There was once a little boy who lived in a world full of strange people. Or maybe he was the strange one, and the others were normal, he never did find out. Either way, he was kind and gentle and loving, albeit a bit eccentric and loud and forgetful. Being the strange boy he was, companions of any kind proved hard to find, and even harder to keep. Abusers and the like were strewn around him like landmines marked with invisible ink, and he never did see what was underneath until too late. Even those who cared for him had razorblade hugs and .44 kisses. He always wanted freedom from everything, he wanted to get away and be himself, but his soul was locked in a safe with no key, taken from him at birth. Every day, someone would say to jump, and he would jump. They'd tell him to love Jesus, and he loved Jesus. But he couldn't jump high enough and he'd never let Jesus have all of him. They would tell him to do what they said, and they expected him to. He didn't want to, but why not? He had already done what they wanted the first time after all. He didn't know. He didn't know anything really. After all, his soul was locked in a safe with no key, in a room with no doors or windows. So he made a new self out of paper Mache and noodles. It was a strange, grotesque thing, and after realizing this he started over. This time he used watercolors, and it was a little better, but not by much. An angel came down to him and offered her hand, but he was so scared of what Jesus would do now that he didn't love him, he never took it. She flew into the sun and burned to a crisp. Even when he saw her again, so mangled and broken, he still loved her, and maybe he always will. There were other angels, and even a devil or two for temptation. The angels left when they found his soul was locked in a safe with no key, in a room with no doors or windows, deep underground where no man could reach, and the devils left when they found there was nothing to corrupt. When he dies, he'll be closest to Hell, what with his soul being locked in a safe with no key, in a room with no doors or windows, deep underground where no man could reach, guarded by creatures that cannot die. As the boy grew into a teenager, he created another version of himself out of magazine covers and things he saw in old horror movies. It was again an improvement, but by now he had forgotten what he looked like under the magazines, watercolors, and paper-Mache. The Mache locked his face in a pained expression; the paint made his pain look like insomnia, and the magazines told him what he should do with his life. But after the last devil nearly corrupted him, Jesus replaced the boy's magazine with his own, and told him to dig a hole instead of jump in the air. he did it, only because he knew he'd never free himself of Jesus, and because he wanted to dig deep underground where no man could reach, enter the room with no doors or windows, pass the creatures that cannot die, and open the safe with no key, escape through the portal he left at the surface, and see if his soul was still usable after all these years. He found some other people digging their own holes, and only one of them let their mask slip, but only after a time. By this time he was too tired to make a new disguise to fit with these, so he just used bits and pieces from the old ones. This one was the most awkward of all, and he became a walking contradiction with more problems and challenges than ever. Still, he was excited by it. While toying with his old paper-Mache mask, one of the eyes fell off, and the sunlight almost blinded him. He became fixated with it, wanted to have it for his own, forever. The sun came down and held him close, and though he burned at the sun's touch, he vowed he'd never let go. Eventually his arms burned off and he had to let go. He saw his angel once more and she warned him of what could happen when you hold the sun too close for too long. By this time, she was as mortal as anyone, and had her own disguise to cover the burns and gashes and various other marks, but her mask was still as beautiful as he remembered. When the sun invited him out again he said sure. The sun had become a mean person who likes to drink and take advantage of the boy, though maybe he was always that way and he had just started noticing. Now more than ever his hands were taking control. When something was in his hands, nothing else existed to him. If what was in his hands was good, the entire world was rainbows and gumdrops. If not, then life was near unbearable. One day, I worry he’ll get something in his hands so bad, that the only thing he’ll be near is the bottom of the river.
- Mood:
Defeated - Listening to: With Teeth - Nine Inch Nails
strange person
Unheard
