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Briel Comics
@brielcomics.bsky.social
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brielcomics.bsky.social
Briel Comics @brielcomics.bsky.social · 8d
I'm offering doodles for donations!

Donate $1 to the Houston Food Bank secure.houstonfoodbank.org/site/Donatio... and reply/message me with proof of donation and I'll respond with a doodle of my choice. Donate $3 and I'll make a doodle of your choice.

$1 is the equivalent of about 3 meals.
An ink drawing of a toilet with muscled human arms laughing as it flushes itself. A cartoon drawing of a sad-looking woman walking her bike through a backyard. A cartoon drawing of a woman sitting on a couch and sighing, surrounded by cats. It's drawn with a nib pen and digital colors. An ink drawing of Tome Kurata from Mob Psycho 100 with a mischievous expression on.
Reposted by Briel Comics
katiknitt.bsky.social
It's trans awareness week www.patreon.com/c/katiknitt
Get more from Kati Knitt on Patreon
creating comics and more
www.patreon.com
November 14, 2025 at 6:15 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
I'm offering doodles for donations!

Donate $1 to the Houston Food Bank secure.houstonfoodbank.org/site/Donatio... and reply/message me with proof of donation and I'll respond with a doodle of my choice. Donate $3 and I'll make a doodle of your choice.

$1 is the equivalent of about 3 meals.
An ink drawing of a toilet with muscled human arms laughing as it flushes itself. A cartoon drawing of a sad-looking woman walking her bike through a backyard. A cartoon drawing of a woman sitting on a couch and sighing, surrounded by cats. It's drawn with a nib pen and digital colors. An ink drawing of Tome Kurata from Mob Psycho 100 with a mischievous expression on.
November 12, 2025 at 10:16 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
anyone have any tips for doing comms for charity as a very small creator?

i wanna donate to my food bank, so i figure ill exchange proof of donation for a comm appropriate for the size of the dono. anyone have like, ideas on tiers? or tips on how to get more eyes => more donations?
November 9, 2025 at 1:10 AM
Reposted by Briel Comics
brielcomics.bsky.social
its bedtime on all hallows eve. keep an eye on shadows and believe little kids

#art #comics #horror
A four panel, black and white comic. Panel 1: In white text on a black background are rendered the sounds of someone choking on fear. Finally, they get out, "Help--" when Jian, a skinny young man with shaggy hair in a big t-shirt, slams the door open, letting light into the dark. He says, "Leo, come on, this is the fourth time and I have work in the morning." Panel 2: Jian's eyes are puffy from lack of sleep as he shouts, "Mom and Dad aren't here! I looked under the bed! I looked in the closet! Do I have to look again?!" Leo, a boy with big ears in polka dot pajamas, cowers in his bed with fear on his face. He interrupts, "No!" He continues, stuttering, "No, sorry, sorry, Jian. You're right. I'll be brave." Panel 3: Five white shapes float in the darkness above the open doorway, where Jian's whole affect changes. He is no longer angry, just tired, grabbing the door frame for support, and if anything taken aback by Leo's compliance. He says, "...okay. Great." He pauses. "Sorry." He continues, "Just... I'm right down the hall. But we both need to sleep, okay? Okay, Leo?" Leo stutters once more, "Okay. Good night." Panel 4: the five white shapes are revealed to be the ragged nails on an enormous hand, palm easily larger than Jian's whole torso, menacing Jian from over the door. The wrist and arm extend out of sight into the darkness. Jian says, "Good night," turning away and beginning to close the door. Just on the other side, inside the room, is a horrific face. Two eyes, feet wide, glow in the dark. It smiles too wide and has warped teeth, its upper lip curled up to reveal its gums. Using another enormous hand, it holds a finger up in front of its face. It is telling Leo to be quiet.
October 31, 2025 at 4:29 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
its bedtime on all hallows eve. keep an eye on shadows and believe little kids

#art #comics #horror
A four panel, black and white comic. Panel 1: In white text on a black background are rendered the sounds of someone choking on fear. Finally, they get out, "Help--" when Jian, a skinny young man with shaggy hair in a big t-shirt, slams the door open, letting light into the dark. He says, "Leo, come on, this is the fourth time and I have work in the morning." Panel 2: Jian's eyes are puffy from lack of sleep as he shouts, "Mom and Dad aren't here! I looked under the bed! I looked in the closet! Do I have to look again?!" Leo, a boy with big ears in polka dot pajamas, cowers in his bed with fear on his face. He interrupts, "No!" He continues, stuttering, "No, sorry, sorry, Jian. You're right. I'll be brave." Panel 3: Five white shapes float in the darkness above the open doorway, where Jian's whole affect changes. He is no longer angry, just tired, grabbing the door frame for support, and if anything taken aback by Leo's compliance. He says, "...okay. Great." He pauses. "Sorry." He continues, "Just... I'm right down the hall. But we both need to sleep, okay? Okay, Leo?" Leo stutters once more, "Okay. Good night." Panel 4: the five white shapes are revealed to be the ragged nails on an enormous hand, palm easily larger than Jian's whole torso, menacing Jian from over the door. The wrist and arm extend out of sight into the darkness. Jian says, "Good night," turning away and beginning to close the door. Just on the other side, inside the room, is a horrific face. Two eyes, feet wide, glow in the dark. It smiles too wide and has warped teeth, its upper lip curled up to reveal its gums. Using another enormous hand, it holds a finger up in front of its face. It is telling Leo to be quiet.
October 31, 2025 at 4:29 PM
Reposted by Briel Comics
brielcomics.bsky.social
ghost town (2/2)

