Jigsaw Puzzle ~ M ~ unatral_kreatur
Title: Jigsaw Puzzle
Author: unatral_kreatur
Rating: M
Notes: Depressive story like poem, please ignore
So Life’s one big jigsaw puzzle, wouldn’t you agree? Not just one kind of jigsaw, oh wouldn’t that be convenient. No, it’s one or all of a number of puzzles. The quaint cardboard Jigsaw Puzzle teaches you, as a small child, the few simple lessons of life with innocence, with mercy. Alas, you get arrogant, you handled this puzzle with ease, so when warned of tests to come you simply dismiss them, Poppycock, it’s Childs play!
Arrogance, accomplishment’s unexpected gift, proves your ruin! Unexpected too is the Jigsaws to follow.
You stumble upon the meat puzzle, the detached corpse, left in pieces all over the ground. You could run, struggling to keep your insides inside or perhaps pick up the pieces and dispose of them. Or. It’s a sickening thought, yes, but what if… you stayed… and reattached the pieces?
You couldn’t just stick a couple of limbs into their respective sockets… no that would be too easy! You must return each organ, reattach those troublesome limbs, reconnect shattered bones. Oh, the best of all, one may say, is the restitching of the skin. The image becomes whole again, but not the same. Worse than not the same, it’s mutilated, despite your best attempts. You painstakingly went through each step, learning every single singularity, every little process. You know not just the anatomy, you know how they fit together, you know their processes, you know… All Too Much! You know so much it’s disturbing, it’s sickening, it’s perverted. In each face you see, you will still see the ghostly stitch marks hashed that corpses face. Eyes will hold no affection for you, they, instead, will be ghastly open doors to the souls of others. After all, you never could put the cadaver’s eyes back unmarked… to put it lightly!
Alas, the horrors you will see in others will never match those you see within yourself. Allow me to explain!
You see, there is another jigsaw puzzle of sorts, most likely to be the most complex type. A broken mirror. Where you stood, instead of looking into a reflection of yourself, you look at a frame, or stand, or whatever held the mirror that all that’s left of is but a few shards. They instead lay scattered around your feet. For some unknown reason, you desperately crave your own reflection, how else could you possibly know who you are if you can’t see the changes in your own reflection? Even though there are a hundred tiny reflections staring up at you. No! That simply won’t do! Each shard shows a fragmented imaged of you, a hundred differently angled shots of different fractions. Each shard captures each imperfection perfectly, and unfortunately there is seemingly a different flaw in each shard. At least when the mirror was whole, your faults were lost in abundance, as unattractive as it sounds it served its purpose. So you try to find a piece out of all the debris that fits into one of those few remaining shards in the original support. As you pick up the first shard, a small slash is opened on your finger. Oh, it’s only a small cut, one small cut never really hurt anyone! Well one turns out to not be enough, considering the first dozen shards did not fit the space desired. Finally, not long after a dozen small slashes a piece fits! …Only that’s one of a hundred more. Oh, Dear! So you spend all your time returning the mirror to its original glory, turning your fingers into shredded digits. At last, the mirror is whole once more. Except each piece is still distinct, each fault as obvious as it was previously. No, it was worse. This made possible by the fact that your reflection is hazed by smears of angry crimson. It warped an already twisted seeming image. Even when the wounds are bandaged, the blood is cleaned, the cracks in the mirror glued together nothing can truly be done to correct it! Even if the mirror was replaced, you would still see the same reflection as you did when you wiped the sweat from your forehead, looked at your “triumph”, and saw an image worse than before! You still see the tired face, the slumped posture, the streaming tears, and the bloody finger streaks. You will still feel that stabbing pain in your fingers where the scars botch your fingers. You still feel the overcoming feeling of hopeless misery. No matter how hard you try, your attempts will never amount to anything. Therefore neither will you. This logic is indeed distorted, but it doesn’t have to make sense in your mind, it only needs to hurt. Oh, and doesn’t it do that efficiently.
