the pain he inflicts. To him, it means being in charge. He is not likely to relinquish it. Even if his power slips away, it’s not going to be for long.
My brush with his Russian gang is something I’d like to forget. It left me struggling to piece my life together. Like an ink stain, the memory of what happened to me in their hands is somewhat shapeless and yet—indelible. Perhaps the only thing I can do now is give it more definition. If only I can learn his secrets.
I try to think the way he does. What would Vlad do now that the police arrested most of his gang, now that he is no longer in control? He would bide his time until finding the right moment to grab it again. And what better place to lay low than a hospital bed?
My boyfriend, Michael, says I’m overly suspicious. There’s no way to fake being in a coma. I do want to believe that—but having been diagnosed a few months ago as a vegetable myself, I know from experience that faking it is not entirely out of the question. Especially when you start to regain your senses, and no one but you knows you’re already alert.
So I just smile at him and say, “Time will tell.”
(Volume IV of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)
So by now I'm seeing the end-of-the-tunnel of my three-minute animation. This snippet is one of my favorites, because it requires the animator (me) to think about not only the motion of the figures but more importantly, of how they express their feelings.
Stay tuned for more...
Did you know bronze sculptures can fly?
This is another snippet for my upcoming animation. Stay tuned...
A thoughtful review for my thriller, Overdose.
Reviewed in the United States on May 4, 2023
Stay tuned for more...
They surrounded the two SS soldiers, forced them to kneel down, and tied their hands behind them.
The Germans were shivering in fear. Were these the same people who—only a few days ago—had strutted around their victims on the way to the execution site? Were these the same people who had charged ahead, wielding their batons, to capture the boy and me? Their sense of authority had collapsed.
And the little French they used to know must have flown right out of their heads, to the point that not a word was left. One of them cleared his throat a few times, started to say something, then took a breath, somewhat haltingly, only to end up swallowing his spit. And the other made a failed attempt to deny who he was. In a weak, shaky voice, he mumbled, “Ich bin kein Deutsch.”
“Really?” said the leader. “You are not a German? Could have fooled me!”
He made a slight gesture to his men and at once, they raised the Germans to their feet. Then they took them away, not before stripping them of their boots. After all, good footwear was nothing to sneeze at.
Meanwhile, the traitor wiped the beads of sweat off his upper lip. “Will they be shot?” he asked, anxiously.
“No,” said the boy. “They will join the others, down at our camp.”
“What others?”
“Those who escaped from the burning vehicles. We have rounded them up.”
“Too bad,” said the traitor, who must have been hoping, up to this moment, to be rescued by the Germans. “I mean, too bad for them.”
With that, he swung around and was just about to dart out into the woods when two of the partisans laid their hands him. They relieved him of his Pistolet Automatique and shoved him to the ground.
"The author is able to weave love and war into a captivating story which held me riveted to my seat for the duration."
- Serenity, HALL OF FAME, TOP 10 REVIEWER