something will wait behind your headstone. what is it? what is it?

#comics #art #horror #sorta
A black and white comic, the last page of Ghost Town. Al, a squat, cartoony person with a skull mask on, thinks, "I remember the day we buried her." Rickety, protuberant spires of ghost houses tower over them as they walk through the graveyard. A tear rolls down their mask. "The service was packed. There weren't enough pews." Between spires, one ghost stands alone, behind a headstone that says "Sara Pacheco. 1951 to 2017." The house is two and a half stories and asymmetric, with a front porch that wraps around one side. Al thinks, "People in the back were willing to stand, two layers deep." The lone house lights up the whole graveyard. Al thinks, "Huh." On the front porch are a few deck chairs neatly arranged around a table. On the side porch is a hanging bench, which can swing when pushed. Al thinks, slowly, "This was her house." Al ascends the staircase onto the porch, weeping. They reach for the doorknob. This time, they are able to grab it and open the door. They step into their grandmother's dead house. The door closes.
October 21, 2025 at 6:38 AM
Reposted by Briel Comics
brielcomics.bsky.social
ghost town (1/2)

al goes to a place that is receding. noospheric entities wander like deer in the suburbs. is this all that remains?

#comics #art #horror #kinda
A six panel, black and white comic. A caption reads, "I'm visiting my grandmother's hometown in Kansas." Al, a squat, cartoony, agender person with light gray skin and black hair, gets some snacks at a gas station. They wear a black mask with a white skull pattern. A tear is drawn below the left eye. The gas station attendant, a balding white man, also wears a black mask with a face pattern. As he counts Al's cash he says, "Watch out for the night lights." Al says, "Huh?" The man replies, "Some houses glow at night. I don't know why." Al thinks, "Weird. Who knows? Maybe he's on something. I'm not sure why I came. She died in 2017." Al walks by an abandoned storefront with boarded up windows. Al thinks, "The rest of the Pacheco family live over in Parsons. The elementary school closed in 2021." Al walks by a house with a front yard covered with scattered, broken furniture and personal belongings. Al thinks, "She would've hated that." Al walks by a house that's missing part of its roof, beams visible. The porch and yard are a mess of plywood. Al thinks, "I want to stay for the evening, anyway. I'm going to sit by the railroad and watch the stars come out, so much easier to see." So Al leans against a concrete wall right by the tracks. They notice something strange: in the distance, between two prefabricated houses, something is glowing brightly. Between two prefabricated houses, something glows. Al approaches to find that sitting between the two prefabs is what looks like a shed, so bright as to be indistinct. In the dusk it casts light on the grass and trees around it. Al thinks to themself, "Okay. Right. 'Night lights.'" They look left and right, then approach. They think, "Okay. Actually, I might have heard of this. If it..." They reach toward the handle of the shed door, which casts a harsh glow on their hand and sleeve. They attempt to close their hand on the handle. But the handle shifts away from their fist, multiplying, evading, and the light twists, and the whole shed bends as if recoiling. Al themself is shocked, leaning back, as the shed slides away from them across the grass. Al regards a wrecked garden shed, with a glowing ghost shed behind it. Al thinks, "So this is the ghost of a house. Not a haunted house. That's a ghost in a house. This is a house that died, splitting itself into a spirit and a corpse." Al runs through a dark neighborhood in the growing dim. "Humans are polluting the collective unconscious. Unsustainable social construction, generative AI, epistemological obstacles..." They encounter a ghost house, looking just like its corpse but glowing, ectoplasm bleeding upwards. Al thinks, "Endemic fauna like ghosts are being pushed out onto the material plane." The house warps, reaching up, shuffling its windows and doors around. "Well. 'Ghosts'. Not a single human ghost has been verifiably encountered." The house now bends and twists. Al puts their head in their hands, then looks up as the world gets darker. "But there are ghosts of trees, ghosts of libraries... In Appalachia, there's a ghost of a mountain that was destroyed by mining." A reflection of light grows on their mask. "I've never seen a ghost before. This is..." Al watches a road surrounded by ghosts. One has projected a door onto the ground in front of it. Another stretches up, curving. Another manipulates its gutters like tentacles. Yet another segments into cubes which individually start to twist and rotate into one another, intersecting. The stretching one leaves the ground entirely as Al thinks, "Is this all that's left?" The stretched house arcs over the road and towards the tentacled house, whose gutters reach out. They collide, sprouting myriad structures from their intersection. The gutters branch, elements curve and grow corners, a porch reflects across itself, and doors locate themselves incorrectly. The houses pull apart again, the stretched one floating off, as Al puts a hand on their face and thinks, "They make the sound of bricks hit with a finger." The ghosts lean over Al as they clutch at their face with both hands and think, "There are ghosts of places but no ghosts of people." Al walks up a hill to a graveyard, where a light is shining. "I'm going to her grave."
October 21, 2025 at 6:33 AM
Reposted by Briel Comics
chopsyn.bsky.social
Cassy's Pale Circus (1/18) Cw: Eroticism, Gore.
August 18, 2025 at 6:30 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
ghost town (1/2)

