WELCOME
Good day and welcome to the Creative Writing diary of Emil Karoly Papp.
Emil has had a keen interest in all visual outlets from when he was born claiming later that his first brushstrokes were make with his umbilical cord.
Since then he has made many things and has had some achievements to boot.
In his High School career his drawing and painting got him to the top 30 of his year and later in university awarded him bursaries to pursue the world inside himself. At the end of two thousand and six just after marketing, branding and publishing his as well as his peer's graduate show (a great success) he pushed out into the wide world with hopes and aspirations aplenty. During the beginning of 2007 he discovered the world of visual communication, branding and publishing. In between he found a small amount of time to join fine art shows and record one or two abstract musical compositions as well. The end of 2007 during the last period in his first publishing position marked the time in which he received his first award. The award "The Designer of the year award" at a prestigious publishing house in Cape Town South Africa. After his stay he moved on to be an internationally published illustrator for clients including Mens Health. During the end of two thousand and eight he was hired to work on magazine titles for National Geographic and other projects for clients ranging from the South African Police Service, Discovery Health and Harvard University. In the start of two thousand and nine Emil was head hunted by a young design studio to take on the position of head of design..his stay was short as he began to realise that he had let his dreams to create drift further and further away.
He is now working freelance full time where he paints, draws and designs for anyone who wishes to commission him.
Due to the load of projects Emil has taken on in the last two and a half years his blog had to be split into three parts. The first and the anchor of it all being The Remorseless Metallic Shine. The other two namely The Freelance Predator's Advice (emilpappdesigner.blogspot.com) and The Management of Autocratic Suggestions (emilpappwriter.blogspot.com) (you are here) were created to showcase design work and creative writing respectively.
Welcome to the site and enjoy browsing the work on display. If you like what you see and wish to contact Emil directly please feel free to do so at emilpapp@gmail.com or on +2772 274 2587
Thank you for visiting, we hope you enjoy your time looking around.
1.
“I’m afraid you’ve caught me on a rather bad day.” He whispers in her ear. She can feel his breath and smell the stale flavour of whatever has been rotting inside him for the past few days. “You can’t just say that?! I haven’t see or heard from you for ten years!” she begins a silent descent into an incurable lament. “Shut up!” his teeth grinding away at themselves, “I have been to hell and back just to be able to talk to you! We both agreed to kill her but because I was the man, it was my job to pull the trigger! It was my job to do the time!” His hand pulls even tighter around her wrists. The room is darker now as they draw nearer to one another. Their sweat fills the room with a sickeningly tense aroma. “I didn’t ask you to do it!” She cries out in vain. “No, but you didn’t stop me! She was my daughter… and for one second I had a glimpse of what I can only assume would have been a love strong enough to save us both and then I…we took it away.” His fingernails, dirty and unkempt, digging deeper into skin, sinking into layer after layer. The history of him is embedded in his hands, rough and unforgiving.
He slams her up against one of the walls of this now suffocating space. Her warm tears taste painfully familiar on his lips. All around them they watch and learn… to see inside these beings, to know nothing of their hearts and everything about their flesh.
2.
October 10th … the smell of fresh rain on tar. November 12th …a sun yellow canary gets in. It sits in the corner he usually doesn’t rest in because that is where the hands got the better of him. “ I am stronger now, fitter now…I will be more productive…I have no killer instinct anymore. What I used to be is a faded memory, an empty husk! “That” is no longer what it means to be a man and should be a distant memory, I am now corrected! I’m completed and will be released if only I can make the itching stop!!!” He doesn’t want to talk to himself or hear what he is saying.
The bird flutters in the corner, its beady little eyes jolting from left to right, from right to wrong. It glows against the moss riddled walls of this cell. And then it happens again and again and again… the walls painted yellow red and blue now, it will be yet another seven weeks. “Fuck!”
