Ashling Maple D3 Finished
Feb 1, 2014 17:52:55 GMT -5
Post by Sage on Feb 1, 2014 17:52:55 GMT -5
P U P P E T O N A S T R I N G
[presto]
 | A S H L I N G ▲ M A P L E How did they teach you to be just a happy puppet dancing on a string? How did you learn everything that comes along with slavish funnery? Tell me something, if the world is so insane, is it making you sane again to let another man tug at the thread that pulls up your nodding head? I am no longer a person, able to feel and be free and love and live, no, I am a doll, a puppet attached to a string, lying in silence until the puppet master decides it's time to play. I am a marionette; except, I am not made of wood, I am made of flesh and bone, my heart still beats, my lungs still require oxygen, and my mind still turns. I am not a doll by choice, no, I would never choose something like this, instead, I was stolen from my bed in the middle of the night and forced to become someone else's plaything. I am, on a regular basis, pumped full of so many drugs that my body becomes numb to all feeling and I become unable to control my actions. Hell, that is the only word I can use to describe it. What has happened to the seventeen year old girl from District three? She died when I was turned into a human puppet. How did they teach you to be just a happy puppet dancing on a string? How do you manage to live inside this tiny stage you can't leave? Tell me something, if the world is so insane, is it making you sane again to let another man tug at the thread that pulls up your nodding head? Appearance, as a puppet, doesn't really matter. It's not like we can change our appearance or look in the mirror or anything. From what I can remember though, I'm a pretty puppet and the puppet master seems to thinks so. He often says things like what pretty hair I have or what pretty eyes I have. From what I can recall, I have bleach blonde hair that goes just past my shoulders and greeny eyes. It doesn't really matter anymore though, I'm not a person anymore, I'm just a puppet on a string. I also recall that I'm not that big, maybe 5'8" tall or so. I can imagine that I've lost weight, even though most of the time it feels as if my limbs are made of lead. Stitches sewn with surgeon-like precision crisscross all of my joints, attaching me to either a puppet manipulator or to the puppet masters hands. My once smooth skin is now rough by my joints. I hate it, I hate it with a passion that I am unable to express because I have no free will to move or speak. No body except the other puppets really understand what it's like to have no control of their own body, they are my allies, the ones who understand me. Sometimes, after the puppet masters are asleep, we are able to actually move, not much but we can control our bodies a little bit. I yearn for these times when I can reach out to one of their hands and squeeze it in reassurance. It's nice to know that I'm not alone in this situation. A dullard strung on the wire. When the master's gone you hang there with your eyes and your limbs so lifeless. The puppet master seems to enjoy putting me into nice clothing. I'm usually dressed up in dresses and shorts although, I hate my puppet master, he's a bit of a psychopath and he scares me a lot even though I sense some sort of sick love from him for his dolls. Damien Stine is his name, I used to know him, he was from school but I wasn't great friends with him. I knew his family though, I heard the rumors around the Stines, the way they made people disappear. I never would have thought that I would be one of those people. I never would have thought that I would become one of the people they played with in their giant human-sized doll house. Although, I guess I should count my blessings that I didn't end up as a doll for one of the other children. One of them, the youngest, likes to play doctor on her puppets and I've seen many of them with scars running over their bodies when she's cut them too deep. One of the others is a sex addict and I pity the puppets she tortures. Damien tortures us sometimes but not all the time like the other two. I still remember my parents, I miss them so much, my mother, a sweet woman with sometimes a ferocious temper and my father, a wanderer who met my mother, fell in love, and settled down with her in district three. He tried convincing my mother to join him but she couldn't do it, she was too terrified that they would be caught and wanted to stay the district. My father agreed and they settled down. Before you know it, I came along, born on September 25. My father was always protective but he was my father, it was his job to look out for his little girl while my mother taught me everything I know. Like most kids in district three, I grew up to become a tech genius. I learned how to make various technology but as fate would have it, I was not to ever use this. If I had known that I would just become someone's puppet, I never would have learned everything I did, it would have saved a lot of time for my parents who spent countless hours quizzing me and teaching me everything they could. I wonder if they're mourning me or if they've moved on from me and are trying for another, I hope they're not too upset, after all, I'm just a puppet on a string. Before I was taken, my parents would have described me as someone with a warm heart and a ferocious temper that I inherited from my mom. She would always say that I'm a fire cracker when it comes to losing my shit on people and she's sometimes proud of me because I stand up for myself. I'm not one to go down quietly, I will put up a fight, at least, I used to, now I can't because my limbs feel like lead whenever I try to move them. Sometimes, I wish, just once, that I could lift up my head and glare at the people who put me through this hell on earth, that I could make them go through the pain I experience every day, and make them beg me for mercy as I play with them on strings and see how they like it but that will never happen, Mr. Stine will make sure of that. (It's probably part of the reason he pumps us full of drugs so that we can't fight back when his children want to play.) Anyways, what is there left to say? Not a lot other than the fact that for now, I am silently screaming and nobody can hear me for I am not a person anymore, no, I am simply a toy to be played with, stored, fed, and brought out to play again when play days are permitted which they are usually every few days. Other than that, life is quiet and rather lonely apart from the other puppets who don't really make that great of company if you ask me because most of them are drugged out of their minds. My mind is still sharp and turning, as long as my heart is still beating, my lungs are still requiring oxygen, and my mind is still turning, I will keep living and hoping to one day be free of this torture. Odair OOC: Finally she's done OMG that took forever ▲ T E M P L A T E B Y C H E L S E Y ▲ |
