Flash Fiction for Drocell.
*though this fiction contains heavy sexual suggestion the actions of the character are not overtly sexual and neither is sex or sexual organs described. I have multiple interpretations of characters, this is one of them.
I have often wondered why the wind doesn't hurt my eyes when the wind blows. Though they hardly blink-do they blink? I sometimes stare into the mirror wondering but if I blink I might miss the winking. I have been thinking to myself; are these eyes of amethyst mine? Are they stones of quartz minerals or are they really wet like puddle pebbles?
This skin is cold unless touched, which there has been not much of, or heated by the fires I use to bake porcelain. Time tip toes past me as I sit sleepless, limitless in my determination to finish all my guignols -morbid dolls. I need no nourishment of water and red meat but I hunger for flesh just the same as mammals. The girl-children that parade around pigeon toed, ride carriages, sit in the park and hand feed finches seem so precocious. What I have learned is that human bodies have no straight lines. I will make them mine. Impure bodies with impure faces, they will surpass the beauty of experienced women. Their rose bud lips, sausage curls, sliced pearl fingernails…
I've seen it once in the windows of a brothel. Body damp and swelled, eyes rolled back with two feminine front teeth bare between raw lips caught in a breath. How I wish I knew passion such as this. But I've been thinking to myself; what does passion really mean when all I need is to know just where to string the thigh to pelvis? How I wonder what it is to leave a finger hooked to a knot inside, to make her truly wither and writhe.
How I wish I knew what it meant to need a sacrifice of something
from oneself
to obtain that which is untouchable.
This hunger rings hallow like coins tossed at my feet as I turn the lever of my music box. London Bridge fallows me and forever falls.