Story example: Brushy the Makeup Brush Makeup Artist – 31/07/19

Brushy the Brush was on a unique path of self discovery.

Brushy was a makeup artist like no other, she liked to provide her customers the ultimate powder. From her kit she would extract a mixture of bronzer and blusher and at that, she would dump her head into them, clean for a second, then rubbing herself excessively into the pigmented colour, she was ready to gently splat. Now saturated with pink and brown, a dusting onto the palette by her hand, then onto their faces for contouring and highlighting together to be had.

One might find it cute, unique, that a makeup artist was an actual makeup brush, but one must take into consideration her prior history, of her struggles which were so very rough. The discrimination toward her at beauty school, the confusion she tolerated from those who were mere fools, they did not understand her dream to be an actual application queen, her dreams she understood and knew she would succeed.  In the best of her situations, in life she would pursue, her dream of contouring faces, using wild makeup colours, lining eyes with fierce cat eye liner, touching up with a dropping of luminescent powder, what say you to her dreams of becoming an ultimate beauty application queen of quiet power?

From her outer world she kept these dreams to herself, secretly, she understood they were not for anyone else, to know or be made privy of just yet, for it was better to appear to coast on autopilot and then in the future surprise everybody with her victory and bests. Besides, she was laughed at often for being a brush, often she’d hear, “Why don’t you stick to your actual life task?” At a comment such as this she would grin reluctantly and grit her teeth, doing her best to keep silent she would walk away and seethe. It was difficult not to react to such ignorant comments made to her when they did not know the facts.  

For, since the age of two she had been practising applying makeup to her dollies, Baby and Boo, and then she progressed to the difficult task of defining her hairy face with contouring colours and adding pretty pastel eye shadow shapes and marks. The day that she finally succeeded at a full face application she wanted to weep with pride, instead she held herself together – as much as a luxurious brush could – and pulled her mother into her bedroom, to view a close up of her face, the victory that was inside.

From the outer appearance, she had shimmering black noir shadings with steel highlights, then gazing deeper into the brush head, she had light, brightened, pink and purple and gold eyes shadow, and silvery cat liner eyes. And finally, the piece de resistance was observing her face highlighted and shaded, creating an illusion of a human shaped oblique face for visual consumption.

Now that she had graduated college, with the highest marks and best portfolio within her year, not only her class, she knew she was now ready to make it on her own, her reputation would grow at last. No longer was she a mere student, absorbing new knowledge each day, she was an actual graduate, with a piece of paper to show for her hard work, over the many months, years and days. And slowly, then quicker, rapidly, more, with the word of mouth spreading throughout the online world of her work, and her special techniques and unique makeup application skills, as well as the novelty factor of being able to provide a full face of beautiful makeup by an object which was meant to only have one role to fill.

All of a sudden, a worried future client arrived hours early, knocking at her door.

“Brushy, Brushy, I need your assistance, please open your door!” Brushy heard the panic in her voice, there was certainly something remiss, she flung open her front door with great gusto and allowed the future client within.

“What is the matter?” she asked. “I wasn’t expecting you for several more hours,”
 and with a saddened face the client explained, “I need a new disguise, from my partner who is running backwards and forwards outside, muttering that I have filled his life with lies.” She went on to explain that the partner was most frantic, and somewhat, perhaps manic and psychotic, for her had been off his medication for two whole weeks, the stabilisers and antipsychotics were required for him to live positively and coherently, without losing his cool at home or on the streets.

“Why don’t you help him?” Brushy asked, aghast. “If you love him, help save him, from his troubling thoughts which might last. Do not run away, but I will help you today, if you alter your plan, and provide assistance to this poor man.”

And so the client agreed to help him, after she would receive the new makeup disguise, for Brushy was skilled at special effects makeup application also, and this meant essentially she was providing her client a new face mask. And then together, once complete, they snuck out onto the streets, quietly and gently approached the man who looked at them deep with fright and prepared to violently scream.

“Honey, honey, it’s me,” she called. “I needed this disguise to come nearer to you. Please, darling, come with me, your doctor or the hospital we need to see.”

Brushy tagged along, to ensure that he received the medical assistance he had likely needed for those two weeks, they must have felt so long, and into care he would go, his medication reinstated, observations in tow. And after a year Brushy heard a frantic knocking on her door again, she flung it open with trepidation and there stood that very man!

