1 The Simmering Rage

Growing up in the small town of Gravity Falls, it's hard not to notice its 'uniqueness'.

I was only around six-seven when I first realized that seeing garden gnomes move on their own was in no way normal. At first, I was excited at the knowledge that the supernatural was real.

However, the more and more I realized how strange the town was, the less and less excited I became and the more fearful I grew. After all, seeing the crazed McGucket and the weird Gideon, I realized that I wanted no part in this new world.

As such, I did exactly as any other reasonably intelligent member of this town did; I ignored the oddities and pretended everything was normal.

Growing up with the constant fear of the supernatural over your shoulder, it was no wonder I turned out to be a loner. Over time, I began to slowly resent being born into the town of Gravity Falls; especially considering my status as an orphan.

However, there was one saving grace for the town I slowly grew to hate. You see, I've always had a passion for art, and as such, growing up with such vivid nature surrounding me constantly allowed for me to explore said passion.

That was why, I was currently sitting on a log in a clearing in the forest, canvass placed before me. It was currently early morning, the sky a bright orange in color as the sun slowly rose.

Taking advantage of the current serene state of the forest, I began to sketch out the sight before me.

With the sun casting an orange glow across the sky, it painted a large contrast to the seemingly gently swaying trees before me. And just at the edge of my sight sat the serene Gravity Falls Lake, the contrast of reds, oranges and blues that I could see creating such a beautiful picture that my hand seemed to fly across the canvass, inspiration taking hold of it.

"It's at times like these where I come to love the town of Gravity Falls. The aura of peace and the beauty of its surroundings is almost enough to make me forget about all its eccentricities."

As I said this, I let out a weary sigh. After all, having to constantly look over your shoulder in fear of a being beyond your comprehension being there leaves one mentally drained. However, it was times like now where I could sit and clear my head, letting the world around me pull me into its serene beauty.

Shaking my head of these thoughts, I put my brush to paper as I begin the process of adding color to the scenery I had spent so much time depicting.

Before long, I'd completed the art piece I'd been so diligently working on. Smiling down on it, I couldn't help but to let out a contented sigh at the sight. I couldn't help but to think, if someone were to walk past this painting in the middle of the forest, they wouldn't even notice it was a painting, believing it to instead just be a part of the scenery itself.

This came from the simple fact that, though it pained me to admit it, my art could be described as almost supernatural in its realism. While I wasn't the type to boast shamelessly, I could say with a high degree of confidence that there were very few beings in the world that could be considered to surpass me in terms of talent for the arts.

That's right, I said the arts, and not art. This distinction is rather important, as while my talent for painting and drawing were far above anything else I could do, I had to admit that this talent seemed to encompass all of art rather than just one facet.

This included things such as acting or poetry or even writing. However, whether just due to me practicing it more often, or a naturally higher talent toward it, my drawing/painting forays had always reached a higher degree than any other form of art.

Thinking about this, I remembered something I hadn't thought of in a long time.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out another canvass, this one clearly already having a painting on it. If one were to look at my bag more closely, they'd notice that there were another three-four canvasses still resting within.

That's right, I had made it a habit to always carry around my best pieces with me. This was because, whenever I was stressed or angry, the sight of these paintings would cheer me up, reminding me of more peaceful, enjoyable times.

As I placed the canvass back into my bag, adding the newly created one to this list of my best painting as well however, I accidentally knocked the bag itself over.

Quickly scrambling to the ground, I began to hurriedly pick up the art supplies, praying that none of the paints had spilled out, especially some of the more expensive ones.

I couldn't help but to curse my lack of attention as I noticed an orange paint had spilled out onto the ground, the only saving grace being that it hadn't landed on any of the canvasses.

Placing everything securely into my now sealed bag, I dusted my hands off on my pants legs, before standing back up, looking on the floor to make sure I hadn't missed anything.

Distracted as I was however, I didn't notice as a looming figure soon appeared behind me, its shadow indicating its height that seemed to tower over my own.

