APOLOGIES FOR THE CONSTRUCTION ! Making some much needed updates to the structure of my site !

About Me

A.J. ("Grobble") is an American illustrator from Youngstown, Ohio now based in Columbus. They specialize in concept illustration and design, working mainly in digital media, pencil, and ink.A.J. is currently attending the Columbus College of Art and Design with a major in illustration and a minor in comics. They have been recognized by the Society of Illustrators as an outstanding student illustrator in the 2024 Student Scholarship Competition, and was featured in CCAD's 2024 and 2025 CHROMA end-of-year show. They were also selected from among their peers to illustrate a comic for the 11th Edition of Spitball, a comic anthology published by CCAD. Though Spitball XI is now available for purchase online, link below!A.J. is also the creator of Rolled Over Prints, a small business providing whimsical linocut designs, alongside a collection of prints, stickers, and zines.

Contact

Store; [email protected]
Social Media; @grobble__ on Instagram and BlueSky
Discord; grobble__

Links

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Illustration

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• Back

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Sketchbook

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Story Art

"The Escape" Color Scripts

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Comics

"Two Deep"

Script by Cheryl Lynn Eaton

"Mayor Mare Married Max"

"Arizona Snowball"

"Pretend"

"Music"

"My Dog's First Job"

"The Tortoise and the Hare"

"Breakfast Battle"

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Commission Info

Here's all the info for my short-term character commissions! If you are looking for assistance with a long-term project or for a service not listed here, contact me directly.

TAT varies, from these examples it could take anywhere from 2 days to 2 weeks.

Extras

Policies

-- I take payments 50/50, and I require the first payment before I start working.-- Prices can change! If I feel a request is not properly compensated by the original payment, I will have to discuss a new final price. Of course I will discuss this with you first, and if you are working within a strict budget, I will work with you to try to still provide art that you will be happy with!!-- I will draw NSFW to my own discretion. I will NEVER draw proshipping, pedophilia, or zoophilia.-- I will not depict racism, homophobia, transphobia, or any dergatory belief.-- I take payment through PayPal, Venmo, or Cashapp, but I can negotiate other payment.

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Writing

A 1200 word short story about a Victorian boy trapped in his home alone for... how long has it been?

A short exploration of lanternflies running an underground cocaine smuggling ring.

Two siblings struggle against their controlling parents in this 2000 word short story.

A character motivation exercise on a nurse with less-than-ideal working hours struggling to connect with his son.