“Brushy, I wanted to thank you, for what you did that night,” he said, eyes genuinely glistening with hope and pride. “Sometimes of my medical condition I lose control, and you assisted me to correcting my life. For now I am engaged to my love, your intervention helped us build, become more, cherish our love, and now I look after my health the best I can, always, for now my love and I have a daughter on the way.”

With tears glistening in her one, single eye, Brushy leaped forth and leaned her brushy head on his shoulder and proceeded to cry. It was this moment that she knew, that she had made a true difference in the life of a client, and wasn’t this a great moment of her life truths to be held up and vividly viewed upon, so beautifully brightened?

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Poem and Drawing: The Lying Leader – 31/07/19

The Leader projected his lies on stage, each and every single day.

He stood to attention as he lied,

His disrespectful morning salute,

An utterance of how perfect the world could be,

He never expelled the truth.

Instead he preferred,

To distance himself from truthful Others,

So of his intentions,

He could impress many others.

For the moment of truth for him is,

Obscuring the totality of life,

Pretending as though everything were perfect,

To his followers he did not allow self made opinions or expressions or for them to freely decide.

What was he the leader of?

Is it really that relevant to know of? Because,

In every little corner of the world,

There lurked a tongue twisting liar with a serpent sharp tongue wrapped around a perfectly formed pearl.

Sometimes in life we need to hear an untruth,

To bolster our confidence,

To allow us a positive view,

Of ourselves we sometimes must also tell a lie,

But what does silence mean when it permeates the atmospheric skies?

I do not take forced silences well,

They are simply a lie of omission,

What can we expect from a leader who continually lies to the world and himself,

A positive predeliction.

And so this type of world leader regresses slightly then presses forth,

Creating understanding of the realm of his projected world,

His followers blindly scurry behind him, eating up his words,

Like desperate field mice they are within his neck of the convoluted woods.

What does it take to silence an untruth?

What will it take to cause a firmer view?

Of correct understanding, a positive landing,

Into a land of genuine nature and a solid knowledge to share.

For this liar’s land was far too serious,

I could hear a grumbling now in the crowd,

The people had begun to suspect and know some more, not enough,

But of the truth they must now know.

A roar above the previous silence,

A devilish wave of due diligence,

And away were his followers, from him they escaped,

Into the land of the freer world, where they could think openly and be able to contemplate.

We don’t take to liars kindly,

We are glad this leader has now gone,

Been overthrown in the pursuit of true knowledge,

The new world has been known to become.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Story example: Life in the Aquarium: A Trapped Land Dweller’s Nightmare – 30/07/19

One forced foot in front of the other, she trudged through the sticky affray, of the seaweed clinging to her calves and knees and ankles, on this otherwise fine and calming day. From the outside of her world, things appeared safe and sound, but on the interior, and within her screaming mind she would find there was no end to the curious crowds. Peer into the glass separating she and them they would, so dutifully, knowingly and freely, without any understanding of her paining anguish and agony, of being bound by her once land dwelling feet.

Why was she here, how had she arrived here, who was so cruel they would capture a land dwelling individual and place her within a rectangular, tiny vessel, for all the world to see, why she suffered so freely? For it was not the simple physical paining that caused her to groan, it was the mental pain of being all on her own, with only fish for company and sea rocks and squid, all the occupants which could quietly exist. With her, she needed verbal stimulation, and emotional context, and someone to feel her warmth, and of their love she could experience that emotion again, for how could one coexist simply with barnacles, crustaceans and fish by her side? She had left so many others in her previous world behind.

This woman’s tale was utterly miserable, could there be a shining light? To witness, to daydream about, something which could save her from the Inside. But no one from her former life knew whereabouts she gone and what she had become, and trudge all morning, noon and night did she, waiting for a hero to come. The curious crowd always pointed and would speak, of how interesting it was to watch her scene. Of the sadness which covered her expression, so clearly overwhelming, was there not anything positive worthy of me saying?

Sadly, it was not the case, it were as though she were a mermaid trapped on the land above, but reversed, she had been plunged deep within this aquarium by a nasty man who thought so little of humans, apparently unworthy of respect nor love. He believed anything was up for capture, as long as it could breathe underwater, but how could this be? She was a woman of the earth, the land, not the sea, and indeed, he solved that problem with a click of his fingers, one, two and then three! He was handy with contraptions; he created for her a breathing apparatus, quite like what divers used, except this last for centuries and ages. She was forever doomed to a life beneath the water, not even afforded residence into the cool, calming sea, but a facade of that world, perfect for viewers such as you and I to permanently see.

