I kinda hate this :/ It's just a drabble. Sort of. Not really. It's actually 165 words, not just 100. But y'know, I was just bored, but my writer's block isn't getting any better. Does anyone have any suggestions/solutions to writer's block? I'd love to hear them :)
A string leads from each of its wrists, from the top of its feet, from the crown of its bowed head. Silver strings, like so many strands of hair, so thin one can hardly see them unless standing in just the right light. And then, only then, its strings, oh how they shine.
And they connect…where? Ah, but I know. Of course, it's obvious. The one holding the strings is me. Its strings, wrapped tightly around my fingers, threaded in knots that cannot be undone.
And yet you try so hard to cut those strings, to deny their existence, to pretend that you're in control. But don't you see? A puppet is just that. Dancing around on a stage with no will of its own, cursed to do as its master commands. A puppet cannot cut its own strings.
Now, I'll let you in on a secret…
You are the puppet.
These are your strings.
And as for me…
I am your puppet master.
So...review? Por Favor?