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The Hawthorne House

Thomas wandered the old abandoned house every day for the last five thousand years— or so he guessed, it’s hard to track the time when the calendar in the house had dated August 21st, 1872 since he could remember. The old home sat in the middle of Allium Woods, perched on the highest hill, where no one alive today even knew it still existed. Thomas could do nothing but watch the wallpaper peel, count the cracks in the foundation, or listen to the sounds of the forest just outside his Victorian prison. He didn’t know why he couldn’t leave, or why he’s looked twelve years old for much longer than he should, or if it would ever end.The sun was high in the sky while he renamed all the bricks in the fireplace again, when a loud rumble came from outside. He moved quickly to the front window, where he saw a person— the first person he’s seen in years— riding a bicycle, though it moved much faster, and the boy astride it was able to weave in and out of the trees without even pedaling.The boy yelled with excitement as he took on the hill. The bicycle growled as they crested the hill, where the boy stopped, staring up at the house in awe. Thomas was incredulous. This boy could help him escape this place. As he slowly approached the house, Thomas ran to the foyer waving and shouting at the boy as he came onto the porch. But he took no notice.Thomas placed a hand on the invisible barrier that held him in the house, pouting at the boy just outside of his reach.Thomas watched as the boy wandered around the porch. He looked a few years older than himself. The boy’s skin was tanned beyond anything Thomas had seen before, and his dark, tightly coiled hair seemed to sparkle in the sun.Thomas found himself fully pressed against the unseen wall in the doorway, shoving his face against it so as not to lose sight of him. Thomas was entranced as he watched him reach for one of Thomas’s toys that had been left there so long ago. And just as his fingers grasped it, Thomas’s heart leapt as he began to fall, crashing face first onto the damp porch.Thomas looked around. He laughed in relief as he looked around at the porch he hadn’t set foot on in decades. His eyes settled on the boy who was now shaking in fear, still holding Thomas’s old model train. Could it be--?Thomas shot to his feet. “Can you-- can you see me?”The boy stood in silence, still trembling. He was looking straight at him.“My name is Thomas, a-and this is my home,” he gestured back inside the door. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it.”The boy’s jaw finally began to slack, and guttural sounds of fear began to emerge from his throat: “g-g-g…g-GHOST!”“No, please!” Thomas lunged at him as the train tumbled out of the boy’s grasp. But before he could reach it, he slammed into a wall and crumpled. Thomas found himself in his bedroom closet. He rushed back to the front door, where the barrier was back in place, the train was on the porch, and the boy was astride the bicycle. Thomas banged on the barrier, crying.The boy jolted forward, when he stopped. He peered back at the old house for a moment before dismounting, and made his way back to the porch. Thomas watched as the boy picked up the train, then jumped at the sudden sight of Thomas in the doorway.“Are you okay?” he quivered.“Y-y-you c-came back!”“Um, uh, yeah… don’t mention it.” He bent down and gingerly patted Thomas’s blond head. “You said your name was Thomas, right?”Thomas let go of the boy’s legs and stood, wiping his eyes. He nodded.“Cool-cool. I’m Eddie.” He turned the train around in his hands. “I’m thinkin’ this is yours?”“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He ran a pale finger over the old metal. “Though it wasn't this rusted when I played with it last.”“So this was your house?” Eddie stepped around him to poke his head into the doorway. “Your mom and dad must have been, like, super rich.”“Well it still is my home. No one else lives here.”“What, so your parents left you home alone? Lucky…” He walked farther into the old house, Thomas followed behind.“Well… I don’t really know.” Eddie paused to look back at him. “I know I died in this house, but I don’t remember how. I just woke up in my closet one day and the house was empty. You’re the first person I’ve seen in… I don’t even know how long.”Eddie looked into the living room, where a faded family portrait hung over the mantle. A little blond baby held in the arms of a young woman, a very serious-looking man stood with his hand on her shoulder.“So you don’t know how you died?”“I don’t even know where my body is.”“Maybe we can, like, figure it out! Y’know like cops! ” Eddie approached the portrait, and noticed a small plaque near the bottom of the frame caked in dust. He swiped it away, “Hawthorne.”Eddie’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait, is this the Hawthorne House?”Thomas’s looks at him, confused. “Well, that is my surname.”“No shit! Bro we learned about you in school!”“What?”“Well it ain’t much, but I know your mom and dad used to be a big deal in town like forever ago, but they moved back to England after their son disappeared. I guess that’s you!”A switch flipped in Thomas’s brain. “I- I remember something.”Thomas took off up the stairs, Eddie followed close behind. Thomas led Eddie to his bedroom and pointed to the floor of the closet.“There,” Thomas said.Without question, Eddie bent down, one hand still holding the train, the other set to pull at the floorboards. It took little effort to snap the wood, and with them tossed out of the way, they revealed what they were looking for: the skeleton of a twelve-year-old boy curled up under the floor.“My father,” Thomas’s voice echoed unnaturally in the small room. “He wanted to go back to England. I was too sick. My mother wanted to wait so I could die in my home, then take my body. My father didn’t, he had business to tend to. He killed me himself, told my mother I’d run away, then hid me right under her nose.”Eddie looked away from the skeleton. Thomas clutched the front of his shirt, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t– I can’t believe he did that to me.”Eddie, still holding the train, got up from the floor and walked back over to Thomas. He placed his arms around him and pulled him close. The little ghost felt far more solid than Eddie expected as Thomas squeezed Eddie tight, now sobbing into his shirt.He stood like that for a while, until Thomas loosened his grip a bit. A muffled “thank you…” was whispered into Eddie’s chest, and suddenly he was standing with his arms wrapped around nothing but air, alone in the old house.Eddie looked down at the rusty train in his hands.“No problem,” he whispered.