With no friends to save her, she even stopped trudging in the temperature controlled water. What was the point, when there was no emotions or excitement to feel, not even of impending danger?

All of a sudden, one morning, a man rushed from behind the crowd.

“Sharon, Sharon! I will save you!” and he thrust his thick elbow into the glass before everyone, causing a collective gasp, and an accumulative, “Woowwwwww…” The water exploded forth, the glass shattered everywhere to be seen: coral, mussels, molluscs, seaweed, all an aquarium owner’s both nightmare and dream. All for the picking, for those who wished to glean.

To Sharon, the trapped Land Dweller’s surprise, she recognised her best friend Scott from the land of the Outside. He had changed so much, gained much weight, grown a thick beard, but still she couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognised him immediately, but then again, she had had much to fear. A striking human he was, he had missed her ever so much, he had caught wind of her entrapment from yonder gossip amongst the fields.

And here her saviour was, hugging her with such protective kindness and a warm embrace, she felt so loved, safe and reassured, by his presence, and she knew by his side she would never leave. He had saved her from a life of paining, agonising and utmost loneliness indeed. She felt so overwhelmingly grateful that all she could do was limply hug him back. Later she would express truly how much she missed him and her former life with words spoken, uttered, sung, and actions made after the fact. She knew he understood how much she appreciated him, and his saving of her, and while the aquarium owner would never be brought to justice for capturing and never intending to release her, Scott and Sharon would live together, their friendship growing stronger, then into love each day, a little by little, a little more.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Poem and Drawing: Ecstatic Jumping Jellybean – 30/07/19

She was more than happy with her life.

She was an ecstatic jumping jellybean, the happiest bean the world had seen.

She liked to jump in and out of people’s way, causing reckless commotions throughout the day.

Oh, how it made her sing and then laugh, merriment spurting from her sweetened mouth,

And then when it came to laying down for rest during the night, her body was horizontally tested, and her mind and body were slowly going south for hours to remain.

What existed within Jellybean’s dreams?

Why, the prettiest, glorious stories to be ever viewed, heard, then mentally seen!

She created mental images from her daily events, from the moments when she jumped here, there and everywhere.

The shock, the horror, and the joy, upon people’s faces and within their eyes,

When she intercepted their paths, of course it amused her, these mental images were set to last.

“WHY, JOLLYBEAN, WHY ARE YOU ASLEEP?” A booming voice entered her dreams.

“JOLLY, JOLLY, JOLLY!” and she heard a loud guffaw, she certainly wasn’t peacefully sleeping anymore.

It was her half brother Fred, the Green Grotesque Jellybean who had fallen and bumped his head,

He now sported a great bump in his forehead and in his crown, a mere look at the dints would make one cry, “Yeeeeouch!”

“You’re always sleeping or scaring,” Fred chided. “Why don’t you do something productive?”

“What, like fall and hit my head?” Jollybean, also known as Jellybean said, and then she regretted it, why did she need to be cruel with what she said?

Fred’s saddened, long face pained her to view, she decided to cheer him up, in the best way she could.

“Let’s go scaring, come, it will be great fun!” and reluctantly, then slowly smilingly Fred agreed, and then the decision was made, the activity agreed upon.

And a gloriously fine day together they had did they, pursuing peoples and other individuals, keeping their own wits at bay.

That Fred clear forgot the nasty comment Jollybean had made, and he hugged her tightly for the great and wondrously hilarious day.

Nowadays they perform their scaring twice weekly as a way of maintaining their sibling bond,

They’ve grown closer and closer and greatly enjoy the moments together just because,

They were not essentially that different, despite Frank’s propensity for clumsiness,

And Jollybean’s habit of making life a light-hearted laughing mockery and sometimes a downright mess.

Because when they were together, their lives were always blessed.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Story example: Broseph the Car – 30/07/19

Broseph was one of a kind.

Cars rushing everywhere, no time to stop and think, for the cars are on autopilot in my world, they don’t even need to eat or drink. They are known as artificial intelligence, and wouldn’t you know this, that the human race is slowly becoming superseded, by robots and machines that cost barely anything to be programmed.

