Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Strings Find Body

The Wooden Girl feels differently than the other three creatures. It feels… foreign, alien, to them. Not in a “this should be cut” way. It’s a hard feeling to explain, but I personally think it’s more a case of “it feels like I didn’t create her.”

When I’m working on pictures of her or whatever, my mask is pulled over my face automatically. The one I wear whenever my mother attacks me or when I go to school or just when I’m talking to my family. I feel as if my limbs are working by themselves when I’m creating her; or rather, they’re being pulled and tugged at and directed by something other than me.

It’s like how I feel around my mother, when we’re both playing our parts perfectly. I get tangled and strangled in the lines while she keeps pulling on them, enveloping me in her control and manipulation. Soon, I become something other than me. I become an actor on her stage, where every action I go through with isn’t in a result of me but in result of her.

The Wooden Girl has dead, empty eyes. It matches her fake, masked face. Everything about her is artificial. Her body isn’t even her own. She’s a rotting puppet, and her own movements aren’t even her own. She’s enveloped in strings, most of them being pulled by her but the rest are pulled by Something other than her; the demon behind her, the illness.

She’s a slave to her bloodlust, and yet a master of emotion. She can be blank and silent, and the next moment she’d be in some sort of manic state.

She’s always laughing but her eyes always have the same exact empty stare.

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