al goes to a place that is receding. noospheric entities wander like deer in the suburbs. is this all that remains?

#comics #art #horror #kinda
A six panel, black and white comic. A caption reads, "I'm visiting my grandmother's hometown in Kansas." Al, a squat, cartoony, agender person with light gray skin and black hair, gets some snacks at a gas station. They wear a black mask with a white skull pattern. A tear is drawn below the left eye. The gas station attendant, a balding white man, also wears a black mask with a face pattern. As he counts Al's cash he says, "Watch out for the night lights." Al says, "Huh?" The man replies, "Some houses glow at night. I don't know why." Al thinks, "Weird. Who knows? Maybe he's on something. I'm not sure why I came. She died in 2017." Al walks by an abandoned storefront with boarded up windows. Al thinks, "The rest of the Pacheco family live over in Parsons. The elementary school closed in 2021." Al walks by a house with a front yard covered with scattered, broken furniture and personal belongings. Al thinks, "She would've hated that." Al walks by a house that's missing part of its roof, beams visible. The porch and yard are a mess of plywood. Al thinks, "I want to stay for the evening, anyway. I'm going to sit by the railroad and watch the stars come out, so much easier to see." So Al leans against a concrete wall right by the tracks. They notice something strange: in the distance, between two prefabricated houses, something is glowing brightly. Between two prefabricated houses, something glows. Al approaches to find that sitting between the two prefabs is what looks like a shed, so bright as to be indistinct. In the dusk it casts light on the grass and trees around it. Al thinks to themself, "Okay. Right. 'Night lights.'" They look left and right, then approach. They think, "Okay. Actually, I might have heard of this. If it..." They reach toward the handle of the shed door, which casts a harsh glow on their hand and sleeve. They attempt to close their hand on the handle. But the handle shifts away from their fist, multiplying, evading, and the light twists, and the whole shed bends as if recoiling. Al themself is shocked, leaning back, as the shed slides away from them across the grass. Al regards a wrecked garden shed, with a glowing ghost shed behind it. Al thinks, "So this is the ghost of a house. Not a haunted house. That's a ghost in a house. This is a house that died, splitting itself into a spirit and a corpse." Al runs through a dark neighborhood in the growing dim. "Humans are polluting the collective unconscious. Unsustainable social construction, generative AI, epistemological obstacles..." They encounter a ghost house, looking just like its corpse but glowing, ectoplasm bleeding upwards. Al thinks, "Endemic fauna like ghosts are being pushed out onto the material plane." The house warps, reaching up, shuffling its windows and doors around. "Well. 'Ghosts'. Not a single human ghost has been verifiably encountered." The house now bends and twists. Al puts their head in their hands, then looks up as the world gets darker. "But there are ghosts of trees, ghosts of libraries... In Appalachia, there's a ghost of a mountain that was destroyed by mining." A reflection of light grows on their mask. "I've never seen a ghost before. This is..." Al watches a road surrounded by ghosts. One has projected a door onto the ground in front of it. Another stretches up, curving. Another manipulates its gutters like tentacles. Yet another segments into cubes which individually start to twist and rotate into one another, intersecting. The stretching one leaves the ground entirely as Al thinks, "Is this all that's left?" The stretched house arcs over the road and towards the tentacled house, whose gutters reach out. They collide, sprouting myriad structures from their intersection. The gutters branch, elements curve and grow corners, a porch reflects across itself, and doors locate themselves incorrectly. The houses pull apart again, the stretched one floating off, as Al puts a hand on their face and thinks, "They make the sound of bricks hit with a finger." The ghosts lean over Al as they clutch at their face with both hands and think, "There are ghosts of places but no ghosts of people." Al walks up a hill to a graveyard, where a light is shining. "I'm going to her grave."
October 21, 2025 at 6:33 AM
brielcomics.bsky.social
comic incoming
A photo of a section of an ink drawing. What it depicts is intentionally ambiguous.
October 21, 2025 at 3:29 AM
Reposted by Briel Comics
ocean37.bsky.social
hi hi hi #PortfolioDay