Broseph the Bottle Blue Car was different to these inventions, he was of the old type of car, which responded to their driver’s manual movements and voice inflections from near and far. In fact, Broseph was incredibly sensitive to the sound of his owner’s voice that he often misinterpreted his earnest tone as being harsh, and this often caused him to weep, or at least shed a tear from one eye.

It was not his fault that he was overly sensitive, for Broseph had not always been like this. It happened during lunchtime one day, by the pond, where there were other cars and men, three friends, two cars. Curious, Broseph ambled along up to them, as he loved to make new friends, but they shooed him away: “Go, you fool!” and this ruined Broseph’s day. His feelings were incredibly hurt, he did not know why he had been dismissed, although he did recall the men looking suspect and acting cagey, perhaps something about them was remiss? Broseph shrugged to himself and went along his merry way. He could find many friends for himself in the future who would wish to stay.

Being on the highway frightened Broseph. The artificial intelligence cars were far too fast, far too skilled, far too dangerous to handle when he was simply an old, rundown vehicle, he could not reach top speeds steadily when his fluids often dangerously dribbled. Several panels on himself were dinted due to accidents completely of his own fault, they occurred when he and his owner driver did not get along together whilst they were conducting their driving work. Again, it was not his fault, he simply panicked in the moment, his anxiety rose the moment he reached a speed of sixty.

He often wondered to himself why his owner did not trade him in, perhaps it was nostalgia for his past, the memories of what occurred within, the setting looked after with much care and trust. After all, Broseph was from the 1960’s, where one would have had so much freedom and enjoyment, of living without stringent commitment, and many moments of this Broseph would have seen them.

One dreary afternoon, Broseph was on the main highway, travelling to assist his owner to obtain some weekly food, when all of a sudden: BAM! An artificial intelligence vehicle came directly into the right side of his driver, the one and only nostalgic man. The damage was done, there was a side mirror hanging by a mere thread, oh, how the pain throbbed in his side, Broseph wished for anything but this agony instead. The rider in the car obviously instructed the offending car to continue along its way, for during accidents, the AI was overridden to accept orders from humans who sat, ready, at bay.

But the question of the matter is: why was there even an accident; surely the artificial intelligence was fool proof, that was why they were on the road to replacing us, but the fact of the matter is that there is still a failing point, even if one percent it were. And while the tow truck pulled Broseph onto itself, while he squealed with deep ceded anguish that everyone who heard could feel and almost see, he decided to imagine the images, colourful flowers and outfits that were experienced from the 1960’s. She’s got a ticket to riiiiide, he sung to himself, trying to self soothe, she’s got a ticket to riiiiide, and behind his closed eye lids he viewed the glory of the flower days, wonderful, spectacular through and through.

At the hospital, when he was about to be put under, for minor panel damage surgery, one breath, two breaths, three breaths, four, and out he was like a light, perfect for that paining night. And awaken did he with certainly less agony, but he wondered where he was, it was all new to him. His eyes slowly focused and he laid them upon his owner, his caring driver, who had been there for the past four and a half hours. 
“You alright, mate?” he enquired, giving a panel a quick rub. “You’ve been asleep for hours,” he added, smilingly.

“Yes, thanks, feeling much better,” he replied, and went back to sleep.

This is why we cannot rely on artificial machines to take our place. While with ourselves there is more room for error, the intelligence does not have any setting to be reprogrammed, they could be like robotic demonic soldiers. If they take our place, what we meant to do as a human race, why, temporarily they may make our lives easier but in the long run? I do not envisage much fun. Internally I view a dystopia, where we are expected to worship and work for vile, cruel machines, who never take no for answer, do not allow us time, not even a second to ponder.

Who wants to be around machines which need to be programmed, that while they can perform the work of a human, they cannot feel emotions, empathy, happiness, all these things may be forgotten, as we slowly make ourselves into artificial intelligence ourselves, with frequent and newer upgrades, an alteration of our health. Who knows, perhaps one day we will become like the future Them, only operating on codes and scripts that other skilled, talented coders have written. I hope this day we never see, for if so, you, myself, Broseph and his driver, may soon be completely forgotten.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Story example: “Would You Care For Some Ice Cream?” asked the Luminescent Bug – 29/07/19

The Luminescent Bug was very generous.

