Ernst what was it like killing your own mother?
Behind his placated features, flatten lips drawn in a thin line across his face, pulling down wrinkles in an expression of easily forced neutrality, the Dollmaker’s thoughts were whirling. His eyes flashed subtly with the array of repressed memories that were bubbling to the brink of his mind, breaking into his train of thought with the sound of suddenly splintering bones, the tearing of skin and muscle fibres. Despite the sprawling decades between their production and the current moment, they sounded just as fresh and alarming. Cracking and shredding, each drawn out in agonisingly long moments. So vibrant, alive. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, seemingly unbothered.
Back when it had happened he’d been merely pushing into his young adulthood, body not fleshed out just yet. Leaving him all gangly limbs, bony elbows and buckled knees. Akin to a barely maturing animal in his lack of grace, and stumbling momentum. Yet, he was still just as tall as curreny, shoulders splayed and strong with wiry muscles. His mother had stood no chance, really.
“ It was.. ” A low shuddering, sigh rattled out of his lungs, morphing his words into something harsh and whispering, almost delirious and rife with wandering recollections, “.. CATHARTIC, I suppose. ” That was an understatement.
Each crunch of the bones, the split of wrists and ankles, the rips as he buried unkempt nails into flesh and tore! Even now, well into his sixties he was impressed by himself, he doubted very much he could do such a thing now. Perhaps the sheer fury had allowed him to be so animalistic - to persist in such violent acts even through the screeching and wailing that his mother had emitted.
That was the thing he found most peculiar, despite the vividness of every other aspect the sounds - the begging and pleading for him to “Stop!” - were muted. Muffled. Barely perceived by him back then and refusing to traverse the years and find their way back to him now.
He pursed his lips. “ As far a I’m concerned, she wasn’t really a mother - she birthed me, of course. But that BITCH deserved to be torn to shreds. ” The man grunted. “ It was fine. ”