These are the boards from my MFA thesis project "The Boy Who Was Made of Monsters". I am making what I call a "young adult cosmic horror picture book". The story follows Al, a 14-year-old boy who is dealing with the sudden death of his twin brother. He is experiencing loss, isolation, and guilt. The book is about how we begin to recognize as teenagers where we might fit in the world and how we deal with that sudden realization that we're becoming real people. The story tackles themes of existentialism/absurdism, suicidal ideations, and the shadow self, and uses cosmic horror and the terror of our teenage years as a framing device.
It’s all bullshit, you know. Life, death, family. Everything. I don’t think I’ll be close to anyone ever again. It’s not my fault my brother’s dead.
My parents would say otherwise, if they ever spoke to me. They act like I should have died too. They ignore me. That’s fine. I know they never liked me as much. We might have been twins, but you’d never know it.
I’m the weird one. The one who doesn’t do great in school. Howie was the good one. The smart one. Howie never struggled, did he? He was so perfect. Always loved, never judged.
I didn’t cry at Howie’s funeral. I just stood there as they lowered the coffin. Watching as the casket disappeared into that dark hole. Is this it? We arrive, exist, and then die? For what? Because if this is it, then it isn’t worth staying for.
What if I just died? What then? Would anyone even notice? I’d be just another marker in a graveyard.
“Here lies Al,” it would say. “Good riddance.”
But then something impossible happened. There he was.
Howie? Alive?!
My parents wouldn’t listen. Here he is! Look! Howie. Their beloved son. But they ignored him, like they did me.
Please. Just listen. Somebody. Anybody?
I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to.
“It’s your fault I’m dead,” Howie said in a near whisper.
“Everyone blames you,” he said, louder now. “Mom. Dad. Me.”
“You’re going to die alone. “Like you deserve. Forgotten. Irrelevant.”
“You think life is meaningless? You never even tried.” (laughter) “Such a waste!” (laughter)
I looked in Howie’s eyes. Through the rage and all the pain. Past the shame. Beyond the fear. …And I saw me.
I couldn’t help but cry out. “I-It’s okay to be mad. “It’s okay to feel helpless or scared Or that life isn’t fair.”
Howie paused…so I kept talking. “Yes, I’m afraid of rejection. I’ve always hated myself for it. I never wanted to connect, to be a part of your life.”
I don’t always have to be in control. It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to depend on others. To be vulnerable.
“You’re right. I should have tried. I’m sorry. Forgive me.” Howie was listening to me. Seeing me. Me.
It’s okay to love. And to accept love.