Before I could even react, I was bodily lifted into the air by a force that slammed into my back, sending me flying to the other side of the clearing.

I would've continued to fly out; however, my flight path had seemingly been intercepted by a rather large tree that violently shook from the impact of my body slamming into it.

Glancing up in agonizing pain, I looked toward the location of my assailer.

What I saw left me frozen in terror, the large figure being unmistakable for someone like me. Knowing of the existence of the supernatural, I had spent a decent amount of time trying to learn of potential dangers in the area I lived.

And one of the creatures before me was precisely that; what would be known as an ogre.

Staring at the large, heavily muscled, ugly green beast, I couldn't help but to feel dread slowly prickle at my scalp.

Frozen as I was, I showed little to no reaction as the towering creature lumbered its way toward me, swinging down its club to smash my head into a meat paste with an almost disdainful look toward me.

Watching the club fall toward me, the world around me seemed to enter slow motion.

The imminent danger seemed to snap me out of my terror, leaving me time to think as my demise slowly approached. Yet, instead of thoughts coming to my head, only an emotion seemed to prevail my mind - that of a simmering rage.

I couldn't help but to rage at the creature in my mind, at why it had to bring about my demise, about why it seemingly did it with no effort nor care. However, the being that I raged at the most was myself, at how I had done the barest minimum to protect myself from a scenario like this, choosing to instead live in ignorance, pretending to have no knowledge of the truth of the world I lived in.

If I had spent more time preparing for this inevitable future, could I have possibly been caught so flat-footed?

As this thought ran through my head, my mind couldn't help but to come up with the answer to its question all on its own. And the answer it came to was the one I expected but so desperately wished to be untrue - I had killed myself, not with action but rather inaction.

Had I instead chosen to embrace the path of the mystical, I would've had a far higher chance of survival than this pretend ignorance I had instead chosen to put on.

In my un-resigned state, my body moved all on its own. With a flare I didn't know my body possessed, I launched myself away from the impending danger, landing far further than humanly possible.

Having no time to think on this sudden change however, my body continued to move on autopilot. Scooping up my backpack, I slung it over my shoulder as my legs did little to stop their forward momentum.

Before long, I found myself flying through the forest, weaving in and out of trees with a seemingly supernatural ease. With each step, I felt my body physically bound forward, my feet leaving the ground for a long period before my next step would send me shooting forward once more.

Glancing backwards however, I couldn't help but to feel some of that mind-numbing terror rise within me once more as I noticed the figure of the ogre chasing behind me, clearly not able to catch up yet I could do little to lose it.

Distracted as I was by the sight however, I had no time to react as the scenery before me seemingly shifted of its own accord. As my figure went to shoot by a tree I had previously seen, unknowing to me, a branch seemingly grew out of nowhere to put a stop to my forward momentum.

However, while the sight was unknowing to me, the feeling was something I couldn't ignore. The wind being knocked out of me, I bowled over as I clutched my stomach, feeling as though I'd just been punched in the gut.

In this process, I could no longer bother to hold onto my backpack, the contents spilling out onto the ground for the second time in so many minutes.

I had no time to recover however, as the figure of the ogre finally managed to catch up, a large predatory grin spreading across its distorted maw.

Seemingly wishing to give me no chance of escape, the ogre's foot stomped down on my chest, locking me in place.

I could only wiggle about, struggling to escape as I once more found myself watching the slowly descending club of the ogre, watching on as its face lit up with what could only be described as a twisted sense of glee.

Helpless, my struggles soon ceased as I closed my eyes, my demise now nothing more than a surety. And yet, even as the club approached me, I felt no despair or acceptance, only more of that simmering rage.

However, by this point, the rage was reaching a point where it was no longer simmering, rather it seemed fit to burst.

The longer I sat there, the more that emotion took hold of me. And before long, I'd lost track of the outside world, my mind no longer the same as the rage seemed to reach its tipping point, changing from that of a simmering pit to a volcano fit to boil over.