i'm Ocean ET comic artist/illustrator and indie publisher. i spend most of my time working on my own projects and stories, but with the power of CAPITAL you can make me draw for YOU
October 14, 2025 at 3:08 PM
Reposted by Briel Comics
entzuendung.bsky.social
#portfolioday I'm krumm. I mainly paint figures (semi-human/human-adjacent/non-human). Sometimes I paint other things. I will paint something for you if you pay me to.
digital painting digital painting digital painting digital painting
October 14, 2025 at 9:43 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
Ghost Town page 2. some houses glow at night. to be continued some more...

i decided to post another page because i am mercurial and strange. this ones a bluesky special for now, because fuck cutting this up for instagram rn
A black and white comic, page 2 of Ghost Town. Between two prefabricated houses, something glows. Al, a squat, cartoony person with a skull mask on, approaches to find that sitting between the two prefabs is what looks like a shed, so bright as to be indistinct. In the dusk it casts light on the grass and trees around it. Al thinks to themself, "Okay. Right. 'Night lights.'" They look left and right, then approach. They think, "Okay. Actually, I might have heard of this. If it..." They reach toward the handle of the shed door, which casts a harsh glow on their hand and sleeve. They attempt to close their hand on the handle. But the handle shifts away from their fist, multiplying, evading, and the light twists, and the whole shed bends as if recoiling. Al themself is shocked, leaning back, as the shed slides away from them across the grass.
October 14, 2025 at 4:52 AM
brielcomics.bsky.social
Ghost Town page 1, to be continued...

may not post the rest until its all done. this is to keep me accountable

also this, along with some stuff i havent put online, is going in a little horror collection zine that (hopefully) will be available to purchase on halloween >;]

#comic #art #horror
A six panel, black and white comic. A caption reads, "I'm visiting my grandmother's hometown in Kansas." Al, a squat, cartoony, agender person with light gray skin and black hair, gets some snacks at a gas station. They wear a black mask with a white skull pattern. A tear is drawn below the left eye. The gas station attendant, a balding white man, also wears a black mask with a face pattern. As he counts Al's cash he says, "Watch out for the night lights." Al says, "Huh?" The man replies, "Some houses glow at night. I don't know why." Al thinks, "Weird. Who knows? Maybe he's on something. I'm not sure why I came. She died in 2017." Al walks by an abandoned storefront with boarded up windows. Al thinks, "The rest of the Pacheco family live over in Parsons. The elementary school closed in 2021." Al walks by a house with a front yard covered with scattered, broken furniture and personal belongings. Al thinks, "She would've hated that." Al walks by a house that's missing part of its roof, beams visible. The porch and yard are a mess of plywood. Al thinks, "I want to stay for the evening, anyway. I'm going to sit by the railroad and watch the stars come out, so much easier to see." So Al leans against a concrete wall right by the tracks. They notice something strange: in the distance, between two prefabricated houses, something is glowing brightly.
October 13, 2025 at 3:10 AM
brielcomics.bsky.social
its my favorite month and im drawing furiously
October 13, 2025 at 3:06 AM
Reposted by Briel Comics
brielcomics.bsky.social
Local and Foreigner Climb a Tree (1/2) cw suicidal ideation