“Would you care for some ice cream?” asked the Luminescent Bug. I looked at her offered hand, whilst her eyes implored, she seemed genuine, appeared not to be an oddity offering strangers treats, of this I was seemingly assured. But here she was, a bug with legs coming out of her segments in strange manners indeed, offering a multicoloured ice cream to apparently the first person she had seen. Little Old Me, why how I did enjoy ice cream, but I wasn’t so sure about accepting an offer from a buggy entity, although she did seem pretty at ease. If she were a danger, surely she would be giving herself away with negative body language, but in short, I was suspicious.

You try it first,” I said to her, providing an innocent smile. She shrugged at me, perhaps more to herself, and with a great, widened smile, flicked out her tongue at the ice cream, absorbing the sweet delicate taste explosion, shutting her eyes and delighting in it for a while. I watched her carefully, for any sign of poisoning or absorption, there was nothing, she was in the clear, in fact, she went back for another licking session. But by now I had had enough, I wanted some of that ice cream for myself, she’d had her share, it was now my turn to touch. To caress that waffle cone with gentle elegance, a lifting to the mouth, a due diligence, and a splattering into my face is what the ice cream would experience, a smooshing become, yum, yum, yum, thank you dear Luminescent Bug for giving me a turn.

Soon a hoard of ants suddenly appeared, began following me, they must be sniffing the cream remnants on my lips which hadn’t disappeared, which had been unintentionally saved. They would not be permitted, I was not after bull ant stings! Just because they wanted my lips’ meagre offerings.  This was all the fault of the Bug, I now realised, she was the one who lured me to shove the ice cream into my mouth, deep inside, and to have left small sticky parts across my lips, why the blame is upon she, and it is not remiss, where had she gone to hide?

I looked around wildly for the Bug, to blame, and blame, and yell at her, and with each turn and step I made, the stupid ants would be within my shadow despite my screaming at them which could be clearly heard. The Bug was quite obviously sneaky, she had planned and plotted this outcome, and with a sickening twist, there would be disciplining for her. She would be subjected to her little bull ant friends, they could converse with her, come to a diplomatic reasoning instead, instead of them biting her, or reaching for my lips, she could source out more ice cream and caused them all to be prettily pleased.

However, no matter how far and wide I called her name, with my unwanted group of bugs following me, along the dusty planes, I could not discover her, the ice cream criminal as she was now secretly known, we must discover her by the end of the day, and that we did, close to my home. She was digging into someone’s freezer for more ice cream, I am very sad to say. Not only had she set in place her plans upon an innocent person such as myself, she now felt the need to thieve the creamy goodness from somebody else, from them calculatedly take it away. It was a sad moment to view, but at least she had something to provide to the starving ants who’d come from far off to eat, over eat, and rest, then to no longer move.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Poem and Watercolour: Baby Balloon Goes for a Stroll – 29/07/19

Baby Balloon and Mama Martha on their walk.

Baby Balloon was excited,

She was soon to go on her walk,

With her adoptive mother, Mama Martha,

When they walked, they loved to sightsee and talk.

Normally, with most balloons,

One would expect to view them to be floating like a miniature moon,

But Baby Balloon had not yet learned that skill,

She was confined to walking on her tippy toes and resting on her calloused heels.

She performed so much walking that her heels were thickened with the roughened skin,

But it did prove how proactive she was at moving about the world which begged to be explored and seen.

On her tippy toes, over a fence, she could see slightly, a couple inches more of the scene,

When she rested on her heels, she wondered where on earth that world had gone,

Where her eyes had just been.

“How much longer will it take?” she begged Mama Martha. “Until I can soar high above, much higher than the others?”

She wondered how much longer she must wait to learn,

The baby balloon’s equivalent of human walking from crawling,

She was already three years old, should she be concerned?

Was Baby Balloon of stunted development, is this something to sigh of and quietly self soothe?

Would she forever be walking,

An oddity soon to be featured on the Nightly News?

Saddened at the conversation, in which Mama Martha had simply reassured her,

Baby Balloon and Mama set out on their walk.  

“Look at this tree, now that shrub,

And now look! A sparrow and a lark!”

Then suddenly a whooooosh of cold autumn air lifted Baby Balloon clean off the path,

And rise and rise above, dear Martha she did,

“Mama – look! I’m flying at last!”

