create something in my workshop.
a puppet.
your piece may be simplistic, but it is no doubt a skilled and precise creation. every detail of its costume is just as you meant it to be. every one of the strings is tied neatly, perfectly measured, responsive and resilient. the puppet’s limbs move with an ease that is a pleasure to watch. when you control it, it dances just as it does in your head: all of your impulses made material. at least, it does for a while. the more it dances, the more it seems to have a mind of its own. that’s how you rationalize it, when the puppet starts to jerk and stall at inopportune moments, when its limbs catch on each other, when it tangles itself in its strings. nobody else seems to see it. nobody else believes you, when you tell them that the puppet is moving itself, but there’s no other explanation. there’s no other reason that it shouldn’t respond to you. you had control. you should still have control. your friends tell you that they’re worried about you, but there are bigger problems at hand. you bounce between wanting to destroy the puppet, wanting to freeze it in resin, wanting to rebuild it entirely. your increasing desperation presses that something has to be done. this is something you’re supposed to be able to control. you don’t know what to do if you lose that.