02 the WAREHOUSE – Script and Artwork


While i’m finishing off the posters, i thought it would be a good idea to upload the next chapter in the HEMISPHERE series script and artwork. Here they are enjoy 🙂 The video can be seen further down the page. Chapter 03 to follow shortly, if you like how things are shaping up or you want to say anything please email or leave a comment, feedback is always welcome, thanks for visiting 🙂


Chapter 02 – the WAREHOUSE

Peoples lives were just dots, all various shades, but all basically the same, manifested within an accepted template design. Then there’s the go between, holding a fragile disguise, turning a blind eye, balancing them. Like moths getting attracted to the light radiating from the flames of hell. I don’t know about angels but its fear that yields power. I got the note what seemed like a lifetime ago. It nurtured hope in a mind riddled with chaos. Clutching onto the belief that he must hold the answers to my jarred disposition, only he could see the bigger and better picture for me. I shouldn’t have met him, I couldn’t monitor this. Everybody wanted everything, the line had to be drawn. Little did I know it was to be my chalk out-line.

The rain streamed down like tears, millions of lives suspended within droplets trying to escape, only to explode on the ground, the water, the getaway driver lied to them. The world watched me, followed me, like a CCTV camera you instantly feel guilty. The warehouse being a blood clotted heart, embodying square one. If fear did relinquish power then I felt like Atlas, holding the world up. The scent was of death, the forgotten refuge of lives who had all the walk, but none of the talk, a blank suicide note. Freezing winds like sandpaper and razors, created an invisible wall of an intense smell that made me gag. This place was in my nightmares. I was like a train, on a schedule, running on a one track mind day by day. He didn’t show up. I was confused at the time, but it’s logical now, shows perception changes everything, nothing was ever that black or white. A piece of me died that day, the piece that held the hope for a bigger and better picture, and a man with no hope is a broken man. On the way home, I realised I had been lied to again. Provided hollow promises by the person that now fell sharply from their pedestal. Rage shearing its way through me, I was embracing it, embodied by the pain letting it infest and consume me. I was on my own, living a life of horror, but now I was fuelled by it. I collapsed, exhausted. The dread of the waking nightmare had kept me awake too long. I begged not to wake up.

Just when you think you have seen it all, you awaken, and have your eyes opened. where was I?

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