![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acorn_squash posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
transcribedcomicszines[Transcriber's note: This post begins with three poems, which are followed by a transcript of a drawing, then a transcript of a comment. They're all quite short. Content warnings will be in the comments.
Let me know if you'd rather I make these separate posts. And, as always, feedback is welcome! End transcriber's note.]
From April 1990
From December 1990
Also from December 1990
From June 1991
From October 1991
[Additional transcriber's note: While I'm here, I was wondering if this comm would be interested in fandom stuff, since there are a lot of resources now that are dedicated to that sort of thing, like OFMD Described, and because I personally do some transcription of that type.]
Let me know if you'd rather I make these separate posts. And, as always, feedback is welcome! End transcriber's note.]
From April 1990
The Noise on the Stairs
Night. She huddled under the blankets.
Awake, heart pounding. Was that a noise?
She clutched her doll, stifled a sob.
Oh, God, no. Not again. Please.
There. The noise again. Footsteps?
A shuffle. Clink. Ice in a glass?
Her heart thudding so loud it hurt.
She whispered “Please don’t let it be…”
Louder but — not a clink. More a clank,
And a shuffling, coming up the stairs.
Odd. That doesn’t sound like…
She sat up, cautious. Her door creaked open.
It stood there, moaning, caught in the moonlight.
She could see the wallpaper through it,
Through the rotted, hanging folds of its robe,
Through the glittering, clanking chains.
“Geez, you gave me such a scare,” she said.
“For a minute I thought you were my father.”
By Jessica T.
Night. She huddled under the blankets.
Awake, heart pounding. Was that a noise?
She clutched her doll, stifled a sob.
Oh, God, no. Not again. Please.
There. The noise again. Footsteps?
A shuffle. Clink. Ice in a glass?
Her heart thudding so loud it hurt.
She whispered “Please don’t let it be…”
Louder but — not a clink. More a clank,
And a shuffling, coming up the stairs.
Odd. That doesn’t sound like…
She sat up, cautious. Her door creaked open.
It stood there, moaning, caught in the moonlight.
She could see the wallpaper through it,
Through the rotted, hanging folds of its robe,
Through the glittering, clanking chains.
“Geez, you gave me such a scare,” she said.
“For a minute I thought you were my father.”
By Jessica T.
From December 1990
Communication
My doctor has this little tiny microphone where I can talk. When Kathy comes back she can hear what I told her. Sometimes I tell her surprises, like I can play the organ and the coronet. Other times I share really bad secrets that make her cry.
She always wants to hear me, over and over and over. She thinks my voice is so soft. She loves it, but she hates hers.
I hate mine.
She said I’m not a monster at all, like she thought she was.
She taught us to be polite. She loves me no matter what.
Sometimes she doesn’t like herself. She bets I’m pretty, but she doesn’t think she is.
I think she is.
She thinks I deserved a better Mom.
I think she is a better Mom.
We talk and listen.
Our doctor smiles from ear to ear.
—Shyanne C.
My doctor has this little tiny microphone where I can talk. When Kathy comes back she can hear what I told her. Sometimes I tell her surprises, like I can play the organ and the coronet. Other times I share really bad secrets that make her cry.
She always wants to hear me, over and over and over. She thinks my voice is so soft. She loves it, but she hates hers.
I hate mine.
She said I’m not a monster at all, like she thought she was.
She taught us to be polite. She loves me no matter what.
Sometimes she doesn’t like herself. She bets I’m pretty, but she doesn’t think she is.
I think she is.
She thinks I deserved a better Mom.
I think she is a better Mom.
We talk and listen.
Our doctor smiles from ear to ear.
—Shyanne C.
Also from December 1990
Space
We sit upon a bench in a pretty place;
absorbing Nature’s beauty.
The souls are as still as the air enveloping us.
We share the same body but we
perceive
with our senses uniquely our own.
In between each of us is a space,
a space which separates one from the other.
This space is time,
this space is movement,
this space is a medium.
It meshes all of us in this,
the third-dimensional world, and we co-exist with it and each other.
We look forward to a time when the spaces no longer exist as separations,
but as
connections from one to another.
By Marco
We sit upon a bench in a pretty place;
absorbing Nature’s beauty.
The souls are as still as the air enveloping us.
We share the same body but we
perceive
with our senses uniquely our own.
In between each of us is a space,
a space which separates one from the other.
This space is time,
this space is movement,
this space is a medium.
It meshes all of us in this,
the third-dimensional world, and we co-exist with it and each other.
We look forward to a time when the spaces no longer exist as separations,
but as
connections from one to another.
By Marco
From June 1991
There is a drawing that takes up over half the page. It is black-and-white line art of animals swimming around together in the ocean. The ocean floor and some plants are visible. There is an orca, some sea stars, a ray, and many different kinds of fish, including a sworded sailfish. There are also some animals that are not fish; I don’t know enough marine biology to identify them.
The drawing’s handwritten caption is "The Inhabitants of the BCF Reef," which is in all-caps. It is signed in cursive with the name Maria.
The drawing’s handwritten caption is "The Inhabitants of the BCF Reef," which is in all-caps. It is signed in cursive with the name Maria.
From October 1991
This is a black and white comic. All of the dialogue is in all-caps.
A serious-looking person with an Afro and glasses is sitting in an armchair. We see her in profile. She is labelled “Therapist” and she is saying, “I’d like to speak to the one who ripped up Angela’s journal please.”
There is an adult sitting on a couch. The couch faces the viewer but the person has turned their head to face the therapist. They are curvy, with a round nose and elegantly styled blond hair. Their hair is connected to the hair of a floating child’s head, viewed from the front. The outline of that child’s head is connected to the outline of another child’s head — this time in profile — and then into another child’s head, seen from the back. The third child has a brown ponytail secured with a ribbon. These four are labelled “Us.”
The adult is calm and expressionless, thinking “?” The first child has wide eyes and says, “Uh-oh! Now we’re in for it! She’s on to us.” The second child has a cunning look on their face and says, “Yeah, I guess the time comes in each of our lives when we must take responsibility for our actions. There seems only one logical thing to do…” The third child says, “Yeah. Send up the baby. She can’t talk yet!!!”
The image is captioned Babe ~and~ Estelle. "Estelle" is in all-caps.
A serious-looking person with an Afro and glasses is sitting in an armchair. We see her in profile. She is labelled “Therapist” and she is saying, “I’d like to speak to the one who ripped up Angela’s journal please.”
There is an adult sitting on a couch. The couch faces the viewer but the person has turned their head to face the therapist. They are curvy, with a round nose and elegantly styled blond hair. Their hair is connected to the hair of a floating child’s head, viewed from the front. The outline of that child’s head is connected to the outline of another child’s head — this time in profile — and then into another child’s head, seen from the back. The third child has a brown ponytail secured with a ribbon. These four are labelled “Us.”
The adult is calm and expressionless, thinking “?” The first child has wide eyes and says, “Uh-oh! Now we’re in for it! She’s on to us.” The second child has a cunning look on their face and says, “Yeah, I guess the time comes in each of our lives when we must take responsibility for our actions. There seems only one logical thing to do…” The third child says, “Yeah. Send up the baby. She can’t talk yet!!!”
The image is captioned Babe ~and~ Estelle. "Estelle" is in all-caps.
[Additional transcriber's note: While I'm here, I was wondering if this comm would be interested in fandom stuff, since there are a lot of resources now that are dedicated to that sort of thing, like OFMD Described, and because I personally do some transcription of that type.]