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Pest

Of course I’d have a delivery on the hottest day of the year.The sun beat down on everything unfortunate enough to not be in the shade, and its heat created ripples on the road's horizon. If I were to rest my wings on the asphalt, I would cook before I could take off again.I finally spotted a patch of grass with a few sad looking trees confined there--a rarity in the city. With no humans in sight, I landed on the trunk for a moment. The market entrance was nearby, but a quick rest in the shade was a welcome break before I had to descend into that hellhole. I took the time to check the pack strapped to my chest--still secure--and rest my eyes. Which didn’t last long.A stick came crashing into the tree trunk, millimeters from my face. I shot from my resting place, whipping around to find where it came from. A human stood near the tree I was resting on, watching me as I passed. I can't believe I missed them coming--whatever. I shoot straight for the tree roots that house the entrance to the market, the human following close behind. They swiped at me as I flew, throwing me off course. Just as I came in range of the entrance, they nicked my wings, sending me crashing down into the grass. My head throbbed as I looked up, the entrance was straight ahead, but I could feel the ground shake as the human came from behind. I turned to see the human raising their foot over my head, cloaking me in shadow as I scrambled forward toward safety.The boot came crashing down, shaking dirt from the roots, just as I was able to shove myself through the hole’s entrance. I laid in the dust for a moment, allowing my heart to stop pounding and my breaths to steady. The pack secured to my chest made it through, nothing missing, the boss will definitely be happy about that.I wiped a bit of blood from my mouth as I steadied myself, preparing to trek deeper under the surface. As I walked, sounds of the market began to echo up the tunnel. Rounding the final corner, there it was. Bugs of all kinds– even a few smaller mammals– gathered in the cramped underground tunnel generated a stench unlike anything that had assaulted my nose (can bugs smell?), but it was a necessary evil. With no space to fly above the crowd, I wrapped my lower arms around the pack, and shoved my way into the dusty haze of insects.
The Market flaunted anything anyone could ever want, and it provided income for even the sleaziest of bugs: A cluster of fruit flies darted in and out of the crowd, dropping advertisements for a myriad of services; a couple of leafcutter ants manned a booth peddling butterfly wings with hazy origins; and a group of june bugs were leading a rhinoceros beetle clutching a briefcase to a backroom. No questions, no judgment. It’s no wonder the place is always packed.As I continued to fight my way through the crowd, I finally saw it. A sliver of scarlet fabric--uncanny in matching the hue of my hindwings--tied to one of the posts of a booth selling a seemingly random assortment of benign odds and ends. I shoved my way over, giving only a nod to the grasshopper covering the storefront, and slipped into the back room.The smoke of a hookah swirled in the stagnant air, and I suppressed a perfumed cough. The light was dim, but I could still make out the packs of cocaine stacked around the cramped tent, and a luna moth behind the dusty desk--I only know him as the Luna.“Ah, Han!” the Luna extended his wings in greeting. “Good to see you, how’re you liking it in the States?”“Um I was hatched here--”“Doesn’t matter, a drink?” the moth reached for a half-empty bottle across the desk, not hesitating to pour himself a hefty glass of amber liquid.I interrupted as he reached for a new glass. “No, thank you. I-I don’t drink.”The Luna responded with a discontented look, then put down his glass and took a swig straight from the bottle. “So serious, as usual.” He leaned back, chair creaking. “So tell me, how was the trip? Any near death experiences?” He chuckled as I remembered the boot I was nearly crushed under.“I really just want to get this over with.” I reached to remove the pack from my chest, but before I could the Luna extended his wings, flapping over the desk to me. A flurry of dust and paper work erupted, and the walls of the tent bowed. The Luna placed a hand over mine and leaned in close.“You know why I hire you infectious freaks?” His breath was hot against my cheek. “Everyone is so focused on how you’ll all be annihilated on sight that they don’t give a shit what you do. You’ll get your comeuppance in death.”I tried to pull away, but he held firm.“You are disposable. You freaks breed at a mile a minute. Before you know it, you’ll be smashed under a sandal, and your next five generations will still be working for me.” He drew back, revealing his face to be a contorted amalgamation of anger, excitement, and madness. His smile was sickening. “So why don’t you be a bit more open so at least someone can remember you before you die?”

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June and Madeline

Monthly dinner is becoming dreadful. But to be fair I sprung it on myself. My parents could care less about seeing me on a regular basis, even if I only live twenty minutes away, something I regret choosing to do each time I make the drive every third sunday.I pull up to the side of the road in front of the house. The loud engine of my ‘06 Chevy pickup cuts when I pull the keys from the ignition. I wrestle with the seatbelt to coax it back into the slot, and grab the casserole dish from the passenger seat. I hook my hand on the door handle, barely pulling it before I pause. I turn my car key over in my hand. I could drive home now, say I’m sick or I’m working overtime— they would love the latter.I lean back in my seat, and look up toward the roof of the cab, spotting the photo I keep tucked into the visor. The color is a bit faded now, but I can still make out Madeline; her smile was glowing, green eyes squinting in the sun, red hair– which was more brown now– back in a ponytail that was failing her. She held up a bass she had just caught from the lake behind her, so massive I still can't believe she managed to catch it all these years later.I open the truck door, squeaking all the way, small bits of rust cascading from the hinge. I balance everything as I escape: I hold my keys in my teeth, sling my bag over my shoulder, and balance the dish like a waitress with decades of experience— which I remember I do not have when I nearly drop it on the pavement.My knock on the front door spurs no movement from inside the house. Of course. I take my keys from my teeth, fumbling through them with one hand, and unlock the door myself.The sound of the TV from the living room touts the sultry voice of David Attenborough— ugh, Blue Planet again. I call out as I walk to the kitchen, only eliciting a few grunts from the two bodies on the couch. Typical.The smell of the kitchen immediately catches me, and I rush to the oven, the old door creaking loudly as I check the inside.“Seriously?” I take myself into the living room. “I told you I was making lasagna!”My mother shrugs, not even looking toward me. “So what, we’ll have two lasagnas.”“Yeah don’t cry about it June-Bug it’s not a big deal,” my father continues to scroll on his phone, cheaters slipping down his nose. “If you’re gonna whine about it then hop back in that nasty truck. Did you ever clean it out like I told you to?”“Yeah, June that thing’s a bear magnet at the park, why haven’t you cleaned it out? Bears can open car doors, ya know.” She knowingly points at my father as she says this.My father looks over at her, shaking his finger back. “That’s true. Happened to my buddy Mark when I still worked at the parks. His truck was disgusting and he—”“My truck is clean!” They both look over when I raise my voice, incredulous looks on their faces. “And my doors do lock? Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s a piece of junk.”“Well excuse us,” my mother pouts. “We’re just trying to help you, don’t be such a priss.”“Ugh, whatever.” I rub my eyes, then look around the room. “Where’s Madeline?”“Out with friends.” My father turns back to his phone, my mother’s attention returning to Mr. Attenborough. “She’ll be back tonight.”“When?” I ignore the pang of her going out despite her knowing I was coming.“God, June, I don’t know!” My father turns back to me, and my mother pauses the TV and crosses her arms. “She’s a teenager, she doesn’t do anything on time! Just let her go.”I cross my arms, looking away. “Sorry, I was just looking forward to seeing her…”“Well don’t make it our problem! You’re the one who wanted to come over here, don’t pout just because it didn’t go exactly how you wanted,” he was raising his voice now. “But that’s what you do isn’t it? Make your problems everyone else’s problems.”He sags back into the couch after his grand speech, and the penguins on the TV resume their waddling. I don’t know why I keep coming back here, and obviously the only reason I have stuck around doesn’t care to show up anymore. I knew this would happen. It’s not her fault, I’m the one who tried to force this, to try to be like a real, happy family. But that isn’t what we are. And maybe it’s my fault, maybe it’s theirs. It doesn't matter who broke it though, because at the end of the day it’s still smashed on the concrete. Maybe at one point we could have fixed it together; but it’s too broken now, and every time I try to fix it, I get cut. So I might as well toss out the shards.“I’m quitting at the park.”The TV pauses again, and the couch creaks as my father’s weight is lifted from it. “June are you fucking kidding me?”“I’m going back to school. I–I got into Neumont.” I can’t stop my voice from quivering. “So I’ll still be close by, just, i–in the city.”“Computer science? Be serious, you can’t do nothin’ with that,” he starts raising his voice again. “And we’re not paying for it, so it’s a no!”“I’m not asking you to pay for anything!”“Yeah, right, because you’re so much better than us!”“What does that have to do with what I just said? All I told you was that I was going back to school!” My voice has regained some strength. I realize these people will never be happy for me, and it’s a bit cathartic to accept it.My mother chimes in. “Oh sure, June, don’t lie,” she sneers. She stands up from the couch to be beside my father. “You always thought you were too good to fish, to hike, to do anything. And now you’re too good to do real work like we did.”“Just because I don’t like that stuff doesn’t mean I think I’m ‘too good’ for it,” I nearly shout. “You both were just so short sighted you couldn’t even fathom one of your children not being a carbon-copy of yourselves!”“Don't you raise your voice at—”“DON’T!” I let loose. “I’ve been holding my tongue for so long for the sake of our family and for Madeline to have a better childhood than I did thanks to you two! I’m not saying I’ve been perfect, but how could I have been when you both are constantly pinning me down, trying to ‘keep me in my place.’ I cant fucking take it anymore! Madeline has been the only thing worth coming here for, but obviously she doesn’t need me anymore, so I’m getting the fuck out of here! Congratulations! Lose my number, my address, whatever you want, you only have a daughter now!”They stand there, seething in shock. I don’t wait for a response, storming back to the kitchen to gather my things. I think they call to me as I tear across the yard to my truck, but I don’t hear or care. My engine rumbles back to life, and I steal a final glance at the house. It’s muddled by tears, but I can still see them standing in the doorway. The truck whines as I take off down the road, the tires kicking up rainwater from last night’s storm.The drive home feels short, cold lasagna on my passenger seat. Each time I brake for a light, I wipe more tears from my eyes. I’m angry at myself for being so upset about this. I’m angry at myself for losing control the way I did. I’m angry at myself for leaving Madeline behind. God, I can’t believe I left her. I planned to keep up appearances until she could move out, then maybe I could cut them out without losing her too. But I guess she doesn’t want me around now, so what’s the point of forcing it? I really thought we had a good relationship, that’s what stings the most. She told me about school and her friends, we played video games over the distance sometimes, and we’d watch shows together. Maybe I forced it too much? We’re over a decade apart after all, I can’t think of many seventeen-year-olds who’d want to hangout with someone nearing their thirties.It still hurts though.The truck rattles as I pull into the parking lot outside my apartment. I wipe my eyes again, then take everything out like before, and trudge up to the entrance.“June!” A call from behind me. I barely have time to turn before Madeline launches herself into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, causing me to nearly drop the dish again. She holds me for a moment while I stand there in shock.She pulls away to look at me. “Took you long enough,” she jeers. “I’ve only been waiting for like, an hour. I’m surprised you lasted so long.”“Mads what–” I can feel tears spring into my eyes again. “Why are you here?”She lets me go, fiddling with her car key. “I wanted you three to be alone, so you could realize how bad they are for you. You can’t keep going over there just for me.”The realization sends a shock through my body. I want to collapse on the sidewalk. Madeline has been here the whole time, waiting for me to cut our parents off. She didn’t let me go, she’s here.Tears begin falling freely, streaking down my face. “I–I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn't keep it together. I’m sorry you had to do this for me.”Madeline takes the dish from my hands, chuckling a bit. “None of this is your fault. And honestly I was sick of seeing them gang up on you all the time, so this is as much for you as it is for me. Those dinners were damn stuffy.”I want to say something, to thank her, but I can only cry, holding my face in my hands.“Come on you damn crybaby,” she punches my shoulder with a laugh. She shakes the dish at me. “This is your lasagna, right? Let’s heat it up, I’m fucking starving.”I wipe my eyes one last time, and nod. I wrap my arm around her, and let us into the building. Everything’s gonna be alright.