It did not matter that the flight was artificial,

 That she was not making use of any newly learned or acquired skills,

For she was so delighted with herself,

This feeling of excitement and euphoria had the potential to make one delightfully thrilled.

But now she was dropped carefully back down to earth,

“Mama, I think I can do it,” she whispered, and with a deep inhale, exhale of a breath and then a pause,

She lifted herself clean from the ground, you see,

With the assistance of certain circumstances we can truly learn to improve and be.

Baby Balloon flew everywhere now, but sometimes allowed Mama Martha to walk her,

A form of nostalgia.

A beautiful Balloon story in the making,

One day she would become an unpaid teacher of the community,

Sharing her knowledge of flight,

Allowing the youngsters to rise sooner than naturally possible,

Into their days and winding nights.

And smile upon her future students would she with greatness, pride and might.  

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Story example: Amelia Jayne Rust, One Costume Never Enough – 28/07/19

Amelia was passionate about Drama and dress ups.

Meet Amelia Jayne Rust. She loved to play dress ups. The only problem was, with her, one character was never enough. She simply could not decide which animal or person to be, instead she piled on hats, headbands, wings, anything that would confuse the viewer when she pronounced she was ready to be seen! Amelia didn’t suffer from anything like an identity crisis, in case that’s what you were wondering, she was simply indecisive and was haphazard with her costume choices, rather than sitting there, solitary and pondering. What fun it was for her to change, into a new individual upon individual each and every day.

For, her mother allowed her daily dress ups, even when she attended morning secondary school, for in the afternoon she experienced such joys that she could barely hold her anticipation at bay, the class she awaited would come so very soon. It was Drama, where she could express and be herself (but also not be herself), taking on roles and starring as characters that her imagination had created in the spur of the moment, her creativity was more than enough to be appreciated and pondered.

In fact, her Drama teacher secretly held the belief that one day Amelia Jayne Rust would be famous, as an actress in her right no less, also starring in roles of the theatre and musical shows displaying her prowess. Amelia’s incredible talents lent to wildly amazing habits, and daily she would document the stories in her mind, their utterly incredible processes. She was practising becoming a playwright, a poet, a lyricist, and wouldn’t her dramatics go with them so well, they lent themselves to these.

Soon came the day for university auditions. Amelia hoped to procure a place within the prestigious drama college in the city. With nerves of steel, she performed the role of “Susie, Teacher of Grade Two”, set in an office block where she took classes in groups of three, and sometimes two. Occasionally her role would be utterly depressive, then on her good days, manically uplifting, but whatever mood Susie was in, she made certain it benefited her students. Even on her bad days she didn’t call in sick, she made sure her teaching skills were still to be seen while she was ever present.

To Amelia’s surprise, the panel of three gave out a resounding cheer, two out of the three stood to attention, a standing ovation, and how proud Amelia was of herself, for her script, her carefully honed skills, that a single tear escaped her, and then enough was enough!

“Amazing, amazing!” called the final panel member remaining seated. “I can see that falsified tear escaping thee! What perfect control of your emotions,” he gushed, and wasn’t his excitement more than enough, when the three members reassured her that she had secured a college place. It was not their role to tell her now, but so exuberant they were they could not hide the information, it would be to no avail, and with joy and incredible wonder, Amelia bounded outside to her awaiting mother.

“Mum,” she whispered. “Let’s take a triumphant picture.” Then Amelia suddenly realised that this audition had been the first moment in a while where she had acted only as one character, and to her great and utter surprise it had been without fail. For what she had grown to fear the most over the years in selecting one individual or animal or person, was coming across as bland, boring, and almost uncertain. The layering of different roles helped her, assisted her to succeed, but now she realised that she only needed to be one person, one individual at a time in this world to bring others standing to attention or bringing them to their knees. It was a realisation she held quite dearly, and wasn’t her future now planned out and pretty?

As anticipated by Amelia’s drama teacher, she was a roaring success, the world lapped up her acting skills, beauty and charisma, and skills ever so delightedly, and when it came to the latest popular series or upcoming movie, you could be certain there was a chance that Amelia Jayne Rust would be the leading lady.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Story example: Crooked the Spider’s Altruistic Endeavours – 28/07/19

Crooked loved helping the less fortunate.

