While we were reading Persepolis, a graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi, we also watched various filmed and animated shorts. This was preparing us for creating our own short stories that could also be conveyed visually. We began by completing a character questionnaire, as our stories would revolve around our characters who had a conflict because of their personality that needed to be solved. This allowed us to use our imaginations to create a background that we could use in our stories. After writing our stories, we drew a short graphic novel based on our stories.

While it was hard to get started, once I had completed the character questionnaire, I found it much easier to write my short story. As with any writing assignment, the purpose of our short story was to show, not tell. This was what I attempted to do in my story. However, when it came to the graphic novel, I found it much more difficult to convey my story because there were details that were a bit difficult to draw.

59

610,750 years in the future, the magnificent blue marble that once was Earth is now a stale, brown wasteland. Earth’s population is at an all-time high while Earth’s resources have hit an all-time low.  The council of New New New York has passed a new bill, effective immediately. Due to the scarcity of resources, the elderly will be put to sleep once they have surpassed 59 years of age as they can no longer contribute to society.

Dr. Fynist Martin, aged 58 years and 9 months, however, holds the solution to Earth’s problems in between his thumb and index finger. This little device, composed out of elements 293 and 441, have the power to sustain life on Earth indefinitely. No longer will humans need to eat and drink, and pollution will no longer be a problem as the small, blue contraption fixes the bodily processes to function healthily with little to no dependance on what was previously needed to survive. Earth’s resource issue will finally be solved.

All he wanted was fame; recognition was what he craved. He wanted the world to kneel at his feet when they saw how he saved everyone from impending doom. But he was so tired. Tired of everyone failing to recognize his brilliance, tired of his peers calling him a lunatic, and so, so tired of listening to the stories of the urban legend that he had become.

It was the night before his birthday. He only needed this one moment, this one surgery to succeed. Then, everyone would know his name. They would rave about his ingenuity and tell illustrious tales of his heroic deed.

The pink flesh fell apart as easily as strawberry jello as his knife carved an opening into it. Red cascaded out of the laceration. It would’ve been beautiful had it not lead to death. The flow could not be staunched. Still, he went on. The tremor in his hands escalated to convulsions so severe his tools clattered on the bench as they fell to the ground. But he refused to stop until red streams turned to red oceans and red ice frosted across the windowpanes of his eyes.

The next morning, city officials knocked on the door of his lab. His time was up. They were met with no response. Per usual, they thought, as they busted through his door. “What a mess. Martin’s really lost it,” an official sneered at the rusted pipes as he kicked one of the test subjects aside.

But none of them had anything to say when their eyes traced the river of blood to the still bubbling wound. And the doctor, slumped over a chair, had still managed to keep hold of the scalpel that killed him.