“once” is an exaggeration, there have been many boys in stories before this and this will not be the last.
rather, there once was a boy who played with toys.
still not terribly original, is it?
there once was a boy who, instead of being fascinated with how toys were built, how they were created and why, was fascinated with how the toys broke.
like many boys before him and like many boys after him, he was lonely. neglect is always a root from which violent vines tend to wind.
his father, a busy man who could no longer love a woman but only love a bottle, wasn’t terribly great company for the boy. but his father gave him toys to play with, so he was grateful.
but sometimes it wasn’t enough. he needed attention.
he rough housed with the toys, pulling arms on dolls until they snapped off, carefully calculating the angles and force it took for it to finally break, watching the different reactions a rubix cube would have to a variety of forces (blunt, piercing, shattering) until his father noticed. and was met with a silent grimace as each toy was replaced.
this went on for some time, this cycle of attention seeking destruction, until one day the boy happened upon a toy he hadn’t seen before. he treated it like every other before it: a means to an end, a source of entertainment in watching as he could methodically make it break. but this toy was resilient. no matter how hard the boy pulled, no matter the drop or time of submersion in a tub of water, the toy only showed minimal signs of wear.
the boy was getting frustrated because of this resilience, he wasn’t getting what he had set out for. though his time was occupied, and he enjoyed the time spent with the toy, it wasn’t serving its purpose like all his previous toys had. but he was determined.
everything has a breaking point.
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