never thought of myself as a person who has ocs... but i do have ocs. here i am fucking with them for 7 pages
A black-and-white comic. In the first panel there is text saying "Local and Foreigner climb a tree." In the second panel, Local, a young latina woman with straight black hair and a wide build, is rendered in a very cartoony style. She wears a hoodie and has a tall face with a bumpy nose. She walks her bike across a yard, morose. She turns to look blankly at a tall tree behind her and thinks, "I wonder how high I could get in that tree before I fell and died." In the last panel she discards her bike and stands on top a fence to get high enough to start climbing the tree. The second page of "Local and Foreigner climb a tree". Local climbs the tree in the background, but Foreigner has popped up in the foreground. Foreigner is a short latino man with angular, messy black hair and a wide, flat nose, also rendered in a cartoony style. He has a classic young latino terrible mustache. He wears a collared jacket with coat tails. He shouts, facing away from the tree, "Lucy! Where'd you go? I forgot how to flush the chamberpot again!" Lucy is Local's real name. Local thinks, "Ugh." Foreigner turns around to see Local already 20 feet up in the tree and, shocked, says, "Lucy! Eye, my!" Local says out loud, "Ugh." Foreigner, quickly becoming distressed and angry, shouts, "Lucy! Are you high?" Local, continuing without hesitation, says, "God, I wish." Foreigner says, "You'll hurt yourself!" Local thinks, "Yup." Finally, Foreigner clambers up to the first fork in the tree. Local shouts down, "Stuff it, Fern!" Fern is Foreigner's real name. Foreigner gets out, "Come... down!" The third page of "Local and Foreigner climb a tree". Local looks down the tree to ask, exasperated, "Man, what are you even doing?" Foreigner, teeth out and angry, thinks, "What am I doing?" He says, "I'm going to..." He grunts. "...drag you back down!" Local makes it to the top of the large branch she was climbing up, which has no leaves on it (so is probably dead, unlike the rest of the tree). She clambers onto the smaller branch shooting horizontally out of it. She shouts, "Go away!" Foreigner, on her heels, hits back, "No!" They both think, simultaneously, "This is so stupid." Finally, Local, maybe ten feet out on the smaller branch, says, "Great. Awesome. I brought you with me." The fourth page of "Local and Foreigner climb a tree". Foreigner, sweating and anxious, looks down to see how high they are from the ground. They're very high. The tree shrinks away from them due to perspective. They're above several neighboring houses. Local also regards the ground, thinking, "Yup. Definitely going to die." Suddenly, the tree lets out a loud "Crack!" Foreigner and Local whip their heads around, eyes huge, to see how the long vertical branch supporting their roost has cracked down the middle and started to peel apart. Foreigner and Local start to tilt. Foreigner thinks, his head melting, "This is my fault..." Outwardly he points at Local, furious, and shouts, "This is your fault!" Local shouts back, mouth wide, "Fuck you!" She thinks, terrified, her face surrounded by cracking lightning, "This is my fault!"
September 1, 2025 at 4:13 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
Local and Foreigner Climb a Tree (1/2) cw suicidal ideation

never thought of myself as a person who has ocs... but i do have ocs. here i am fucking with them for 7 pages
A black-and-white comic. In the first panel there is text saying "Local and Foreigner climb a tree." In the second panel, Local, a young latina woman with straight black hair and a wide build, is rendered in a very cartoony style. She wears a hoodie and has a tall face with a bumpy nose. She walks her bike across a yard, morose. She turns to look blankly at a tall tree behind her and thinks, "I wonder how high I could get in that tree before I fell and died." In the last panel she discards her bike and stands on top a fence to get high enough to start climbing the tree. The second page of "Local and Foreigner climb a tree". Local climbs the tree in the background, but Foreigner has popped up in the foreground. Foreigner is a short latino man with angular, messy black hair and a wide, flat nose, also rendered in a cartoony style. He has a classic young latino terrible mustache. He wears a collared jacket with coat tails. He shouts, facing away from the tree, "Lucy! Where'd you go? I forgot how to flush the chamberpot again!" Lucy is Local's real name. Local thinks, "Ugh." Foreigner turns around to see Local already 20 feet up in the tree and, shocked, says, "Lucy! Eye, my!" Local says out loud, "Ugh." Foreigner, quickly becoming distressed and angry, shouts, "Lucy! Are you high?" Local, continuing without hesitation, says, "God, I wish." Foreigner says, "You'll hurt yourself!" Local thinks, "Yup." Finally, Foreigner clambers up to the first fork in the tree. Local shouts down, "Stuff it, Fern!" Fern is Foreigner's real name. Foreigner gets out, "Come... down!" The third page of "Local and Foreigner climb a tree". Local looks down the tree to ask, exasperated, "Man, what are you even doing?" Foreigner, teeth out and angry, thinks, "What am I doing?" He says, "I'm going to..." He grunts. "...drag you back down!" Local makes it to the top of the large branch she was climbing up, which has no leaves on it (so is probably dead, unlike the rest of the tree). She clambers onto the smaller branch shooting horizontally out of it. She shouts, "Go away!" Foreigner, on her heels, hits back, "No!" They both think, simultaneously, "This is so stupid." Finally, Local, maybe ten feet out on the smaller branch, says, "Great. Awesome. I brought you with me." The fourth page of "Local and Foreigner climb a tree". Foreigner, sweating and anxious, looks down to see how high they are from the ground. They're very high. The tree shrinks away from them due to perspective. They're above several neighboring houses. Local also regards the ground, thinking, "Yup. Definitely going to die." Suddenly, the tree lets out a loud "Crack!" Foreigner and Local whip their heads around, eyes huge, to see how the long vertical branch supporting their roost has cracked down the middle and started to peel apart. Foreigner and Local start to tilt. Foreigner thinks, his head melting, "This is my fault..." Outwardly he points at Local, furious, and shouts, "This is your fault!" Local shouts back, mouth wide, "Fuck you!" She thinks, terrified, her face surrounded by cracking lightning, "This is my fault!"
September 1, 2025 at 4:13 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
does anyone have a word like "straight" or "neurotypical" but for people without mental illness? i consider myself chronically ill bc of my dependence on medication and how i lose time and energy w/o warning... is there a flippant shortening like "yt" or "allo" for "non-disabled"? google is useless
August 28, 2025 at 2:51 PM
Reposted by Briel Comics
duknuk.bsky.social
Hey! I do commissions! $1 for a doodle and $10 for an officially sanctioned PaRappa (or other) comic!
ko-fi.com/ducknuk
Support Nikki Morgen / Ducknuk
Support Nikki Morgen / Ducknuk
ko-fi.com
August 27, 2025 at 10:49 AM
brielcomics.bsky.social
i think my ultimate artistic dream is to get old and get a property in the middle of nowhere and build a bunch of little structures and draw mural-sized comics on them. let people take a nice walk through some sequential art

