Today's #flashfiction A Conventional Convention

 “You ever get an itch on your back you just can't scratch?”

Julius Caesar* #quote

Tomorrow instead of heading to my costuming club I'm trying a different club at the school. Unfortunately they're at the same times, so I have to choose which one I go to each week. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Conventional Convention

         Another potential reader ignores my original work while picking up another comic I drew under a license. I should be happy to have a job drawing big characters in the industry. Many comic artists dream of being able to what I do, and I've been doing it for thirty years. I shouldn't be depressed about anything. So what if nobody cares about any of the comics I made on my own of my own characters? I get to do what I love and provide for my family by drawing the characters of the comic giants.

         “Hank Orlier” I signed another book at request. The fans care more about the characters than me I think. The shelf space at my booth at the comic convention had an agreed upon layout. The big ticket comics from the licensed characters up front, and sure, I could have a stack of the comic I wrote at the booth but they forced me to have it at the back. My hand grabbed one of them and showed it to a few visitors. They didn't care and asked for one of my other books with the famous characters. I tried to pitch it to some. A look at the cover and didn't buy. At about noon I sold one, but I knew it was a pity buy from someone who looked like they had money to spare and supported pretty much anything they thought was “indie”. I could have drawn nothing on the cover and she would have bought it.

         Around four o' clock a strange cosplayer appeared at my booth. A cosplayer simply meant someone who puts themselves in the costume of a character, usually one of a character from a show they enjoy. And boy comic conventions are full of them. The strange thing about this man was that I couldn't tell exactly what character he was supposed to be. I've looked at thousands and thousands of character from shows, comics, movies, cartoons and pretty much anything without even watching them as reference so I've never seen a costume I haven't recognized.

         But here the man stood. He grabbed the comics at my booth, with a green wizard's cap on his head and two fake missile launchers on his shoulders. He wore a black, leather jacket and white gloves with a strange emblem on them. The emblem possessed an extravagant design, definitely fantasy. Yet a missile launcher on his shoulder? Was he some kind of robot wizard? His black pants went with his coat and he wore a white shirt underneath. He wore classy, expensive looking black shoes. Must have been a lot to spend on a costume. Massive sunglasses covered his eyes and a stoic, emotionless expression covered his dark skin.

        He then picked up my original comic. He then looked through the pages, flipping them quickly, like he wanted to check out the overall art style of the comic without spoiling the plot for himself by being able to read any of the quickly passing text. That's the furthest any of my potential buyers got, he even went further by reading the blurb on the back.

        “Would you like one?” I asked.

        He then pulled some money out of his jacket, then hesitated. “I don't think so. You'll do much better with your next idea. Don't get so committed to this one. I'll buy your next book.”

I felt a little insulted by his critque, considering he hardly glanced at my work, but there was one question that bothered me. “Who are you cosplaying as anyway?” I've seen so many characters in my studies it must have been one he made up.

       “Don't you recognize it?” He then held his hand out closer to me so I could see the emblem of his glove more closely. I realized I've seen the emblem before. I've drawn the emblem before. After making my first comic on my own a fleeting idea came to me and I drew down some notes, including the magical emblem I'd use in the series. I dismissed developing the idea since I thought my first idea was perfect. How'd he know about the emblem in my second idea for a series? It's in some notebook at my house?

       “What's going on here?” I looked at the man in the sunglasses. He backed up and suddenly a group of comic convention visitors walked in front of him, when they finished passing, he was gone.