Hopfrog
07-25-2011, 02:49 AM
[A Macabre Vignette]
I hobble home at last, place you into your infant's coffin, fall wearily to the floor and begin to unscrew my legs. Outside, darkness thickens; inside, shadows gather. Your tiny voice calls to me, but I try to ignore it. "Ma chere," you cry. I have shut your lid but now I see the gloom that gathers, pushing. The lid to your white coffin rises. "Ma chere." I watch the sentient shadow flow to me and sheath my timber limbs, and then the shadow twists, until my legs fall from me, wood on wood. A patch of darkness sifts through the air, to you, and gathers like some skiagram that mocks your impish image. Again, you beckon. I drag my damaged body to your box.
"Come lie with me, ma chere." Your voice is cracked, like your face. I peer into your place and see the things that lie beside you, the wooden mallet and the mask. "Does it call to you, my love? Does the sleek handle ache to feel your finger's clasp? With it smoothly in your hand, we can forget today's psychodrama. What a clown you were today! Trying to dance before the ones who gawked and tossed their pittance to your cap. How clumsy you were, and how heavily you capsized. Did their mocking laughter splice into you? I see it did."
I observe your nude timber torso, badly chipped. I see the rusty joints with which your dainty limbs are fastened to your shoulders. There are the battered slippers, moldy and misshapen, that cover your little feet. I try not to glance at your face, yet how can I withstand its lure? Especially when you whisper my name so seductively.
"Ah, my crippled one," you sigh, in a voice that mocks my own. ""You look upon my eyes at last. Yes, that one on the left is newly marred. Do you remember, last night, when we were dancing in this dusty room? You frolicked and then you fell, and I could not help but laugh, you looked such a buffoon. Can't you recall how you cursed me, how you found the happy mallet and smashed my face? Oh, what a sensation for you! Violence is so intoxicating. How I sighed as the mallet smashed into me, your blows were so passionate. But you already know all this, ma chere."
I lick my firm lips with liquid tongue. I reach into your box and take up the heavy wooden mask, that badly battered thing that resembles so closely your comical countenance. I turn the mask over and see that the ruddy stains have dried. How smoothly it fits over me, your mask. How happy is the hand that dips into your bed and takes up the mallet. Precariously balancing on the remnants of lost limbs, I hold the mallet before our face. We moan as one as I smash our puppet physiognomy.
:smash:
I hobble home at last, place you into your infant's coffin, fall wearily to the floor and begin to unscrew my legs. Outside, darkness thickens; inside, shadows gather. Your tiny voice calls to me, but I try to ignore it. "Ma chere," you cry. I have shut your lid but now I see the gloom that gathers, pushing. The lid to your white coffin rises. "Ma chere." I watch the sentient shadow flow to me and sheath my timber limbs, and then the shadow twists, until my legs fall from me, wood on wood. A patch of darkness sifts through the air, to you, and gathers like some skiagram that mocks your impish image. Again, you beckon. I drag my damaged body to your box.
"Come lie with me, ma chere." Your voice is cracked, like your face. I peer into your place and see the things that lie beside you, the wooden mallet and the mask. "Does it call to you, my love? Does the sleek handle ache to feel your finger's clasp? With it smoothly in your hand, we can forget today's psychodrama. What a clown you were today! Trying to dance before the ones who gawked and tossed their pittance to your cap. How clumsy you were, and how heavily you capsized. Did their mocking laughter splice into you? I see it did."
I observe your nude timber torso, badly chipped. I see the rusty joints with which your dainty limbs are fastened to your shoulders. There are the battered slippers, moldy and misshapen, that cover your little feet. I try not to glance at your face, yet how can I withstand its lure? Especially when you whisper my name so seductively.
"Ah, my crippled one," you sigh, in a voice that mocks my own. ""You look upon my eyes at last. Yes, that one on the left is newly marred. Do you remember, last night, when we were dancing in this dusty room? You frolicked and then you fell, and I could not help but laugh, you looked such a buffoon. Can't you recall how you cursed me, how you found the happy mallet and smashed my face? Oh, what a sensation for you! Violence is so intoxicating. How I sighed as the mallet smashed into me, your blows were so passionate. But you already know all this, ma chere."
I lick my firm lips with liquid tongue. I reach into your box and take up the heavy wooden mask, that badly battered thing that resembles so closely your comical countenance. I turn the mask over and see that the ruddy stains have dried. How smoothly it fits over me, your mask. How happy is the hand that dips into your bed and takes up the mallet. Precariously balancing on the remnants of lost limbs, I hold the mallet before our face. We moan as one as I smash our puppet physiognomy.
:smash: