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About Literature / Hobbyist Core Member Bonnie Quinn (which is totally a penname)Female/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 13 Years
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Our Lady of Mysticism by fainting-goat
Our Lady of Mysticism
I figured I should do a painting for Valor's mostly worthy opponent.
Dead Chars by fainting-goat
Dead Chars
Did some pokemon to try out my watercolor pencils some more.  I think the last one is where I'm finally getting the hang of it, because I'm not using gauche on it like the first two.
I didn’t believe in monsters until I was ten years old and that was only because I saw one, sitting on the fence post.  It stared at me with eyes the color of the sunset, the dark red left behind as the sun claws bloodily at the sky, trying to delay its inevitable fall beyond the horizon. I stopped and stared back, my hands gripping the straps of my backpack, wondering if perhaps I should be afraid.  I thought that if I turned and ran that it’d follow me and swallow me up.  Its mouth was wide like a toad, the head bobbing precariously on a thin neck and narrow body, the ribs stark against warty skin the color of dead moss.  It was a very ugly monster, I thought, and not really all that scary.  It reminded me of a plastic bag, tossed out the window of a car and caught by the wind, flattened by the rain, and left to rot over a millenia.  

I left it there and didn’t think of it any more until dinner, when I thought that perhaps it might be hungry.  I snuck out that night with the leftovers clutched in the tupperware container my mother had stored them in.  It was the first time I’d snuck out of the house.  I’d had to wait a long time in my room, pretending to be asleep, until my parents went to bed and the house grew quiet.  The monster was still there, perched like a cat on the post, and it watched as I opened the lid and set it down a foot from the base of the wooden post.  It never blinked, but its head tilted and its eyes rotated to watch what I was doing.  Then I turned and ran back to my house before my parents realized I was gone.

The food was still there in the morning.  By the time I was let out of school, it was gone, but I didn’t think the monster had eaten it.  Some other animal had come along.  I went outside to play after I finished my homework and found a bird’s nest in a tree.  There were three baby birds inside.  I took the nest to the monster.  This time, it reached for them with its three stick-like fingers and plucked up the first of the birds, tossing it whole into its mouth.  It was like its entire head opened up to reveal a jaw and throat lined with tiny pointed teeth.  I heard the bones crack when it snapped its mouth shut and swallowed.  It ate all three birds this way.  They sounded like popcorn.

I learned to catch frogs by the river.  Frogs and fish.  Later, I used my allowance to buy live mouse traps and I brought those to it as well.  It began to fill out, its ribs swallowed under a layer of fat and it began to ooze blue-green drool from between the thin line of its mouth.  It made gurgling noises whenever I approached, regardless of whether I had food or not.  I thought it was saying hello.  I’d hold conversations with it.  How do you do, mister monster?  Someone called me a lesbian at school and I was too embarrassed to ask what that was.  So I got mad at them instead.  Would you like a snake?  I caught it in the garden.  We can pretend it’s someone I know.

I liked how it ate snakes and mice.  Sometimes it wouldn’t get the whole tail into its mouth and it’d flail wildly, like a propellor, until the monster bit down and there was a snap and then it’d slurp the tail down its throat along with the rest of the animal.

When I was fourteen, the monster began to grow skinny again.  I tried bringing it food more often, thinking perhaps it needed to eat more than once a week, but it continued to fade away.  The fat around its neck shrank and its body shriveled up until it was a mass of wrinkles, those bloodshot red eyes staring at me forlornly from the enormous skull, wavering on that pencil-thin neck.  I couldn’t say why this bothered me so much.  

One day, out of desperation, I brought it one of our cats.  It grew excited by this and took it from me with both hands before shoving its head in its mouth.  The cat clawed and struggled and then the jaw went snap and the cat stopped moving.  It took two gulps to get the cat down its throat, the neck bulging as the monster ate it whole.  I started crying.  It stared at me then, blue-green drool trickling from the corner of one mouth, the gaze as flat and expressionless as the frogs I used to feed it.

I’m sorry, I told it.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I want my cat back.

But the monster just stared at me, waiting patiently.

When my parents realized that our cat wasn’t coming back, they held a funeral for it in the backyard.  My mother cried.  So did my father.  It was the first time I’d seen him cry and it frightened me very badly.  The next day I threw rocks at the monster.  I told it to go away.  To leave me alone and let me make real friends and talk to real people and stop spending all my time trying to feed it.  It reluctantly turned and for the first time since I was ten, it left the post.  It shambled away with a swaying, hopping, gait, and vanished into the brush.  It’d grown fat again - obese - and it moved with difficulty.  

I didn’t eat dinner that night and my parents thought I was just sad.

I cried myself to sleep that night.  It would be fine, I told myself.  It could learn to hunt for itself.  I wasn’t helping it by feeding it.

I didn’t see it again until I was nineteen and at college.  It was sitting on the fence post near the building where I was taking a sociology class as one of my general education requirements.  I slowed on the sidewalk and we stared at each other again and part of me wanted to run up and hug it around its scrawny neck.  The other part of me was repulsed by the parchment quality of its skin and the sagging muscle around its shoulders.  I didn’t know what to say to it.  Should I apologize for neglecting it for all of these years?  Should I be afraid it followed me here to school?  I settled for a mumbled sorry and hurried to class.

There was a pet store in town and I went there in the afternoon and bought a rat.  I fed this to the monster.  It gurgled at me, as it had when I was a child, and I knew it was happy to see me again.

I started walking past the fence every day.  I’d do my homework there, under the shade of a nearby tree, and talk to the monster in an undertone.  I was doing fine in my classes.  I wanted an internship where I could make more money than I could as a cashier at a craft store.  I needed to study hard so that I’d get A’s in my classes.  
I wanted to be better than everyone else.  And the monster stared down at me - approvingly, I thought.  It made me happy.

The monster stayed with me for the first year of college and then for the second and when I got that internship, it followed me there.  It sat on the fence outside the apartment complex where I had only an air mattress for furniture and I’d sit out there and talk to it every evening.  There were other interns that summer and they shared a house but I was the only girl and so I had to live by myself.  The monster was growing skinny again by the end of the summer and that frightened me.  I can’t give you anything bigger, I told it.  I can’t give you someone’s cat again.  That was a mistake the first time, you know that, don’t you?  And it just stared at me with placid eyes that reminded me of marbles.

I joined the gaming club when I returned to school.  One of them was in my class and he asked if he could copy my homework one day.  I told him no and he started telling everyone that would listen about what a bitch I was.  I told this to the monster, while feeding him his weekly rat.  He’s calling me a bitch and it’s all because I’m smarter and better than him.  I felt proud of this.  And the monster crunched on the rat bones with a bit more vigor than usual.

It continued to grow skinnier though and I wasn’t certain how much longer I could keep feeding it.  I tried raw meat once and it just snubbed it, so my only recourse was live animals.  I thought about getting a trap for something large, like a possum, but I wasn’t certain how I could transport it across campus without anyone noticing.  Perhaps late at night, but even in the small hours of the morning there was invariably someone out and about.  This was still heavy on my mind when I walked to visit the monster one evening.  My roommate was already there, sitting on the fence next to the post my monster was perched on.  I wasn’t certain what to do.  I couldn’t stop.  I’d have to walk on by and pretend I didn’t see the monster.

My roommate barely acknowledged my existence as I walked past.  She’d been friendly enough at first but I wasn’t really interested in getting to know her more than I had to.  We were cordial and it was a convenient arrangement.  The monster stretched out its head and gurgled piteously at me.  I braced myself and walked on past.  The monster continued gurgling and then it made a strange noise I’d not heard before, like a huff, but as if underwater.  A bubbling noise.  I turned in time to see it turn its oversized head towards my roommate.

