Little Vices
It begins impercetibly. A nidnight adventure, a bite of sugar, ruminating on terrors past, present, and future. The little daily things that comfort me, the little things that compel me. I can feel strings wrap around my limbs, my heart, my mind; those little electrified lines that jerk me around and scramble my mind. Little habits built up over a decade have taken on a new meaning. A storm builds, generated by the buzzing of the wires. Have I eaten too much? Have I slept enough? Am I overthinking as I am prone to do? Its inevitable. I can't escape the strings wrapped tight around me and oh they pull so sweetly.
Betrayal
My body has a mind of its own. The first sign of treachery is a tremor or a visual distortion. The world zooms in and out at the same time and takes my stability with it. Those electrified lines curl tighter and a current runs up my spine and into the back of my head. A live wire of the body's own making. Those strings that surround me are not those of some external puppetmaster. They are the instrument of treachery from within and yet, they cannot possibly be coming from me. My left arm curls and bends of its own accord, grasping at something I cannot see but must be important. Why else would it dispose any sense of belonging to the whole? That arm is not mine anymore.
Sometimes insurrection is contagious. When one limb begs for freedom, others will soon follow. The easiest way to disrupt a system is to stop participating in it. When the time is right, my legs shutter their factory doors and turn out the lights. The world turns dark and I next find myself on the floor, my glasses imprinted in my face. They still belong to me but their cooperation is corrupted at times like these. At times when they know their voice will be heard.
And when their song cries loud enough to shake the earth, the only thing left is a cataclysm. An earthquake ripples through me as each limb, every muscle riots and screams with jubilation at their newfound freedom. I can do nothing but watch and wait in darkness and agony until they grow tired of their revolution. Inevitably they return to me, languishing in silence from the exertion.