Crooked the Spider led a downright dangerous life. She ducked and weaved her web through the atrocities and joys of life outside and inside. One destination may be a sunny paradise, and the next a tunnel filled with ill forgotten dead mice. Crooked was not discerning about where she placed her web, for anywhere would do, to allow her to rest her weary head. For obsessively she was bound to self-creativity, sharing her artistry of weaving to anyone who’d like to look and see. She was proud of her efforts, for her webs always looked glorious, the midnight sheen of pre-dew, glowing in the perfect moonlit scene to be viewed. Her mother would have been utterly delighted of her daughter, if only she were reachable, but wouldn’t you know her, a loving mother she was glancing down from Spider Heaven, viewing Crooked’s daily cause.

Crooked was not fond of trapping other insects and debris inside her web, for she preferred to keep them away, safe and sound, and her web would be where she’d be gently tucking herself into bed. She was not prone to violence, and she disliked other insects’ deaths being slow and paining, she was, in fact, a vegetarian, a worthy cause and for others it was worth knowing.

Crooked the Spider was upheld in the eyes of the community, glorified and appreciated and accepted. She was acknowledged for her work with “Free the Flies”, an initiative where wayward flies living on the streets could get back on their flights with refreshed wings, and “Feeding the Homeless Moths”, an affair she partook in two nights a week where she fed the starving residents of the streets their fill, more than enough to eat. And “Walk with Sam”, a fundraising event where insects with a terminal disease walked five kilometers, in the name of Sam who passed from cancer at age three, they would raise much funding each year, delighted the runners were when the funds were counted, notes stacked to be seen. The proceeds would go towards research for terminal diseases, and refurbishing of the children’s hospital in town, where the ill children could play upon the playgrounds and trampolines as much as they wished and pleased.

In short, Crooked the Spider was a very noble insect, she was caring, loving, and selfless, she wanted to make the world better, and each day she took this as a test. To improve the lives of others, to be selfless in herself, her actions assured, to make a difference in anyone’s life, with even a simple wave or a smile. Over time, her endeavours grew and grew, that she no longer had time to aimlessly create webs for herself alone, this was more than true, she was spending mostly all of her time volunteering and being a better individual, that she thought: Enough was enough! She would do this fulltime. Such work gave her satisfied tingles. To know she was making a difference in others’ lives, what a special goal that was to hold inside.

Slowly, slowly, then quicker, she began to be noticed for her altruistic work, when suddenly, one day in the mail, she opened an unmarked envelope and what was inside? A nomination for her, for Young Altruistic Australian of the Year, why, she was abashed, modest, how could she be, little old her, acknowledged for the work which gave her great happiness, when others must surely be doing much more than her? She was humbled, she was breathless, she needed to catch her breath and sit down, she was amazed, who had nominated her? In truth, it was unessential to know. But she felt important, appreciated, that someone had acknowledged her work and worth, that of the community she had a long standing admiration, perhaps this nomination was the result of her true life’s work.

And on the 15th of August, she will take the podium, and accept the prize, with streaming tears, as she bumbles through the speech she has hastily prepared for them. She hadn’t expected to win, only the honour of being nominated was more than enough, she looks upon the crowd, eyes searching for her passed mother, oh, wouldn’t she be so proud, absolutely chuffed.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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Story example: Leo the Astutely Observant Monkey – 28/07/19

Leo the Monkey had much to say about this world. He was vocal, he was damning, but oh boy, wasn’t he utterly disarming? With his short, cute stature, and scurrying little legs, one could not be blamed for siding with the opinions of Leo more than absolutely less, accepted wholeheartedly instead.

What Leo was most passionate about was using windmills as turbines, to create free, electrical energy for his jungle city, why, if they survived on that, wouldn’t the future of the world alter from dire to exceptionally happier and incredibly pretty? Another topic he was fond of spouting and educating to others at length, was his ability to straighten one single head hair each time with the warm air from his nostrils, of this none other held a skill to compare. And a third trick he was prone to sharing was leaping into the sky and performing skipping ropes with his arms held together, arching around and around, with Leo the Monkey his opinions and actions were not always of a serious tone.

While playing loop-de-loop with his arms as Leo in the jungle was ambling, whistling to himself, whilst thinking the effects on global warming by humans were incredibly damning, he bumped into Jodi the Baboon, his favourite coloured butt friend, he high fived her in greetings excitedly, his mood was now focused, joyous, less angry and sad.