Well, Can You Survive Putting All The Pieces Of Life Together… I Don’t Think I Will!
Author: unatral_kreatur
Rating: M
Notes: Depressive story like poem, please ignore
So Life’s one big jigsaw puzzle, wouldn’t you agree? Not just one kind of jigsaw, oh wouldn’t that be convenient. No, it’s one or all of a number of puzzles. The quaint cardboard Jigsaw Puzzle teaches you, as a small child, the few simple lessons of life with innocence, with mercy. Alas, you get arrogant, you handled this puzzle with ease, so when warned of tests to come you simply dismiss them, Poppycock, it’s Childs play!
Arrogance, accomplishment’s unexpected gift, proves your ruin! Unexpected too is the Jigsaws to follow.
You stumble upon the meat puzzle, the detached corpse, left in pieces all over the ground. You could run, struggling to keep your insides inside or perhaps pick up the pieces and dispose of them. Or. It’s a sickening thought, yes, but what if… you stayed… and reattached the pieces?
You couldn’t just stick a couple of limbs into their respective sockets… no that would be too easy! You must return each organ, reattach those troublesome limbs, reconnect shattered bones. Oh, the best of all, one may say, is the restitching of the skin. The image becomes whole again, but not the same. Worse than not the same, it’s mutilated, despite your best attempts. You painstakingly went through each step, learning every single singularity, every little process. You know not just the anatomy, you know how they fit together, you know their processes, you know… All Too Much! You know so much it’s disturbing, it’s sickening, it’s perverted. In each face you see, you will still see the ghostly stitch marks hashed that corpses face. Eyes will hold no affection for you, they, instead, will be ghastly open doors to the souls of others. After all, you never could put the cadaver’s eyes back unmarked… to put it lightly!
Alas, the horrors you will see in others will never match those you see within yourself. Allow me to explain!
You see, there is another jigsaw puzzle of sorts, most likely to be the most complex type. A broken mirror. Where you stood, instead of looking into a reflection of yourself, you look at a frame, or stand, or whatever held the mirror that all that’s left of is but a few shards. They instead lay scattered around your feet. For some unknown reason, you desperately crave your own reflection, how else could you possibly know who you are if you can’t see the changes in your own reflection? Even though there are a hundred tiny reflections staring up at you. No! That simply won’t do! Each shard shows a fragmented imaged of you, a hundred differently angled shots of different fractions. Each shard captures each imperfection perfectly, and unfortunately there is seemingly a different flaw in each shard. At least when the mirror was whole, your faults were lost in abundance, as unattractive as it sounds it served its purpose. So you try to find a piece out of all the debris that fits into one of those few remaining shards in the original support. As you pick up the first shard, a small slash is opened on your finger. Oh, it’s only a small cut, one small cut never really hurt anyone! Well one turns out to not be enough, considering the first dozen shards did not fit the space desired. Finally, not long after a dozen small slashes a piece fits! …Only that’s one of a hundred more. Oh, Dear! So you spend all your time returning the mirror to its original glory, turning your fingers into shredded digits. At last, the mirror is whole once more. Except each piece is still distinct, each fault as obvious as it was previously. No, it was worse. This made possible by the fact that your reflection is hazed by smears of angry crimson. It warped an already twisted seeming image. Even when the wounds are bandaged, the blood is cleaned, the cracks in the mirror glued together nothing can truly be done to correct it! Even if the mirror was replaced, you would still see the same reflection as you did when you wiped the sweat from your forehead, looked at your “triumph”, and saw an image worse than before! You still see the tired face, the slumped posture, the streaming tears, and the bloody finger streaks. You will still feel that stabbing pain in your fingers where the scars botch your fingers. You still feel the overcoming feeling of hopeless misery. No matter how hard you try, your attempts will never amount to anything. Therefore neither will you. This logic is indeed distorted, but it doesn’t have to make sense in your mind, it only needs to hurt. Oh, and doesn’t it do that efficiently.
Well, Can You Survive Putting All The Pieces Of Life Together… I Don’t Think I Will!