• Marionette's Tale
    “My characters are like little broken dolls, and writing is my way of playing with them.”
    My arms dangle by my sides, the strings limp. Who knew when SHE would return? I lay dejected in a case, trying to forget. The things I have seen torment me, never letting me sink into the peaceful oblivion that dwells between my excursions into Her world. There are others like me, I know this. I've seen Her take us out, manipulate the strings so we dance, playing out Her sick and twisted fantasies. Where do they come from? What kind of a person can dream up these things? I am only a marionette, dancing to the beat of a disturbed drum. My life seems worthless, barely worth the energy it took to create my pathetic conscience. I rub idly at the hairline cracks adorning my porcelain skin. Her abuses break us, little by little. My eyelashes have fallen off, my hair thinned and broken. Who knows what more will fall off before she abandons me? I've met the Firsts, the ones that began this Hell. They are barely faces, their bodies deteriorated and shattered, features blurred and faded. Their stories are faint, barely remembered. Their lives are at the end of the spectrum, their existances nothing more than unremembered dreams haunting Her sleep. Why must we live through this? Why can't we just die? I'll tell you why. She won't let us. We're not allowed. Until She's had her fun and fogotten us, we will never die. Forever in pain, forever broken.
    “My characters are like little broken dolls, and writing is my way of playing with them.”
    I've seen that, written in red across my universe. Nothing could be more true. I'll live my life, and hope I outlast Her.