Status: Taking a slightly (or not) dark turn with this one. UPDATE: It's gonna be dark.
The Conductor
One Shot to Forgetting
Arms.
Legs.
Hands.
Feet.
Torso.
Neck.
Head.
“Connect with the screws…”
Nose.
Mouth.
Lips.
Eyes.
“Carve and paint…”
Hair.
Clothes.
“Sew, stitch, and glue…”
Strings.
“Another final product.”
I hung the girl from the ceiling, joining the other products – new and old.
“Say hello to your new friends.”
She’ll have to say good-bye, however, when someone purchases her.
I remained where I was, eyeing the collection – boys and girls, men and women, animals, clowns, etcetera.
Always watching me, looking down at me – always without a word.
Always a painful reminder.
The door opened with a loud creak! as a woman entered with a small boy.
I moved away from the collection to greet them.
“Mum! Look at all of ‘em!”
The boy left his mother’s side to marvel at the collection.
“You are Michael Bohn, correct? My son and I heard about your remarkable marionettes and we were hoping we could purchase one.” The woman spoke up, watching her son with amusement.
I gave the woman a small smile and led her to where her son was.
“Is there anything in particular that you are looking for?”
I wasn’t surprised when he pointed out the marionette of a French soldier.
I took it down and handed it to him – he didn’t hesitate to pretend it was in a battle with false sounds of gunfire and cannons.
“How much for it?”
“Whatever amount that you want to pay for it.”
She handed me two pieces of silver, thanked me, and walked off with the boy.
Last visitor of the day.
I closed the door and locked it, turning off the lights and making my way up the stairs in the back.
I sat at my desk, undoing my bowtie and the first three buttons of my shirt.
Papers and books were scattered all over – I can’t be bother to clean up.
I reached for the flask, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to my lips, swallowing the bitter liquid.
One shot to forgetting…
I ran a hand through my hair and sat back in the chair, bringing the flask back to my lips.
Blood.
Another drink.
More blood.
Another drink.
My wife and our unborn child.
I finished the rest of the flask, tears pouring down my face as sobs racked through my body.
Six shots to falling in the end...
Lonely.
I’m lonely and it hurts.
It hurts so much.
Legs.
Hands.
Feet.
Torso.
Neck.
Head.
“Connect with the screws…”
Nose.
Mouth.
Lips.
Eyes.
“Carve and paint…”
Hair.
Clothes.
“Sew, stitch, and glue…”
Strings.
“Another final product.”
I hung the girl from the ceiling, joining the other products – new and old.
“Say hello to your new friends.”
She’ll have to say good-bye, however, when someone purchases her.
I remained where I was, eyeing the collection – boys and girls, men and women, animals, clowns, etcetera.
Always watching me, looking down at me – always without a word.
Always a painful reminder.
The door opened with a loud creak! as a woman entered with a small boy.
I moved away from the collection to greet them.
“Mum! Look at all of ‘em!”
The boy left his mother’s side to marvel at the collection.
“You are Michael Bohn, correct? My son and I heard about your remarkable marionettes and we were hoping we could purchase one.” The woman spoke up, watching her son with amusement.
I gave the woman a small smile and led her to where her son was.
“Is there anything in particular that you are looking for?”
I wasn’t surprised when he pointed out the marionette of a French soldier.
I took it down and handed it to him – he didn’t hesitate to pretend it was in a battle with false sounds of gunfire and cannons.
“How much for it?”
“Whatever amount that you want to pay for it.”
She handed me two pieces of silver, thanked me, and walked off with the boy.
Last visitor of the day.
I closed the door and locked it, turning off the lights and making my way up the stairs in the back.
I sat at my desk, undoing my bowtie and the first three buttons of my shirt.
Papers and books were scattered all over – I can’t be bother to clean up.
I reached for the flask, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to my lips, swallowing the bitter liquid.
One shot to forgetting…
I ran a hand through my hair and sat back in the chair, bringing the flask back to my lips.
Blood.
Another drink.
More blood.
Another drink.
My wife and our unborn child.
I finished the rest of the flask, tears pouring down my face as sobs racked through my body.
Six shots to falling in the end...
Lonely.
I’m lonely and it hurts.
It hurts so much.
♠ ♠ ♠
Starting another Tyler/Michael fic for those of you who are now boarding the ship (hehe)This one is going to be kind of dark though.
Comment and tell me what you think so far, lovelies!
'Til the next chapter!
Title credit: "[&] Delinquents" -- Woe, Is Me