Images, words and shared emotions
Rose Lorang’s world
Aspiring author and illustrator
Through my drawings and words, I explore the beauty hidden in pain, vulnerability as an act of courage, and gentleness as strength. Here you’ll find fragments of humanity: to read, to see, to feel.
My illustrations
My illustrations
Here you’ll find a selection of my drawings, from the ones I’ve made on the spur of the moment, to the ones that are part of a project, to the ones I’ve applied myself to.
The blog .
The blog
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M short stories
Short stories.
Thou shalt remain human…
— Biotope-One to Man-One, do you copy? — Alright, Jeff, no need for the codes. It’s not like we’re swarming with people on this godforsaken planet! — Okay, don’t get mad! So, what’s it looking like? — Give me five minutes, I’ll take a look. I move closer to the...
A consuming passion.
The attraction was immediate. Right away I knew I'd love you for the rest of my life. We met for the first time when I was a child. It was a birthday party with pancakes, whipped cream and lots of guests too. That day, I didn't get to enjoy you very much. I wasn't...
State of Alabama v. Miss Jones.
The poor woman seems distraught. She steps just over the threshold of my office, accompanied by my secretary. Around fifty years old, she is African-American. Well-dressed. It’s clear she’s put on her best for this appointment. I stand up and extend my hand...
A seed of self-confidence.
Please, don’t let him sit next to me! I don’t want him sitting next to me! My brain screams danger—he’s strange. If he sits next to me, I won’t be able to go to the bathroom for the entire trip. I’d never dare ask him to let me pass. Every time I get on the train and...
The last mission.
Jérémy slammed the car door shut. Once again, he’d had an argument with his mother. Throwing his backpack over his shoulders, he stormed toward the entrance of the high school. Lately, everything had been going wrong; he felt terrible. And it was starting again. He...
The moment before.
It’s the final match. The official scouts are in the stands. The tension in the crowd is palpable. The speakers blare a distorted version of AC/DC’s "Highway to Hell." Three goals to three. I glance up briefly at the scoreboard: 45 seconds in bright red letters. We’re...
Who am I ?
Who am I ?
Dreamy, sensitive and introverted, I have a crazy project to create a world of words and images that correspond to who I am inside.
In my other job (the one that pays the bills :)), I’m forced, somewhat in spite of myself, to come out of my shell, out of my comfort zone, to be public and pragmatic. There’s no room in this other life for mental wandering, the magic of stories, the beauty of inner landscapes, so I’ve decided to create a specific place in my life for my other self, that of artist, creator.