probably the next 50 years will not support this vision. but imagine...
August 23, 2025 at 1:40 AM
Reposted by Briel Comics
brielcomics.bsky.social
She's Bigger Than You Remember. 4 pages.

You're a twin. One of you died. What remains?

#art #horror #comics
A black-and-white comic. A young woman sits in the back of an ambulance in the dark, attended by figures. She hunches in her thermal blanket, harried. Distantly, she says, "Which one am I?" The blackness follows her to another time where she makes herself small, leaning against her mother. She says, with a little concerned smile, "I know I'm the one that threw up in the lemonade on our fourteenth birthday." Her mother smiles, her eyes crinkling, her arm around her daughter. The young woman continues, the smile fading, "But down there, as we got hungrier, she got bigger. Like, taller." Concern rises on her mother's face. The young woman's affect flattens, eyelids low, and says, "She started biting chunks out of my back, accidentally." "Oh, mija," says her mother, who, despite holding her daughter in the same way, now looks up at the viewer, afraid. The young woman drones, "She got big enough that she would put my whole head between her teeth. And then one... day, I guess, she clenched her jaw tighter and tighter, and my skull, I could feel, I..." Her mother, shortly, states, "Magdalena." Tears well up in the corner of her eyes while anger tickles her brow. Magdalena now curls up, finally breaking from her helpless mother, her head almost to her knees where her trembling hands clutch each other as she says, "But now I'm alive, and she's, she's, she's--" A large black coffin in a church interrupts the scene. One end of a tape measure is hooked on a corner while Magdalena holds the other end at the opposite corner, shouting, angry, "It's enormous!" Her father, scared, hands out and down, gets in, "Shh, Magita, take a breath." Magdalena's mother curls up her fist, holding something in. Magita commands, "Just look! Just tell me what that number is. Right there." A black-and-white comic. Magdalena and her parents look closely at the tape measure which indicates how long the coffin is. Her dad says, "Honey, I'm not sure it matters. I know you're upset--" Magdalena's mom interjects, "It says 85 inches, Magdalena. You're right, it's pretty big." The tape measure reads just over 228 inches. Magdalena says, "...Dad?" Her dad says, "...Maybe 85 and a half, with the trim." The coffin imposes, dividing, dark, enormous. Later, Magdalena walks past a construction site and spots a toe rising from the ground, covered in lines and dark spots, its nail peeling. She says, "Oh." Four other toes, pocked, scarred, disproportionately thin and several feet long, poke out of the earth. As she walks by, Magdalena says, "Coffin must have burst." A part of a news article reads, "I-435 Corridor Sinkholes: Latest Updates. Interstate highway 435 between Cunningham Ridge and Air Line Junction will remain closed until mid-November, Missouri transport officials report. Patrick McKenna, Missouri Director of Transportation, had this to say: 'We are working to understand the extent of the cavities in the Earth causing these sinkholes. We plan to reopen the...'" The article leads to a large graveyard ringed by trees, where Magdalena shouts, horrified, "Dad! What..." Her word falls into the darkness of an enormous mouth. The top palette sticks thirty feet up out of the ground, creating a broken mound of dirt behind it, the gravestones tilted and fallen. The teeth are perfectly aligned. The mouth is horribly wide. There is another thirty feet where dirt falls into the dark orifice before the lower jaw begins. There the teeth are crowded, pushing each other around on the wet, misshapen gums. Each is almost as tall as Magdalena. There is a large gap between the