Jan 22, 2020
TV
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TV
In loving Memory Of my friend Digby Dowdle 1989 - 2016
DIGBY DOWDLE FOR CRUNK SOCIETY
LOCATION: ROSEBERY
PHOTOGRAPHY: ELVIS DI FAZIO
Rest in peace my beautiful friend.
I'm truly grateful for the good times we spent together and honoured I was able to play big brother for you on occasion. I love the connection we had and the memories we shared. I know you were often lonely and battling with addictions and demons from your past, you did the best you could with the cards you were dealt with and i'm so proud of you! I cherish the photoshoots we created together and Im sorry I never got to share them all with you while you were alive, I promise I will post them and share them eventually, this is the one from the the day after that big night on the town we had....feeling a bit hazy in the afternoon sun.
You will be missed Digz. -Elvis
Havnt post this here yet… Byron bay. Every day.
Video by Josh King.
oh oops what's this
fanart of your stuff
i've always been a fan you know ;D
-- OH MY GOD, THIS IS GREAT :D I LOVE YOU SO HARD! Guys, please check out my friend's tumblr! She's amazing at cosplay/art/existing
And it's all I really do on here. I'm probably going to start posting at Writer's Cafe too.
It's a dark comedy about a demon who gets forced into 'guardian angel-ship' over a very conflicted girl, and mad hijinks ensue.
Mad. Hijinks.
If you haven't already, give it a peeksky.
Chapter II Continued.
They loped through the entirety of Penelope’s private garden, the gravel spraying under their shoes as they whizzed past vegetables in wire mesh. They crushed the grass where their feet met their shadows, the single cherry tree there exploding in pink petal fireworks when the woman leapt and smacked the branches. She would spring away the second Penelope giggled too hard and ran at her instead, her five year old brain refusing to focus on one thing without impromptu breaks of tag.
“Hey, I got you that time!”
“Did not.”
They crouched low through tunnels of green, bursting through bushes, and there Penelope finally stopped, hands on her knees as she panted. The woman slowed, effortlessly breathing as if they had strolled lazily to her roses instead.
“Your plane’s somewhere in here?” she asked, and Penelope nodded rabidly. The woman squinted her eyes, lips pursed. The roses were themselves a massive house sized wall of reds, pinks, yellows and whites. And each curling stem was covered in big, fat thorns.
“Yeah, you would throw it in here, huh?”
“You’re my guardian angel, yeah?” Penelope countered, a broad smile showing off the space where her front tooth had packed up and left a few days ago.
The woman’s face prickled, but she nodded with a submissive huff through her nose.
“Eeeeyup.”
If Penelope had been on the same page, she would've simply watched as her newfound friend ripped her skin to shreds tangling herself in. Her plane would've been tossed out, and the woman would've spent the rest of the day yanking nature’s barbed wire out of her hair.
Instead, the woman took a single step and Penelope rushed forward, fingers wide open. A clawed hand seized the back of her dress and yanked so hard that the girl practically barreled into a pair of legs. But not before a thorn the size of a quarter sank up through her tiny index finger.
Her scream might’ve sent the entire land into a militia crazed tidal wave, but the woman’s hand clamped over her mouth, her other arm scooping up Penelope as if she were just a small and squirming wiener dog. She moved in a long and fast stride, taking them back to where the green beans hung like fat leeches.
The woman’s palm was firm enough to keep Penelope’s head from turning to her throbbing finger, but she could feel the warm blood trickling down her arm, and now her tears were more from sheer terror than anything. She was going to lose her hand. It was going to drain her entire body until her guts fell out, and they would have to chop it off and give her a hook!
“I don’t want a hook!” she shrieked, although muffled it sounded more like “mrgfhfhGRAHGRAH!”
“What? No, you’re not going to have a hook,” the woman said, huffing as the girl twisted and kicked her stomach. “Stop it.”
She slipped back into the archway and sat, plopping Penelope hard on her lap and keeping her tiny back pressed tight to her front.
“I have to use both my hands to help you, OK? If you scream, they’re going to come and make me go away. Understand?”
