Life Is But A Moment, A Single Grain Of Sand, That Slips Right Through The Hourglass, That Slips Right Through Your Hand

I tried to play with textures, but it didn't really work out. I spent literally 1 minute on the hands, so they look more like talons than anything. 

An exercise in futility? I think so.

I would have put this in the last post, but it didn't really match the subject matter. I have bruises from all the rolling on the floor I did when I saw the video that this is from. Horribly slow murderer indeed. 

I would have had something else to post, but the other digital piece(s) I was working on was murdered. It scrambled through alleyways seeped in shadow, frantic, out of breath, and praying for a miracle. It knew that no matter how many twists and turns it lead through the winding paths of the city, no amount of dancing would elude that which pursued it. Emerging from the alley, it paused on a seemingly abandoned street corner, struggling to regain its composure. The city's skyscrapers loomed over it, their immense silhouettes gaunt and imposing, jet black towers that blotted out the glow of the stars. Emptied of their diurnal occupants, these monoliths were without any sparks of life. No company for the damned, it thought. It continued onwards, hoping that as it tangled its way through the lifeless streets, it would eventually find aid in someone, anyone. But it knew, it knew in the deepest reaches of its soul, in the fear stricken crevices of its mind. It would find no one, and it would not escape. It kept on running, futile as it was, through the forest of concrete, dashing through the lanes, the sidewalks, the intersections. Its steps reverberated against against the buildings around it, in panicked, rhythmic thuds. Alas, fate allows no one beyond his grasp.

It felt the presence of the Thing long before its sight could grasp any coherent image, before its hearing could comprehend the cacophony of the Thing's approach. Forced to a stop by the immense gravity of the Thing, it could not help but be overwhelmed by its pursuer. This was the end, it thought, as it looked upon the Thing's horrible visage. With the deliverance of its death, it heard, piercing through the silence, the Thing's final, terrible pronouncement: 

"Error loading PSD File; Unexpected end of document."

So yeah, I accidentally corrupted that painting I was working on. Whoops.