Dolldrums
Are dolls what we think they are? Are they simple toys? Are they representatives of some other order? Do they prescribe our body types or do we etch ourselves upon them? Do they embody our desires for perfection? Do we attempt to reflect them? Are they embodiments of our fears, our miseries, which we try to protect or deny?
Are they the souls of dying children, caught in plastic perfection? Murdered or broken children? What if we sold these children into slavery to paying playmakers? Who would tell their stories? Are their stories worthy of being told? Who would protect them?
She's a little wisp of a thing. So fragile, so perfect. So insane. So possessed. A back-bent twist-to-perfection with an innocent giggle and the best of intents. And a knife to match.
Are they the souls of dying children, caught in plastic perfection? Murdered or broken children? What if we sold these children into slavery to paying playmakers? Who would tell their stories? Are their stories worthy of being told? Who would protect them?
She's a little wisp of a thing. So fragile, so perfect. So insane. So possessed. A back-bent twist-to-perfection with an innocent giggle and the best of intents. And a knife to match.