[ ADVENT CALENDAR / event / PG / prompts, fanfiction, fanart ]
I thought of this idea while talking to dreams, and decided we're going to do an Advent Calendar event! [So that we have a good motivator to push us to write.] So from now till January 1, we're going to all try to do as many little prizes for each other as possible. Each day will have a different word prompt, and hopefully more than one person does
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Prize:
Japan has no desire to go out into the world. He has no need for the outside world. His “slice of life” manga and anime give him whatever realities he wants, and his fantasies are similarly played out in the same manner. Japan has no desire to go out into the world.
But what about people, Japan? You may ask. The outside world has worlds and people, and your manga and anime just aren’t the same kind of “worlds” if you don’t have “people.” So who are your “people”?
And Japan would just laugh at you. My people, he would reply, are all here. Then he’d lead you, down two hallways, around 3 corners, and into a room far away from the rest of the house. He’d flick on the lights.
And millions of eyes would peer down at you from the shelves above your head.
Japan has no desire to go out into the world. Why do so, when manga and anime give him the “worlds” that he needs, and here, here are the “people”? Then he’d bring down doll after doll, and pose them, and show you their beautiful, life-like [life-less] faces, and tell you about, oh, how yesterday he had had a little seminar to teach tea ceremony to these eager minds, and how, they had all praised him by attending and listening with rapt attention.
Japan could tell you what he told his dolls, although always afterwards, he would tell you that you weren’t as good of a listener as they were.
You tried to ignore the terrifyingly bitter whisper of, nobody but they listen to me.
He had hundreds of dolls, with thousands of different clothes, eyes, wigs…personalities to match. Everything, everyone, all his “people,” in one single room.
You tried not to notice the particularly bigger dolls, the ones with faces that were way too familiar for comfort.
Then, you might remember to ask, but Japan, where is your “love”? He’d ask you what love was, and you would flail for a while as he shot down every single one of your lines quoted from the great Shakespeare, or biblical confessions of the truth of love. Love is divine, powerful, earthshaking, inevitable, and everything that life is! You could cry.
Love is weak, stupid, worthless, and so much more, Japan would reply. And look! He would exclaim. Aren’t I living just fine without it?
But are you really living? You wanted to ask. But you kept your mouth shut. Love is comfort! You instead cry out of desperation.
Then he would swear you to secrecy, and when you’ve promised this loyalty a thousand times he would bring you into another room and show you his terrible secret.
It was a glass case. Japan would tell you about how the glass was bulletproof, unopenable, completely sealed. Inside, on an elaborate wooden Chinese-styled throne, sat another doll. A life-sized one.
Japan would keep talking about the glass, and how pretty the glass was, and how amazingly strong it was, and how wonderful and pure and nice the glass was, and sooner or later you would get the feeling that he wasn’t talking about the glass anymore.
He was talking about the doll inside. But he never directly talked about the doll.
Then, after you’ve left him exhaust himself of things to say about the glass case, he’d confess with manic energy the nights where he’d flung himself at that glass case, screaming profanities and hoarse, heartbroken rage, flying back and forth between begging and screaming and just, terrible sobbing. Then afterward, he would go get some alcohol, and do just that. Every night.
And I always had to watch him. I hated it.
That night, I just left. He had torn my dress with his hands one too many times, and my pity for him and long dried out. I didn’t have to be there. I didn’t have to stare out the window and try vainly to ignore Japan’s madness or the blood streaks on the glass walls.
So I went home, back home, to my little island and tried to sleep. I tossed and turned that whole night, as restless as Japan’s own demons were. I cried that night too, fearful that his demons had finally gotten his claws into me, and I too would start doing things for the wrong reasons and worshipping a doll in a glass case.
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“No, I haven’t.” I whispered. China’s motherly instinct went on red-alert, and came over immediately after that, bringing the rest of the nations with him.
Then you know the rest of the story, America. You know how we broke into Japan’s house and found his dead, bloody corpse. You know how I finally broke down and told you all this although he swore me to secrecy a thousand times each night.
Japan had no desire to go out into the world. But he had to, and for the a thousand times he made me swear secrecy, he made a thousand wishes; the same wishes.
Japan had no desire to go out into the world. And this is why.
x--------------------------------------------x
Taiwan had told the nations this in the doll room, in front of the door to the room with the glass case. Finally, she opened the door, and flicked on the lights.
Inside was a life-sized, perfect, life-less, copy of China. The glass case around it was covered in blood streaks.
It was China who screamed first.
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Seriously, my heart is beating and I felt kinda scared reading this. I might be the S&M expert but you're this community's Queen or Horror!
*goes to hide in fluffy Sanrio fluff land*
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I used to like S&M, but it got too kinky for me, and I'm like, well, that was stupid...expecting S and M to be anything BUT kinky.
So I left. xDDD
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For that genre, you're not bad at all, you and your funeral rush story.
And then you have Dreams with your Castle Of Silence and Bones story. 0.o
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