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The Nurse

The locker room is quiet; its heavy metal door shuts behind me, blocking out the sounds of the hall; an oasis of calm in the unforgiving desert of the ER.I walk to the bench, nearly dragging my feet, and sit in front of my locker, leaning my head against it. The creeping headache I’d been gathering over this shift was coming in full force now, and the cold of the metal locker I expected to help only worsened the pain. But still I sat there and I closed my eyes for a moment in the unnatural silence.A tough shift will leave me like this. And it doesn’t have to be like the movies where I’m constantly rushing between patients after every disaster ever strikes all at once. Honestly a minor headache is enough to ruin even a six-hour shift, let alone the 12 hours I just tackled. It’s the unruly patients, asshole visitors, judgemental doctors, and the ever-growing pile of paperwork. That’s a shitty shift and a half. Of course I love my job. Of course I love brightening the day of a sick kid, or delivering great news to a hopeful family.But it’s at an expense. Death hangs over this place like a vulture, waiting, waiting, waiting. And when he shows up, he takes a bit of life from all of us. It’s hard to breathe, your throat sticks, and all you want to do is sit in your mother’s arms and be taken care of for a bit. But mom’s not here, and instead you have to go to the next room to tell the family of six that their father’s lung cancer is in remission. And then they cheer and scream and hug, thanking God for this miracle, hugging you and holding your hands. But you’re still in the world next door, where a single father just had to say goodbye to his only daughter. It feels dirty to feel anything at all.And then to bring that home. When it was just me and my wife, there’d be days where we’d talk, other’s where I’d lay in her arms watching TV, and others still where I’d lay silently in our bed, no lights just.. Thinking. Tears were not uncommon.But now with Marcus, high energy is not explicitly required but highly encouraged. He– like most seven year olds– wants to play all the time, constantly, and every day. He’s agreeably consistent, I can give him that. But then me; coming home and leaving at different times every day, my mood swinging on a pendulum, and almost always being physically exhausted. It’s hard for him to understand.All I want is to be there for him. I want to give him what my parents never cared enough to give me. And I’m failing.I finally pick my head up off the locker. Undoubtedly I have a massive red mark on my forehead after so long, but I don’t concern myself, bringing my hands up to rub some of the exhaustion from my eyes before the drive home. I have a few hours before Marcus gets home from school, leaving me with some time to sleep and recover. I haven’t seen him since I put him to bed last night, but I’ve thought about him since.My fingers feel like lead as I spin the dial on my lock. My scrubs always become the most uncomfortable things I could possibly wear by the end of my shift; smelling like whatever bodily fluid I’ve been doused in, the collar chafing on my neck, and the pants basically strangling my thighs. Needless to say I was feeling nothing but relief as I began to slide the disgusting shirt over my head.“Damien!” The door to the locker room opening breaks the seal between me and the ER, washing me with floods of sound. I don't even need to hear what else she has to say before I feel myself begin to drown in dread. “Samantha just called in sick. You mind taking over for her?”I nearly fall back onto the bench, but I stay standing, only bowing my head a bit.“How long?”“Just a four, overtime of course. And you can take a thirty now if you need.” She pauses a moment when I drop my head into my hands. “W-which really just makes it three and a half!”