A/N: I have such a sick, sick mind... isn't it fun???
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
There was nothing in me anymore. I could only feel the clammy plastic shell that surrounded whatever was left of me. His love emptied me, pouring the angry passion I once had into a glass so he could drink it all in. Drink me all in.
Didn't he understand? I am merely a hunk of plastic. A hunk of cheap plastic, for that matter. No, I wasn't even carved painstakingly with worship from oak wood. From beautiful bark from a tall tree. I could see them from my view at the window.
But mostly people saw me. I felt there eyes bare into me like hot coals, poking at my round stomach. I wasn't attractive; I knew it. Well, I was attractive to Sam, and to that I was grateful. I appreciated his affection, I really did. No one had ever really loved me before.
But he had a fixation with me. He found me fascinating, and hardly a day went by without his uncomfortable touch on my body. I wondered if it was wrong to lead him on like this. Did he think I was the slightest bit real? That I wouldn't someday find a female lawn gnome and make passionate love to her? Oh, he was such a wonderfully beautiful idiot. How I pitied his ignorant little tussle of hair.
It was one particularly hot day he began his routine polish of me. He picked me up tenderly, in the way that made me feel so dirty inside. His eyes bared into my synthetic ones. I almost felt myself want him. But no! It's different with us. He could obsess over me silently, but the vice versa would never come about. I was not that kind of lawn gnome.
"Sam!" His name rang out and seemed to float midair. He didn't want to catch it, I could tell. I felt a warm feeling pour over me at the thought he might want to just stay with me. Not that I cared.
That woman came. I liked her, pretty much. She had a clever way of keeping him in line... a way I couldn't. He was intensely difficult.
She mentioned something about an errand, and he gripped me tightly. Defensively. Not that I cared. Not that it truly mattered his body heat as washing over me and emptying my emptiness. He was so possessive, but I found myself head over heels with that. No, no, I didn't!
She grabbed at me. Suddenly, the entire world was in slow motion. I felt the air beneath my feet, and I almost had wings. I never knew love could give you wings.
And just like that, I crashed to the floor and scattered. Pieces of me speckled the polished floor. I was the stars. For a brief moment, I felt myself sparkle. I was his sky; his life. And then I crashed, and all the stars fell.
He placed me, piece by piece, into a glass jar. He wept so magnificently. He placed me exactly where I had been before. But it was different. I could no longer feel his tender touch beyond the light heat from the glass. I saw blindly. I listened deafly. I spoke mutely. Thinking wasn't an option. Thinking resulted in thinking about him, the impossible goal.
He was no longer the idiot. I was. 'Twas me who past up the opportunity of relentless love. It was me who doubted.
I knew I was being sent to hell the next Saturday. He brought another home. He brought someone else home. I saw them. They were carved painstaking with worship from oak wood. My non-existent tears pounded on the glass. It was raining so hard that day. The sky cried for what could have been. I cried for what could have been.
Looking at them stare into each others' eyes, I knew what pain meant. Not that I cared.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
There was nothing in me anymore. I could only feel the clammy plastic shell that surrounded whatever was left of me. His love emptied me, pouring the angry passion I once had into a glass so he could drink it all in. Drink me all in.
Didn't he understand? I am merely a hunk of plastic. A hunk of cheap plastic, for that matter. No, I wasn't even carved painstakingly with worship from oak wood. From beautiful bark from a tall tree. I could see them from my view at the window.
But mostly people saw me. I felt there eyes bare into me like hot coals, poking at my round stomach. I wasn't attractive; I knew it. Well, I was attractive to Sam, and to that I was grateful. I appreciated his affection, I really did. No one had ever really loved me before.
But he had a fixation with me. He found me fascinating, and hardly a day went by without his uncomfortable touch on my body. I wondered if it was wrong to lead him on like this. Did he think I was the slightest bit real? That I wouldn't someday find a female lawn gnome and make passionate love to her? Oh, he was such a wonderfully beautiful idiot. How I pitied his ignorant little tussle of hair.
It was one particularly hot day he began his routine polish of me. He picked me up tenderly, in the way that made me feel so dirty inside. His eyes bared into my synthetic ones. I almost felt myself want him. But no! It's different with us. He could obsess over me silently, but the vice versa would never come about. I was not that kind of lawn gnome.
"Sam!" His name rang out and seemed to float midair. He didn't want to catch it, I could tell. I felt a warm feeling pour over me at the thought he might want to just stay with me. Not that I cared.
That woman came. I liked her, pretty much. She had a clever way of keeping him in line... a way I couldn't. He was intensely difficult.
She mentioned something about an errand, and he gripped me tightly. Defensively. Not that I cared. Not that it truly mattered his body heat as washing over me and emptying my emptiness. He was so possessive, but I found myself head over heels with that. No, no, I didn't!
She grabbed at me. Suddenly, the entire world was in slow motion. I felt the air beneath my feet, and I almost had wings. I never knew love could give you wings.
And just like that, I crashed to the floor and scattered. Pieces of me speckled the polished floor. I was the stars. For a brief moment, I felt myself sparkle. I was his sky; his life. And then I crashed, and all the stars fell.
He placed me, piece by piece, into a glass jar. He wept so magnificently. He placed me exactly where I had been before. But it was different. I could no longer feel his tender touch beyond the light heat from the glass. I saw blindly. I listened deafly. I spoke mutely. Thinking wasn't an option. Thinking resulted in thinking about him, the impossible goal.
He was no longer the idiot. I was. 'Twas me who past up the opportunity of relentless love. It was me who doubted.
I knew I was being sent to hell the next Saturday. He brought another home. He brought someone else home. I saw them. They were carved painstaking with worship from oak wood. My non-existent tears pounded on the glass. It was raining so hard that day. The sky cried for what could have been. I cried for what could have been.
Looking at them stare into each others' eyes, I knew what pain meant. Not that I cared.