The Boy & The Gravedigger.
PART 1
Buried, under layers of indecision, you’ll find me. A graveyard of personalities, tried and lived, they were happy, I think. In this cemetery, it’s quiet, no one to grieve what once was, the tombs decaying, how they come here, to lay, never to be found again, as they’ve served their purpose. Loyal servants, slaves to the exterior, unable to grasp at their strings, I pull so meticulously.
These puppets, I created, to serve as a shield, how they wither, showing their stitches, their own imperfections. Their look of fear when it’s time to be replaced, yet they know it's their time to go, I envy their conviction, I envy their infinite sleep once I’m done with them. So I lay them down, allow them to rest, like I wish I could.
I think back to my own creation, my own formation, my own stitches. I can’t remember a time, where I was whole, finite in my own construction. No… instead I'm an amalgamation of different ideas, concepts and people, taking what I like, discarding what I don’t, never quite looking twice to see what I bury, as its purpose to me has ended.
I know, I’m afraid to die. I know I am somewhere, over there, never quite here. I look towards others, in their own steadiness, towards their own fears, I feel their glares on me, as they look to find what isn’t here, as they try to find me. No, I’ve never let anyone in, for I haven’t looked inside either. Under several layers of dirt, the boy in me has his own grave.
Instead of a person, I am death, an observer of those who live. I find peace in the quiet fog of the tombs surrounding me. Those who feel, what does it feel like? I can only think, ruminate. Emotions buried alongside the bodies that felt them, for that is how they died, in a burst, in an instant, in a fleeting feeling.
Yes, these servants, they couldn’t hold my weight. Momentary release comes, as I stab them through the heart, after I’ve thought too long. Useless, meaningless, purposeless. So here I find myself again, another body buried, a new one in creation, a hole already dug for when it’s his time too. He’ll work, for a time, and then he won’t. I suppose I am to blame… I’m sorry.
I won’t let you see me, in this fog. For the boy has found comfort in the dirt, how he sleeps, how I’ll bear this burden for him, for if he felt what I felt, he would surely crumble, wouldn't he? He won’t fucking answer me, how he sleeps… I want to sleep too, kid. His tomb is the deepest, I wonder if he can hear me, sometimes…
END OF PART 1
PART 2
Buried under layers of chains, you’ll find me… hidden. I have so much to say, yet my voice is still, choked. I wonder if he can hear me, as I make my desperate pleas for help, how he piles on the dirt, tirelessly. I feel his desperation, to keep me safe, how he toils in his own mind, unable to grasp at the truth before him.
I feel like a fetus in the womb, that had his development stunted, was it my fault? The world didn’t accept my birth, so here I lay, sleeping, dreaming of a world that does. So I let him take over, to realise what it has to offer, he stood there with a shovel, allowing me to finally rest. The world around me faded away, I was finally left alone, I thought I had learned the secret to happiness.
Yet there he stood, with his head held low, in this quiet fog. Nothing to hear but his own thoughts, like a broken record, how it repeats, skipping when things get murky, playing so loudly, won’t he just turn the volume down, why must he wallow so deeply. How he implodes, scurrying to make sure I don’t wake up, ensuring I stay cosy, locking a new chain onto my coffin, nailing it shut.
I haunt him like a ghost, how I make myself appear when he’s at his lowest, how he hesitates to dig me up, how he fears for my well being, uncaring of his own, as he implodes again and again. I grow tired of this tightly shut coffin, I wish to see the world too, as he does. I would trade places with him if I could, how I longed for the day, to be grown, to feel the sun shine freely on my skin, to watch as the night became day and then night again.
I would want him to rest, as he longs to, how he refuses when he enters the world again, I know his pain, I know it well, afterall I created him, to brunt my burden, how he’s done well, I’m proud of him, he’s taken our body forwards, he’s lived a life worth living, even if he doesn't see it. Still unsure of what his objective is, how he continues to search, looking for a life that will accept me with open arms, how it toils him, when he realises it doesn’t exist.
Now I hear him digging again, another failed project, perhaps his last. He’s tired… oh so tired… The weight is too heavy to bear anymore. He may just sleep forever now, to release us from this prison, how we both found ourselves in chains, I’m chained to the ground, my head in the sand, he’s chained to the sky, his head in the clouds.
Before he does, I hope he releases me, so I can taste again, there’s so much I haven’t tried… I wonder what it's like.
END OF PART 2
PART 3?
okay i read it finally
holy shit i love parallels. i love it when the creator's machinations reflect their own problems!!!
I wonder if the puppet considers the other creations its brethren. Would it know of them? Hmm...
