Thin
Madness.
It is the night after your sister's funeral.
Madness is invading.
This is mass hysteria. It must be stopped.
Stopped at all costs, whether the cost be billions of pounds the government doesn't have, or your life.
You wonder. Is madness enough to stop the future commencing? Like fighting fire with fire, fight disease with disease? Or has the future aready started?
What if there is no future?
Your sister's funeral cut you up, all kinds of ways.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the maddest of them all?
You see the gauzy gleam in your eyes, tearing up, the trembling ofyour lips. Fingers twitching, absolutely and completely unable to keep still.
Madness, hah. Who needs it?
You need it.
You crave it, day in, day out. Rain or shine. Without madness, you would have been dead long ago. Without madness, you'd have been unable to accept the terms of your contract for Government's Plaything.
Without madness, you'd be unable to assist the human race with its death. Madness allows you to be unashamed of what you've done. Madness gives you power to remain upright and shallow.
How could this world exist without it? Without you?
Maybe it was madness that killed your sister, madness that buried her. Madness that made her follow you. Maybe it is madness that is killing the world, for madness has the potential to destroy everything. Madness is more intoxicating than alcohol. Drugs. The need to be Thin. Your face.
Or maybe it's madness that the world is being killed at all.
You stand up, stretch. You sit down again. Stand up once more.
You have work to do.
- - -
All is quiet on the battlefield today. It's unnerving, creepy.
Mad.
You stand, awkwardly holding your weapon at arms' length, pointing at the danger ahead.
Those half-rusted, half-blunt scissors reflect the light from the hotel lamp. It is two in the morning. Madness has kept you awake.
For madness never sleeps.
You pause, your feet shoulder-length apart, bracing for the blow that will come. What to expect from madness this hideous morning?
You pause, and think. Think without a pattern, without a reason. You do not think rationally anymore. What will you cut this hideous morning?
Hair, wrists, or throat?
Any of the three would kill you, and kill you quickly.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the maddest of them all?
You smile, half-crazed from lack of sleep after the invasion of the madness.
You raise the scissors high, and tilt back your head. You should've been an actress. Just look at how convincing you look. Like you could kill yourself at any moment now. Like you could cut out your vocal chords to save yourself from screaming and being stopped. Perfect timing, perfect expressions.
Lights, camera, action!
Cue the death of the main character.
You watch the mad girl in the mirror cut off all her hair.
You really should have been an actress. You would only have had to play the part of Mass Murderer, instead of being one.
You watch the mad girl in the mirror. How happy she looks. You sigh, and the mad girl looks sad and tired, too.
You watch the mad girl in the mirror as she tenderly curls each lock of chocolate hair around her pinki finger before she cuts it off. How hungry she looks. You watch as she takes a wild swipe at a clump of hair above her left ear, and you watch as her mad expression changes.
You watch her put a damp cloth over the wound. You watch as her mouth turns downwards, and the gauzy gleam in her eyes starts to spill over.
You watch as the mad girl in the mirror throws away her control and power and sobs. You watch as the blood stains the cloth. You watch her trash the hotel room, scratch and claw at herself. You watch the mad girl in the mirror ruin herself.
You watch as she lays down on the bed, and you experience a throbbing ache that you cannot seem to stop. Why are you aching?
Madness is on your mind, as well as that poor mad girl in the mirror. Is she okay?
Gosh, doesn't she look familiar?
You have no energy to puzzle it out. You curl up into a ball like the child you are, and tune everything out, a talent.
Forget the consequences. They only ever caused you pain.
Madness is invading.
This is mass hysteria. It must be stopped.
Stopped at all costs, whether the cost be billions of pounds the government doesn't have, or your life.
You wonder. Is madness enough to stop the future commencing? Like fighting fire with fire, fight disease with disease? Or has the future aready started?
What if there is no future?
Your sister's funeral cut you up, all kinds of ways.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the maddest of them all?
You see the gauzy gleam in your eyes, tearing up, the trembling ofyour lips. Fingers twitching, absolutely and completely unable to keep still.
Madness, hah. Who needs it?
You need it.
You crave it, day in, day out. Rain or shine. Without madness, you would have been dead long ago. Without madness, you'd have been unable to accept the terms of your contract for Government's Plaything.
Without madness, you'd be unable to assist the human race with its death. Madness allows you to be unashamed of what you've done. Madness gives you power to remain upright and shallow.
How could this world exist without it? Without you?
Maybe it was madness that killed your sister, madness that buried her. Madness that made her follow you. Maybe it is madness that is killing the world, for madness has the potential to destroy everything. Madness is more intoxicating than alcohol. Drugs. The need to be Thin. Your face.
Or maybe it's madness that the world is being killed at all.
You stand up, stretch. You sit down again. Stand up once more.
You have work to do.
- - -
All is quiet on the battlefield today. It's unnerving, creepy.
Mad.
You stand, awkwardly holding your weapon at arms' length, pointing at the danger ahead.
Those half-rusted, half-blunt scissors reflect the light from the hotel lamp. It is two in the morning. Madness has kept you awake.
For madness never sleeps.
You pause, your feet shoulder-length apart, bracing for the blow that will come. What to expect from madness this hideous morning?
You pause, and think. Think without a pattern, without a reason. You do not think rationally anymore. What will you cut this hideous morning?
Hair, wrists, or throat?
Any of the three would kill you, and kill you quickly.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the maddest of them all?
You smile, half-crazed from lack of sleep after the invasion of the madness.
You raise the scissors high, and tilt back your head. You should've been an actress. Just look at how convincing you look. Like you could kill yourself at any moment now. Like you could cut out your vocal chords to save yourself from screaming and being stopped. Perfect timing, perfect expressions.
Lights, camera, action!
Cue the death of the main character.
You watch the mad girl in the mirror cut off all her hair.
You really should have been an actress. You would only have had to play the part of Mass Murderer, instead of being one.
You watch the mad girl in the mirror. How happy she looks. You sigh, and the mad girl looks sad and tired, too.
You watch the mad girl in the mirror as she tenderly curls each lock of chocolate hair around her pinki finger before she cuts it off. How hungry she looks. You watch as she takes a wild swipe at a clump of hair above her left ear, and you watch as her mad expression changes.
You watch her put a damp cloth over the wound. You watch as her mouth turns downwards, and the gauzy gleam in her eyes starts to spill over.
You watch as the mad girl in the mirror throws away her control and power and sobs. You watch as the blood stains the cloth. You watch her trash the hotel room, scratch and claw at herself. You watch the mad girl in the mirror ruin herself.
You watch as she lays down on the bed, and you experience a throbbing ache that you cannot seem to stop. Why are you aching?
Madness is on your mind, as well as that poor mad girl in the mirror. Is she okay?
Gosh, doesn't she look familiar?
You have no energy to puzzle it out. You curl up into a ball like the child you are, and tune everything out, a talent.
Forget the consequences. They only ever caused you pain.