I said something.  I wasn’t sure what.  But the monster opened that gaping mouth, lined with teeth, and snapped it down over my roommate’s head and shoulders.  She twitched once, her textbook falling into a heap on the ground, and the monster gurgled some more as it tried to swallow.  Somewhere, someone screamed.  It wasn’t me.  I just stood there and stared.

The monster struggled, but it managed to get half of the girl down, scratching at her body with its tiny arms in a vain attempt to force the rest of her legs down its gullet.  It tilted its head back and between gravity and its furiously churning throat, the tips of her toes vanished down into its stomach.  Then it turned to me, red eyes watering a purplish liquid, and its moss-brown skin rippled unpleasantly over its engorged stomach.

I think, I said to it, we can’t be friends anymore.

Its face creased into an unpleasant smile.  It hopped towards me, half-dragging its swollen body behind it, that horrid mouth parting to reveal the teeth inside.  There was a sound like ripping paper and the monster paused, shuddered, and looked back.  Its abdomen had caught on the concrete of the sidewalk and already stretched thin by its meal, ruptured.  A sticky mass of blood and bone spilled forth in a putrid, steaming mass.  The monster gurgled helplessly, frantically turning and trying to shovel its insides back in with its stick-like hands.  I saw a cat skull spill out, tumbling to rest beside my roommate’s hand, already sloughing apart in the stomach acid.

It twitched and floundered for a few minutes more before expiring.  It deflated like a popped balloon, a sack of leathery flesh and purplish liquid oozing from its eye sockets.  The police had finally arrived by that point and were quickly clearing the scene and calling for a hazmat team or something.  They weren’t certain what they needed.  I let myself be brushed aside, glancing back once at the puddle that had once been my monster.

I felt bad, vaguely.  But I also thought perhaps I should have known better than to start feeding it in the first place.

I got a new roommate by the next semester.  We didn’t talk about what had happened.  There’d been enough news coverage on the topic and I was just glad to have ducked most of that.  I started going to the gaming meetings again.  They’d ostracized the guy that’d been calling me a bitch.  I was oddly touched by that.  I got a job offer at the company I’d interned at.  I was the only one they’d wanted to hire.  I graduated, got an apartment, and adopted a cat from the shelter.

I talked to it in the evenings.  It’d look at me with eyes the color of dry grass and the only thing I fed it was kibble, dry heaps of food that more closely resembled cereal than anything alive.  And sometimes, when I let it go outside it’d sit on the fencepost in the backyard and stare at me.
Feeding a Monster
...I really don't know what prompted this one.

When I was growing up, lesbian was still an insult.
I decided to clean up my old journal entries.  Unfortunately, DA doesn't have a way to mass delete old journals.  So, I reasoned I could CS my way out of this.  I pulled up one of my automation projects, scripted out a quick delete thing, tested it only long enough to ensure it worked, cranked the loop up to 500, and walked away.

This is why I no longer have any journal entries.

I regret nothing.


fainting-goat's Profile Picture
Bonnie Quinn (which is totally a penname)
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I write. I draw. I write way too much. I paint and play the harp. And I'm part of the Society for Creative Anachronism as Lady Brighid of Red Spears.

kiki-doodle drew that awesomeness for me.


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Karinta Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2016  Student General Artist
Thanks for the watch dearest Bonnie!
AXELSASHES Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2015   General Artist
Happy birthday!!
Brian-OConnell Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
Rakuen-Ookami Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2015
Happy Birthday! :3
SweetBrew Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday cake!
Happy happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday seahorse!
Happy happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday FaintingGoaaat!

Happy Birthday, gal.
Hope it was a blast and you didn't faint.
Hope you got whatever it was you wanted, from an Apple to a Zebra.

wolfheartsprite Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
If you could donate/share… OR for my family, I would be eternally grateful.  Each site caters to different countries.
SweetBrew Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Congratulations on 100,000 page veiws!
LorienInksong Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2014  Professional General Artist
Hey there, happy birthday!
Brian-OConnell Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
mkr Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2014  Professional General Artist
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