04-30-2015, 02:34 PM
I see everything.
Like a ghost I waver in and out of ebony shadows to watch what I can only explain as immature and childish. She is naïve, ignorant, and young. The way she floats herself across the ground with eyes set on a small twig shows her excitement—animosity towards the innocent. Her intention is to retrieve but what I see is a puppet, a toy. I see a child who likes to play fetch.
Here, kitty kitty. I have a mouse to catch.
She makes me angry. Ignorance might be bliss but my dear, it is the leading cause of death. Part of me wants to end her misery now; walk up and kill her. Watch dark streams of blood dibble off her trembling skin. Every ounce of immaturity leaking from her bones. Darling, I am only saving you from a life of deceit.
After all, I had to grow quite the skin. I didn’t grow it by playing doggy.
I walk over without acknowledging I am moving—like a plane I glide with an elegant stride, a smooth step. I arrive still a distance from her, wondering if I am more likely to get hit by a flying stick from being farther away or closer. She acts like a dog and I am disgusted. Foolish creatures, mutts are. They are below me, in height and intelligence and that is all that matters. If I am better, I do not waste time on what is weak, what is useless.
So why are you here?
Because, the useless can also be effective characters in puppetry.
“You would be pretty if you didn’t act so childish,” is what I say as my face is splattered with drops of water. I am aggravated—my teeth grind and my jaw sets. I must admit even the easiest to manipulate wasn’t worth the trouble of getting splattered with what I am only praying is water.
Adjusting my stance, I present myself in an open way. To gain trust, you must first expose yourself. So here I am, scars from living off the meadow showcased along the corner of my flank, as well as another scar running up my neck. A puncture wound now healed is on my chest though the scab being proof of my blemish.
Here I am, little one. Do you want to play? I will throw you the bone—you bite.
Like a ghost I waver in and out of ebony shadows to watch what I can only explain as immature and childish. She is naïve, ignorant, and young. The way she floats herself across the ground with eyes set on a small twig shows her excitement—animosity towards the innocent. Her intention is to retrieve but what I see is a puppet, a toy. I see a child who likes to play fetch.
Here, kitty kitty. I have a mouse to catch.
She makes me angry. Ignorance might be bliss but my dear, it is the leading cause of death. Part of me wants to end her misery now; walk up and kill her. Watch dark streams of blood dibble off her trembling skin. Every ounce of immaturity leaking from her bones. Darling, I am only saving you from a life of deceit.
After all, I had to grow quite the skin. I didn’t grow it by playing doggy.
I walk over without acknowledging I am moving—like a plane I glide with an elegant stride, a smooth step. I arrive still a distance from her, wondering if I am more likely to get hit by a flying stick from being farther away or closer. She acts like a dog and I am disgusted. Foolish creatures, mutts are. They are below me, in height and intelligence and that is all that matters. If I am better, I do not waste time on what is weak, what is useless.
So why are you here?
Because, the useless can also be effective characters in puppetry.
“You would be pretty if you didn’t act so childish,” is what I say as my face is splattered with drops of water. I am aggravated—my teeth grind and my jaw sets. I must admit even the easiest to manipulate wasn’t worth the trouble of getting splattered with what I am only praying is water.
Adjusting my stance, I present myself in an open way. To gain trust, you must first expose yourself. So here I am, scars from living off the meadow showcased along the corner of my flank, as well as another scar running up my neck. A puncture wound now healed is on my chest though the scab being proof of my blemish.
Here I am, little one. Do you want to play? I will throw you the bone—you bite.