A Puppet's Memoir
Left to rot, to rot amongst the junk in the junkyard and for a time, maybe I was junk. Cast out, not worth the time, useless. Although the neglectance served me faithfully for the years of pain, it showed me how ugly the world really was, how distorted my view on reality really was. I thought lying here in the junkyard, I could associate with the others around me, all the remaining hope I had as a puppet into the objects around me. But even those left me, betrayed me. One by one, they faded away, placing a distance that now was a black abyss. Names are useless, they give items a title, but then, that reminds me of the pain. Everything. All of them betrayed me. My creators created me with another, but she was crafted with art and skill. Me? I was made with the scrap parts. I could never hope to surpass my limitations. They tossed me out and the pain shook me to my core. Now here in the yard, I found another, one to care about, one I thought who was right, but I placed too much hope in my final friend I could trust. She had kept the trust for so long. But nothing last forever, I wasn't to know. Nothing could escape pain and darkness, at least, not these kinds. If there was a God, it'd be like my creators, twisting my strings and my hope into a grotesque distortion of reality so terrible that never again would happiness come back to me and I forgot what it was like to be happy. Only pain came. I no longer wanted to be who I was, I tried to change, my outlook on things. But it didn't help. Blinded by love, I felt the very void that filled my heart, my soul slowly empty and be filled with the black void. Out of my mind, out of my heart, out of control. The strings were twisted, I was never going to be in control. Because for the many years of struggling through the pain, this was the path I chose for myself, I strode forward only to be crushed by the very ones I thought I could confide in. With hope and pain in my heart and no options to choose, I leave myself to rot, to rot amongst the junk.