front teeth where her father is lowering himself into the mouth. Magdalena screams, "Dad!" A black-and-white comic, page 3 of "She's Bigger Than You Remember". Magdalena's dad proceeds with lowering himself into the enormous mouth, while Magdalena sprints towards him. She gets out, "Oh god--Dad, stop--Oh god--" The panel borders become teeth, which close as her dad disappears into the pit. Magdalena screams, "Dad!" Magdalena shouts again. Her hands reach. Finally, the panel opens up and Magdalena finds her dad clinging onto the gums. He shouts, terrified, "Help--" Magdalena shouts back, "Dad! God!" She pulls him up and is scared and angry as she implores, "Why--" Her dad, crawling, sweating, says, "I don't--I'm--" He gets up and stumbles away from Magdalena, who watches, confused, alarmed, as he says, "I don't know--I'm sorry--I don't know--" His hand trembles as it covers his face. Time passes. Magdalena stares, bored, at a laptop screen. Tired, she confronts her parents. Her mom lectures while her dad looks away, silent. A moving van is full of boxes and a mattress. Finally, Magdalena drives the moving van away from the shadowy tarmac, accompanied by marching powerlines, into the flat, empty horizon. Someone says, "Goodbye, Isabel." More time passes. Five panels are superimposed over a graph of global average temperature. In 2025, Magdalena sits on a bare mattress, thinking. The temperature is just under 1.5 Celsius above the preindustrial average (this is real). In 2035, Magdalena sits in a conference room with some coworkers. The temperature is about 1.7 degrees above preindustrial average. In 2045, Magdalena's roots are gray. She kisses someone, her hand on their cheek. The other person's hand is on Magdalena's collarbone and their back is bare. The temperature is +2.1 degrees. In 2055, Magdalena looks in the mirror. Her chin has softened and she has more wrinkles. She's let her hair gray. +2.7 degrees. In 2065, Magdalena sits on the edge of her bed while her partner sleeps. +3.5 degrees. A dotted line noted as "Today" sits at around 2070. A black-and-white comic. A car drives back to the tarmac that Magdalena drove away from 45 years ago. The brush is burnt. There is smoke on the horizon. The sun is setting. The telephone poles lay in disarray, some still standing, some knocked over long ago. Magdalena is driving the car. The upper left part of the windshield is cracked. She stares upwards, frail, horrified. Everything is tilted. Clouds blow over the darkling sky. Piercing them are a series of five dark, gargantuan structures, their bases invisible over the horizon. Four of them extend from over the horizon at a low angle, then bend sharply at a sort of joint, where a softer material is present. The texture otherwise is pocked and lined by forty years of wind. The structures recede up into the sky, skinny and ribbed, and just above the clouds there is another joint. Beyond that second joint is a tapering shape that spreads into a large pad. You realize: these are the remains of a hand. The structures are finger bones, miles long. She reaches, dead, toward the sky. The fifth structure is worse: a distant, gaunt, distended skull, at least ten miles wide. Any remaining flesh has sunken into the long nasal passage and empty left eye socket. The right eye, however, is fully intact. The sclera is far too white. The iris appears smeared, but the pupil is dark and focused. It's staring directly at "Magdalena" in her car, from what must be a hundred miles away. As the car approaches the horizon, toward the living gaze of the dead sister, a voice emanates from the skull. To be clear: it has no muscles left, and the lower jaw is nowhere. The voice remains, to say: "Welcome home, Isabel."
August 17, 2025 at 10:02 PM
brielcomics.bsky.social
She's Bigger Than You Remember. 4 pages.

