{"id":995,"date":"2022-04-06T15:35:30","date_gmt":"2022-04-06T19:35:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/windywallflower.com\/wp\/?page_id=995"},"modified":"2024-12-30T00:07:37","modified_gmt":"2024-12-30T05:07:37","slug":"vvvtrilogy","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/windywallflower.com\/wp\/vvvtrilogy\/","title":{"rendered":"Violins"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

VIOLINS<\/strong><\/h1>\n\n\n\n

VIOLINS <\/em><\/strong>is a story about a struggle against authority and adulthood, coming to terms with one’s own choices, consequences and repercussions told through the genre of science-fiction and fantasy. In a way, it is a coming-of age story through heart-ache, hard ship. Facing a boiling internal conflict and harsh external struggles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Book Specs:<\/strong>
AUTHOR(S): Winter J.Kiakas
PUBLISHED: Windy & Wallflower
PRINTER(S): Le Ca\u00efus du Livre
STYLE: Greyscale \/\/ Illustrated Prose
SIZE: 9 x 6 inches<\/td>		Content Warning: 13+ (violence, swearing)
Trigger Warning: suicidal ideation, unreality, body horror<\/em><\/strong>
grief, death, experimentation<\/em><\/strong><\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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THE STORY<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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VIOLAS<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Kickstarter, November 2016 <\/strong>
Released, November 2017
168 pages \/\/ ISBN: 978-1-7751641-2-8<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oliver Sanswicky is a young boy, prolific violinist, phobic of birds and possesses magical abilities that far exceed those others his age. He struggles to make friends in school while his family life around him turns to shambles. Eventually he is dropped into his step-father’s custody and turned into a lab experiment under his step-brother’s guidance. It turns out he is of great interest to someone of higher power than those even working the facility. But who, or what could these even be?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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VIOLINS<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Kickstarter, November 2016 <\/strong>
Released, November 2017
152 pages \/\/ ISBN: 978-1-7751641-0-4<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oliver Sanswicky is a young man who enjoys being alone. In fact, he spends most of his time alone, toiling away on work he isn’t sure he likes and fostering a life built on hiding away from a set of yellow eyes that haunt his every excursion outside his home. Unfortunately, he will have to face them as a series of ever-urgent, ever-greedy visitors begins to demand his time, his power, and even his body.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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VIOLONCELLOS<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Kickstarter, November 2016<\/strong>
Released, November 2017
172 pages \/\/ ISBN: 978-1-7751641-1-1<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oliver Sanswicky is a man whose life consists of living every day nearly the same. Under the sharp eyes of various Gods, he reminisces about the choices he\u2019s made that have led him to piloting the world\u2019s largest known death machine and comes to a very grave realization\u2026
Oliver has never experienced a true freedom. Despite hardship after hardship, his choices have brought him to the single-most conclusion:
We all fall down.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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THE CAST<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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OLIVER SANSWICKY<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Oliver (he\/him) is a mute, nervous wreck of a kid with bird feathers for hair and hallucinogenic magic that shouldn’t exist let alone, torment him the way that it does.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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CHARLOTTE
TWIST<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Charlie (she\/her) is a strange girl made of old technological pieces who seemingly can only speak through the scratching tone of a gramophone affixed to her hip and shoulder.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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MONTIGUE PERCY<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Monty (he\/him) is one of Oliver’s oldest friends, having stood up for him in grade-school and suffered through the same fate of being tested on by proxy of being close to Oliver himself and needing a ‘normal’ subject to weigh the difference against.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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JOHN LOCKE<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

John (he\/him) is an older kid who was often locked up with Oliver while being tested on. His reason for being there was to determine whether a non-magical kid could possibly be given magic as well. (And vice-versa, could Oliver be given the ability to shift his shape)?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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VI<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Vi (she….?) is a fucked up little god who thrives on bloodshed. She takes a special liking to Oliver herself, tasked with keeping watch over him so that he sticks to the plans devised for his existence. She may, however, be starting to form a heart for him, and takes on a more protective concern for him as the story progresses.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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YELLOW-EYED-MAN<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

??? (???) who is this guy??? We just don’t know!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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AN EXCERPT<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Still not sure? Read an excerpt from Violins<\/em> here:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The thing about things was that things never stayed the same. He thought about this a lot while he was sitting in the small closet feeling his brain melt and melt and melt. While his brain oozed from his ears and drip, drip, dripped onto the crooked floor, slanted just enough to set kinks deep into his muscles.
He was supposed to be writing. He could hear the words violently whirring about in his mind. A swarm of bees, a flock of crows\u2026
No.
A murder. A murder of crows.
He sat quietly, pausing on this thought in horrific fascination while his fingers slipped through his feathers and he stroked the spines of several before he settled on one feather specifically and tugged at it. With a small pop it broke free of his skin. He could feel some pain when it gave into the pressure of his pulling. Sometimes he wondered if his bones were hollow to match his feathers.
Sometimes he called himself a bird when he hated himself the most.
Right now was one of those \u2018sometimes\u2019.
And suddenly a thought propelled his stance to a more progressive one. He leaned forward in his chair and hunched over his sheet of paper and he would listen as the scratching of his pen to paper was the only thing he could hear.
The only thing he could hear against the loudness of the memory that pounded against his skull. He would see it vividly in his eyes. A murder of crows flying from the trees, from a threat unseen. He would see the eyes of Monty, his friend\u2026 his\u2026
Friend. Yes.
Monty\u2019s eyes wide and staring, a fear struck through them etched visibly with the arc on his dark brows on his face\u2014
Shit. He was bleeding again. The bird\u2014yes he definitely called himself this now\u2014was watching as drops of blood collected on his thick paper. He watched the paper suck it in deeply, greedy, like the ink dripping off his pen. He could feel himself breathing tightly.
He reached his hand up to touch his nose, dab the small trail of blood that was now running down to his lips. He pulled his hand back to see a dark red on his fingers as white as the paper below it. Entranced he pressed his fingers to the paper and he let the words write themselves in red, red, red.
He leaned in to read them but he knew what they said and he wasn\u2019t focusing on the words and their meaning but more on the letters and how they were shaped. Because they were a writing that wasn\u2019t his. He snapped his gaze up to the words he had written about crows and a murder\u2014
And back to the red, red text that wasn\u2019t his and the words were shaping into words that weren\u2019t his and they were saying, like whispers in his ears, You\u2019re mine.
He shoved himself back in his seat and hit the rickety sliding door, then he stood quickly and could feel the ground sway while his head grew tight with dizziness. He took a deep shaky breath, gripping his head tight trying to anchor himself again.
Then he fought through the sliding door of his closet, nearly tripped over his bed to the hallway and gracefully stumbled to the bathroom to hurl the very little contents he had in his stomach.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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IN PRINT<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n