“Jesus, Celia, I just—” I look up at my charge nurse standing in the doorway, the sounds of the ER still pummeling my brain. “At— God, at least get me a new set of scrubs.”She looks like she might collapse from thankfulness. “Thank you so much, Damien. I’ll put you down for the OT now, you’ll see it on your next check.”I sit back down on the bench. “Uh huh.”She isn’t looking at me anymore, instead scribbling something on her massive clipboard. “Oh, and I’ll have Tyler grab you a spare set from the laundry room. I’ll see you back out there at 12:30.” Another thank you echoes through the empty locker room as she finally lets the door close, sealing me back into silence.Goddamn it.Truth be told we could use the overtime, the only thing getting cheaper these days is labor. But it’s painful.I pull my phone from my locker. The screen lights up, sending another shockwave of pain through my head.“hey hon,” I type. “gonna have to cover a few extra hours at the hospital, would you be able to pick marcus up from aftercare?”The message takes a few seconds to send, but as soon as it does Maya starts typing.“Seriously? Again??? I thought you were so excited to spend time with him today. I know Marcus will be disappointed.”I pause for a moment, holding back the sheer frustration I’m feeling. Marcus really deserves better. “the extra cash will be helpful and i already called the school for you so they know to hold him. i’ll find another time to make it up to him just please do this for me today.”“Yes whatever I'll pick him up but you always say that. When are you going to have another opportunity??? He misses his da—”I slide the phone facedown back into my locker. It isn’t anything I don’t already know, but hearing it from Maya…The door swings open once again, the ER making itself known before the door clicks back into place. “Oof, someone’s looking rough.” Tyler strides in, a joking smile on his face. He walks to where I’m sitting on the bench. “Thought you were s’posed to hang out with the kid tonight?”I sigh, but don't answer, taking the clean scrubs from his hands. They’re still warm. I wrap them around my head, easing a bit of the ache.Tyler sits next to me. “How long?”“Four hours. ‘Technically three and a half’ according to Celia.”“God she can get on my nerves. No one better than her though.”The heat is fading from the scrubs. My eyes burn. Maybe from the scrubs, maybe the exhaustion, maybe something else.“You should go home.” Tyler startled me.“But Celia—”“Yeah whatever she asked you to cover, who cares?” I look up at him. I’ve never seen him so serious, his green eyes squinted under his brow in disappointment. “She’s not your fucking mom, you can say no. She can’t keep you here.”“I just… want to be helpful.”“And you are!” he stands up from the bench. “Damien are you kidding? You bust your ass for this job! But you can’t keep killing yourself just because Celia ‘asks politely.’ Your family deserves you every now and then. Look for validation from them, not this shitty job!”Tyler sits back down on the bench. “You really think I can just leave?”“Goddammit, Damien.” he slides his hands down his face. “We’ve got 35 nurses on every shift, I think we’ll survive with 34 for a few hours.”Tyler stands again, and opens his own locker. He shoves a mess of junk over, removing a bottle of aspirin. He takes my hand, shaking a few of the small white tablets into my it before tossing the bottle back into the locker, shoving it closed before anything falls out. I dry swallow the pills as Tyler makes his way to the door.The ER worms its way back into the locker room while Tyler hovers at the door. “Go home to your son, daddy.” He smiles at his dumb joke. “And get your own painkillers.”I smile at him. “Yeah yeah. I’ll say hi to the little man for you.”“Yeah tell ’im Uncle Ty is the best damn nurse in this hellhole of an ER.” He tips a hat he isn’t wearing, and bows out of the locker room, leaving me in silence once again.He told me what I always knew was true, I just needed to hear it. In trying to be better than my parents, I ended up being exactly like them; valuing something over my family that doesn’t deserve to be.The scrubs are cold. I take my phone from my locker.I type: “nvm, I’m on my way home.”

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Visual Development

"The Escape" Color Scripts

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