You're a twin. One of you died. What remains?

#art #horror #comics
A black-and-white comic. A young woman sits in the back of an ambulance in the dark, attended by figures. She hunches in her thermal blanket, harried. Distantly, she says, "Which one am I?" The blackness follows her to another time where she makes herself small, leaning against her mother. She says, with a little concerned smile, "I know I'm the one that threw up in the lemonade on our fourteenth birthday." Her mother smiles, her eyes crinkling, her arm around her daughter. The young woman continues, the smile fading, "But down there, as we got hungrier, she got bigger. Like, taller." Concern rises on her mother's face. The young woman's affect flattens, eyelids low, and says, "She started biting chunks out of my back, accidentally." "Oh, mija," says her mother, who, despite holding her daughter in the same way, now looks up at the viewer, afraid. The young woman drones, "She got big enough that she would put my whole head between her teeth. And then one... day, I guess, she clenched her jaw tighter and tighter, and my skull, I could feel, I..." Her mother, shortly, states, "Magdalena." Tears well up in the corner of her eyes while anger tickles her brow. Magdalena now curls up, finally breaking from her helpless mother, her head almost to her knees where her trembling hands clutch each other as she says, "But now I'm alive, and she's, she's, she's--" A large black coffin in a church interrupts the scene. One end of a tape measure is hooked on a corner while Magdalena holds the other end at the opposite corner, shouting, angry, "It's enormous!" Her father, scared, hands out and down, gets in, "Shh, Magita, take a breath." Magdalena's mother curls up her fist, holding something in. Magita commands, "Just look! Just tell me what that number is. Right there." A black-and-white comic. Magdalena and her parents look closely at the tape measure which indicates how long the coffin is. Her dad says, "Honey, I'm not sure it matters. I know you're upset--" Magdalena's mom interjects, "It says 85 inches, Magdalena. You're right, it's pretty big." The tape measure reads just over 228 inches. Magdalena says, "...Dad?" Her dad says, "...Maybe 85 and a half, with the trim." The coffin imposes, dividing, dark, enormous. Later, Magdalena walks past a construction site and spots a toe rising from the ground, covered in lines and dark spots, its nail peeling. She says, "Oh." Four other toes, pocked, scarred, disproportionately thin and several feet long, poke out of the earth. As she walks by, Magdalena says, "Coffin must have burst." A part of a news article reads, "I-435 Corridor Sinkholes: Latest Updates. Interstate highway 435 between Cunningham Ridge and Air Line Junction will remain closed until mid-November, Missouri transport officials report. Patrick McKenna, Missouri Director of Transportation, had this to say: 'We are working to understand the extent of the cavities in the Earth causing these sinkholes. We plan to reopen the...'" The article leads to a large graveyard ringed by trees, where Magdalena shouts, horrified, "Dad! What..." Her word falls into the darkness of an enormous mouth. The top palette sticks thirty feet up out of the ground, creating a broken mound of dirt behind it, the gravestones tilted and fallen. The teeth are perfectly aligned. The mouth is horribly wide. There is another thirty feet where dirt falls into the dark orifice before the lower jaw begins. There the teeth are crowded, pushing each other around on the wet, misshapen gums. Each is almost as tall as Magdalena. There is a large gap between the front teeth where her father is lowering himself into the mouth. Magdalena screams, "Dad!" A black-and-white comic, page 3 of "She's Bigger Than You Remember". Magdalena's dad proceeds with lowering himself into the enormous mouth, while Magdalena sprints towards him. She gets out, "Oh god--Dad, stop--Oh god--" The panel borders become teeth, which close as her dad disappears into the pit. Magdalena screams, "Dad!" Magdalena shouts again. Her hands reach. Finally, the panel opens up and Magdalena finds her dad clinging onto the gums. He shouts, terrified, "Help--" Magdalena shouts back, "Dad! God!" She pulls him up and is scared and angry as she implores, "Why--" Her dad, crawling, sweating, says, "I don't--I'm--" He gets up and stumbles away from Magdalena, who watches, confused, alarmed, as he says, "I don't know--I'm sorry--I don't know--" His hand trembles as it covers his face. Time passes. Magdalena stares, bored, at a laptop screen. Tired, she confronts her parents. Her mom lectures while her dad looks away, silent. A moving van is full of boxes and a mattress. Finally, Magdalena drives the moving van away from the shadowy tarmac, accompanied by marching powerlines, into the flat, empty horizon. Someone says, "Goodbye, Isabel." More time passes. Five panels are superimposed over a graph of global average temperature. In 2025, Magdalena sits on a bare mattress, thinking. The temperature is just under 1.5 Celsius above the preindustrial average (this is real). In 2035, Magdalena sits in a conference room with some coworkers. The temperature is about 1.7 degrees above preindustrial average. In 2045, Magdalena's roots are gray. She kisses someone, her hand on their cheek. The other person's hand is on Magdalena's collarbone and their back is bare. The temperature is +2.1 degrees. In 2055, Magdalena looks in the mirror. Her chin has softened and she has more wrinkles. She's let her hair gray. +2.7 degrees. In 2065, Magdalena sits on the edge of her bed while her partner sleeps. +3.5 degrees. A dotted line noted as "Today" sits at around 2070. A black-and-white comic. A car drives back to the tarmac that Magdalena drove away from 45 years ago. The brush is burnt. There is smoke on the horizon. The sun is setting. The telephone poles lay in disarray, some still standing, some knocked over long ago. Magdalena is driving the car. The upper left part of the windshield is cracked. She stares upwards, frail, horrified. Everything is tilted. Clouds blow over the darkling sky. Piercing them are a series of five dark, gargantuan structures, their bases invisible over the horizon. Four of them extend from over the horizon at a low angle, then bend sharply at a sort of joint, where a softer material is present. The texture otherwise is pocked and lined by forty years of wind. The structures recede up into the sky, skinny and ribbed, and just above the clouds there is another joint. Beyond that second joint is a tapering shape that spreads into a large pad. You realize: these are the remains of a hand. The structures are finger bones, miles long. She reaches, dead, toward the sky. The fifth structure is worse: a distant, gaunt, distended skull, at least ten miles wide. Any remaining flesh has sunken into the long nasal passage and empty left eye socket. The right eye, however, is fully intact. The sclera is far too white. The iris appears smeared, but the pupil is dark and focused. It's staring directly at "Magdalena" in her car, from what must be a hundred miles away. As the car approaches the horizon, toward the living gaze of the dead sister, a voice emanates from the skull. To be clear: it has no muscles left, and the lower jaw is nowhere. The voice remains, to say: "Welcome home, Isabel."
August 17, 2025 at 10:02 PM