Penelope nodded, her eyes squeezing shut. She could hardly breathe through her nose without smelling it, a muddy penny smell of her blood. The woman’s hand left and she gasped with a free mouth, spots prickling behind her eyes.
“I think I’m dying,” she whispered, staring at the way the sun glimmered down the thin green vines above and around them. The woman’s chuckle rolled through her ears like the distorted call oceans make through seashells.
“No, you’re feeling faint. Geez, you've probably never seen even this much blood, have you?”
An ethereal calm was sweeping up from her belly in dizzying rapidness, and she swayed, staring up and back at the woman with wide eyes.
She looked down, face comically unimpressed, and she felt the woman raise her tiny damaged hand. “Here, look.”
Numbly, Penelope’s head bowed to look down. Her finger was just one big bubble of red. It streamed down to flood her lifelines and stained down her arm in a squiggly crimson line. It looked almost as if someone had angrily scribbled there with a red crayon.
“I thought you were supposed to protect me,” Penelope said, brow furrowing. The woman’s hands, twice the size and length of hers, encased her bloody own. The red stained her pale skin in sharp contrast.
“I am, but I can’t protect you from yourself,” she whispered into her ear. “You let me do all the dangerous stuff, okay?”
Penelope nodded slowly, her eyes closing with a sniffle. Her head came back to rest on the woman’s shoulder, and she watched lazily as the woman used her leather sleeve to wipe the blood away. She felt a pang of guilt over ruining such a nice coat, and her mouth garbled, “I’m sorry I got mad at you for not being a tigon.”
Her own words echoed around her head, and Penelope faded out.
She drifted all the way until her body lay crumpled in her bed, five mattresses high.
With a start, Penelope popped awake. The quiet dark filling her room greedily swallowed every bit of the sun washed day lingering behind her eyelids. She rubbed them in bewilderment, stopping at the course feel of fabric scrubbing at her face.
Her eyes adjusted slowly, and in the dim glow of a moon somewhere over her roof, she could barely make out a little white bow on her finger. With a squeamish squeeze, she recalled the thorn and yanked the tie loose. It fluttered down into her other hand, and her eyes took in the damp pale skin sitting over a nice and long red slit. It was stitched into a frown with tiny black chords.
She ran her thumb over them and winced at the throb that followed. But how? She couldn't have gotten medical attention in the infirmary, not without the nurses seeing the woman. Surely, she didn't want to disappear, did she? Her eyes danced about her teddy bears and mirrored armoire, her book shelves and closet of dresses. She even dared to scale down her little ladder and peer under her canopied bed. But there wasn't a sign of her friend anywhere.
Penelope felt something drop inside of her. It sank down into her stomach, pulling her lips down with it. As if she had had something, and it had just been yanked right out of her grasp…
She climbed back into her covers, her breath stuttering. Why had she been so stupid? If she hadn't cut her finger, the woman would still be here. And she didn't even know her name. The cool night air and activity stung her finger, and for a moment she felt she deserved it. But if it got…what was the word…infunkted, then she would definitely have a hook, and no guardian angel at all. And if she couldn't have one, then she certainly wasn't going to go with the other.
She pulled the ribbon back, making to loop it around her wound when she saw it. A tiny scribble scrawled across the miniature lace. With haste, Penelope reached out to the lamp on her ridiculously long legged nightstand, holding the bandage right up under the bulb to read:
Penelope—you are lucky I had to learn how to sew in jail. DO NOT pick at it. Wash gently and change the bandage, and don’t answer anyone’s questions till the stitches fall out. Snitches get stitches. That’s something else you learn in jail.
I’ll be back around this time next year, but I’m always here.
Siren.
A burst of giggles erupted from Penelope, and one of the tears that had been welling in her eyes strolled down her gleeful face. Could guardian angels even go to jail? Siren was so silly! And all just to make her laugh.
Penelope scrunched her nose, putting the name over the woman’s face in her mind. It did fit, in a way. But what a strange name. She rewrapped the bandage, cradling her hand to her chest as she moved to get comfortable. And exhausted by her day, she once again fell asleep. As always though, fell asleep feeling a single pea five mattresses below digging into her belly.
And for the rest of the week, little princess Penelope Peas wore a different brightly colored sticker on her finger every day.