Almost.
There was one person who met Cal that disliked what everyone else liked. They saw something pure and sweet and bright and felt anger course through their powerful body instead. There was something wrong and twisted and gnawing inside them, but they didn’t see that as their problem. They saw it as Cal’s problem. Cal was the source of that anger. Only Cal could be the solution.
Cal liked riding his bike. One day he went out to ride it and didn’t come home. A horse named Zoltan took the crying boy to an underground place full of dark souls, where sickening games and perverse pleasures eroded men’s morals, unleashing ruinous desires.
There, Zoltan made the innocent boy pay for crimes he had committed with the sin of being happy and sweet. They destroyed his innocence in a haze of masculine stink and moaning bliss, holding him in a headlock, squishing him in a bearhug, and slamming him against the ground. Punching. Throwing. Grinding. They did the child the disservice of treating him like a threat, a danger, an equal. And while Cal cried, barely hanging onto consciousness, smothered under a hefty horse ass, all he could hear was the horse’s grunts of satisfaction and relief – ecstasy, at defeating a happy child’s innocence beyond salvation, and dragging him down to the hot grimy darkness.
*
A gift I drew for \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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I drew this pretty much in one sitting. Sometimes (a lot of the time) art is a painful and stilted process. Sometimes (rarely) it just flows. Today it flowed, I didn't obsess over imperfections and just went for it, and I'm really pleased with the result. C:
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