“Jodi, how have you been?” he implored. “How is your lovely husband, your shared life?” Once Leo was away from his thoughts, he was able to focus on others as a means to listen attentively and of their words he’d bounce back and reassure.

“Oh, you know,” she said, with a flippant, dismissive gesture, “Peter is well, Peter.” She chuckled nervously, and looked to the ground. Something about this situation was making Leo the Monkey uneasy, he wasn’t quite sure what the problem was with Peter, but he suspected it was not a picture that would be painted prettily. He was known in the jungle for being loud and domineering, what occurred behind closed doors with Jodi, when no one was there for the viewing?

“Please, come for a cup of tea one day,” Leo implored. “You’re most welcome on any given day.” And with the reassurance that this invite was the case, it was correct, genuine and true, Jodi and Leo went on their merry ways. But Jodi never appeared, he never once saw her at his door, it was though she had vanished from the jungle for many days, hidden quietly away. Weeks later, he spotted her at the Money Tree General Store, where she was trying to surreptitiously nurse a bruise around her eye that was concealed with heavy makeup, it was still as obvious as a thumb that was inflamed, throbbing and sore.

It was then that Leo pledged to alter Jodi’s situation, she knew that Peter, her husband, was a fond follower of his ideas behind wind turbines and their use as a positive result and situation. It did not help though, that he was a slimy character, and weaseled his way out of responsibility for things he shouldn’t be allowed to.

The very next day, Leo turned up at Jodi and Peter’s door unannounced.

“Yoo hoo!” he knocked and called out. In his hand he held a platter of cucumber and grubby bug sandwiches, they would please Peter, most certainly indeed. With a feeling of ominous wariness, the door slowly creaked open, behind it was meek, frightened Jodi, poor baboon lady, he wanted to hug here right there and then. But he knew that Peter would not approve, despite the fact that he and his wife’s relationship was only platonic, they were certainly only dear close friends, no point causing Peter jealousy and anger if he could help it. At his request, Leo was shown into Peter’s private study room, where he was sucking and puffing on a baboon cigar.

“My dear friend, how are you?” Peter asked, surprise within his shiny, beady eyes. “I’ve not seen you since your last seminar! It was great, by the way,” he added, as though his approval was a classified secret.

“Thank you,” Leo replied stiffly. He loathed having to be fake, so disingenuous. He was here for a reason though, to discover why Jodi was so skittish, was Peter maltreating the baboon who was now his queen, and years before his precious princess? Yet direct the hour long meeting and conversation did he toward feelings, emotions, understandings of life and how to treated your loved one, a beloved wife, it was no use: all Peter wanted to do was speak of turbines. With a shake of his head, Leo decided to draw the attention and concentration of Peter into one straight, obvious line.

“Do you mistreat your wife, my friend, dear Jodi?” he spurted out. “Enough of this talk of windmills being constructed in the nearby city. What I want to know is: why the black eye? The sudden meekness? Her shaking, trembling, frightened looks like she’s about to cry?” Peter dismissed Leo’s accusation, and sent him on his way that day, from now on there would be no future interaction, Leo would have to perform his own actions in order for Jodi to be saved.

Leo pressed and pressed Jodi until she cracked, raw nerves of steel altered, after the fact, and gushing forth with all the information of abuse, share did she, it made Leo cry and whimper, at the emotional abuse she was required to experience daily. What kind of world was this when a baboon could not trust her lover, to love and cherish her, accept her wonder? Years of hidden suffering, obvious signs that she was about to crack, and all it took to distinguish the behaviour from hidden existence was a friend who only  meant for her goodness and a desirable life to boot, to be had.

So he convinced her, how courageous she would be, if of this Peter, questionable, rude abusive character, that she should up and leave him. Together, her and Monkey  Leo could start a new life, in a far reaching corner of the jungle universe, they’d recommence with style. And as for the evil one that she would leave behind, why, he could have many years to assess his behaviour and of this deeply contemplate. He would be alone forever, until the dawn of the world’s new time.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

If anyone in Australia needs to speak about their issues with someone confidentially, the number for Lifeline is 13 11 14, Beyond Blue is 1300 224 636, and Kids Help Line 1800 55 1800.

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