Volume VI: And Introducing Harley Morrow As - Herself

4. Reborn - Gothik

        Art was my best friend. What his name was short for beats me - he was always Art. He might have been as bizarre as I was. We grew up in each other’s shadow, always in competition. He was like family.

        He worked - but in his free time he was either with me or working on his latest big project. He was always coming up with something new - I was always the first to know. He would show up any time - day or night - to run his latest scheme by me. Art was a tad reckless, but always loyal. The best kind of friend.

        I’d known him for as long as I could remember, which could be any amount of time, depending on the day. Then again, I could be crazy.

        It comes with the territory - being an artist and all.

        Art was the holder of my soul - he knew everything and anything that there was to know about me - as I did him. He was my age - my shadow and soul mate. In the insane world of fancy that controls us, Art was the unmoving beam that held me solid.

        Through the years, we parted angry seldom - never a day passed without contact. Time was made somehow, schedules adjusted. There are no restrictions where family is concerned. Nothing is impossible and even the sky is in reach.

        I was the musician primarily - Art was the sketch artist. He could transform simple pencil scratching into something wicked. Pencil to paint; sheet to canvas - nothing was beyond his reach.

        Perhaps his name was Art for a reason.

        He was born and bred for his craft, unlike myself. If he failed as an artist, the family wouldn’t be pleased. He was ambitious because he had to be - time wasted was life wasted. Or so he said.

        Art doesn’t know what it is to quit. He can’t understand failure.

        With someone like that around all the time, one can’t help but be inspired. His very presence was moving. Literally.

        Clean cut, a bit dark but nothing too over the top. He was a freak, sure, but the friendliest sort you could ever hope to come across. With all the things he put up with, and always with a smile.

        Thank you. Come again. Have a nice day.

        He could smile the most beautiful “fuck you” I ever saw.

        Good ol’ Art.