Hong Rui Choo
By a fateful flurry of Eureka! luminescence and a spontaneous spasm of the heck, Hong Rui Choo gave up trying to join the monkeys up in the lofty coconut palms of the of the sweltering Southeast and now thrives as swimmingly as a bum can be, still somewhat confused but determined, in the city of the wee Bear-ling, where it shall find use of its fins and with any luck, learn to use the full stop.
Hong Rui Choo studied traditional Animation and now explores narratives in their myriad forms, meddling with pigments and pixels, and oftentimes pies, hoping to leave a positive splodge on this world.
Rui natters here: http://www.rui.brushd.com
Online shop coming soon!
Stories illustrated by Hong Rui Choo
The Scoop
Written by Andrew D. Benge“I want to be clear, Mr. Hughes. What I’m about to tell you, it isn’t easy. I’m not entirely sure if I can even discuss it safely.” She wouldn’t give me her name. She had called the paper, and told me she had a scoop. I swear, she called it a scoop, like we were …
A Casualty of My Own War
Written by Veena KashyapThe scent of copper from spilled blood mingles with flesh baking in the heat of this summer day, inviting hungry prey to feast on the dead. Sweat cakes strands of hair to my forehead as I pull off the heavy helmet, the length of my blonde locks tumbling across my shoulders. The imposing sun overhead …
Turkey on Wheat
Written by Ben WhiteThe first thing I remember is being under something. The sheets. I felt the fabricon my face, sliding across my skin with my breathing. It was dark under there, and I liked it. It must have been in New York, before we moved. I was between three or four. Nobody seemed to notice me there, …
Trains
Written by Joey ToThe raindrops streak and split across the window, softening what little sunlight there is. I feel like yawning but I don’t. I also feel like shutting my eyes. I don’t do that either. The rhythmic clanking of the carriage thumping over the rails acts as a lullaby and an alarm clock simultaneously… I fix my …
The Stepfather
Written by Vesna PivcevicNathan was sleeping off his hangover, curled up on the sofa under a duvet like a grizzly bear. The fug of last night’s beer wafted off him as he snored, the noise of the football match on TV drifting in and out of his consciousness. The front door slammed, an intrusive blast of icy air jolting …