Chell & Ginger Farro
favorite color: red
Assignment 6: Doll
Lay another needle into me. Press hard against my broken frame. I promise to listen attentively to your every complaint. Though your wish is beyond my power, I shall do my best to comfort your pain. I will hang eagerly upon that you wish to set free from its binding. I may not understand your anger, nor comprehend your suffering, but still I will do all in my power to be that which you need.
And when you are done release me upon the cold dark ground. Leave me there among the marbles, comics and other relics of your past. I will wait here patiently for your next request to manifest. Grateful I shall be that you have not forgotten my existence.
Go ahead and lay another pin against my stitched on heart. Cut my body apart with your razor, I am bothered not. The pain you lay upon my body is little to withstand, when compared to the alternative of never resting within your hand.
And though when our bodies meet it is certain mine will endure pain. I am glad you have found for me a purpose that still lasts, after all the others are forgotten, and left to rot away. I still find myself in your favor, each and every day. I thank you for the suffering, and happily request that you persist. So long as you will promise me, that tomorrow I will still exist.
And when you are done release me upon the cold dark ground. Leave me there among the marbles, comics and other relics of your past. I will wait here patiently for your next request to manifest. Grateful I shall be that you have not forgotten my existence.
Go ahead and lay another pin against my stitched on heart. Cut my body apart with your razor, I am bothered not. The pain you lay upon my body is little to withstand, when compared to the alternative of never resting within your hand.
And though when our bodies meet it is certain mine will endure pain. I am glad you have found for me a purpose that still lasts, after all the others are forgotten, and left to rot away. I still find myself in your favor, each and every day. I thank you for the suffering, and happily request that you persist. So long as you will promise me, that tomorrow I will still exist.
Assignment 5: Zydrate Anatomy
Wait patiently in the room made for it. The stench of rotted flesh veiled faintly by the smoke of a cigarette. Surround yourself with beauty thought attainable, for a small cost not too difficult to afford. Does the pain of the knife outweigh the pain of knowing you are far from that which you strive to attain? Does the beauty around you hollow your soul? Does it separate you from your reality?
Further your trip down the rabbit hole, and find that perfection you long to possess. While you wait for your ideal, hide from the present, hide from the bitter shame it invokes. Needles, a vile, a small dose at first, satisfy your craving with but a taste. As the pain grows stronger, and the veil thins, stronger doses your body craves. And do you give in to these cravings? Do you try to accept that your showroom thighs do not match your mother’s womb nose? Has the blood turned toxic within your veins? Does it resist the urge to flow?
How many days must you sit and wait to attain that which can never be gained? Even as they cut you know this. Even as you inject you know it can never numb you enough. Still, you crave, you cut deeper, chasing the rabbit once more. Is it delusion that drives you or is it addiction? Can you tell the difference anymore? Flaunt your new chest proudly, brag about your brand new cheeks. Are they as high as you will be, once you realize that the knife has changed nothing, and nothing is all you possess.
Further your trip down the rabbit hole, and find that perfection you long to possess. While you wait for your ideal, hide from the present, hide from the bitter shame it invokes. Needles, a vile, a small dose at first, satisfy your craving with but a taste. As the pain grows stronger, and the veil thins, stronger doses your body craves. And do you give in to these cravings? Do you try to accept that your showroom thighs do not match your mother’s womb nose? Has the blood turned toxic within your veins? Does it resist the urge to flow?
How many days must you sit and wait to attain that which can never be gained? Even as they cut you know this. Even as you inject you know it can never numb you enough. Still, you crave, you cut deeper, chasing the rabbit once more. Is it delusion that drives you or is it addiction? Can you tell the difference anymore? Flaunt your new chest proudly, brag about your brand new cheeks. Are they as high as you will be, once you realize that the knife has changed nothing, and nothing is all you possess.
Assignment 4: See No Evil
Born on the same day from the same womb, Cheryl and Charlotte were always together. They shared everything, including a room, always close to one another. Cheryl considered Charlotte her very best friend, and would do anything for her. Charlotte said little, but always stayed close, her eyes growing more distant with each and every picture.
Those pictures gathered in piles on the floor, in collections for each of the sisters. Cheryl would paste them in scrapbooks adorn in ribbon. Charlotte would cover them with hexes. Years upon years in the very same room, lead her to despise their closeness.
Still loyal was Cheryl, and loyal she stayed, despite the warnings of others. Her heart is cold and calculating they would say. Cheryl would hear nothing of it. Time passed by, and years collected, Cheryl remained ever the same. Charlotte plotted her means of escape, and casualties were expected to be claimed.
Then the night came cold and dark, Charlotte greeted her sister kindly. Together they did the things sisters do, shopping, and gossiping and laughing. Cheryl was chipper, Charlotte was patient the night would end in violence. When Cheryl was found Charlotte went missing, with all the answers the authorities wanted.
The years continued and Charlotte stayed hidden, while Cheryl was left to rot. Accusers angered by cruelty unanswered never gave up the hunt. Year after year, the family gathered together on the day of their birth. Flowers adorned a grave claimed to quickly, tears flowed freely over it. Until the morning, a gift on the grave left the masses in silence. A scrapbook adorned in ribbon, pictures collected within it. Upon the last page an inscription in blood, “I warned you Charlotte I would do it.”
Those pictures gathered in piles on the floor, in collections for each of the sisters. Cheryl would paste them in scrapbooks adorn in ribbon. Charlotte would cover them with hexes. Years upon years in the very same room, lead her to despise their closeness.
Still loyal was Cheryl, and loyal she stayed, despite the warnings of others. Her heart is cold and calculating they would say. Cheryl would hear nothing of it. Time passed by, and years collected, Cheryl remained ever the same. Charlotte plotted her means of escape, and casualties were expected to be claimed.
Then the night came cold and dark, Charlotte greeted her sister kindly. Together they did the things sisters do, shopping, and gossiping and laughing. Cheryl was chipper, Charlotte was patient the night would end in violence. When Cheryl was found Charlotte went missing, with all the answers the authorities wanted.
The years continued and Charlotte stayed hidden, while Cheryl was left to rot. Accusers angered by cruelty unanswered never gave up the hunt. Year after year, the family gathered together on the day of their birth. Flowers adorned a grave claimed to quickly, tears flowed freely over it. Until the morning, a gift on the grave left the masses in silence. A scrapbook adorned in ribbon, pictures collected within it. Upon the last page an inscription in blood, “I warned you Charlotte I would do it.”
Assignment 3: Undead
Come quickly to me, my lover, my tormentor, my executioner in kind. With my last breath so shall die your secret shame, so none can know what you have done. Was it not you that called to me in the mornings, pleading that my affection be yours? But now that your pleasure has darkened, it is fear that guides your steps. What should be your punishment if she should discover your misdeeds? Would your penalty be a brutal as you have made mine?
Bind me tightly in the darkness, so never my lips shall utter your disgrace. Words are not needed for vengeance, nor an audience to know what you have done. In darkness you have destroyed me, and in darkness so shall I return. With quieted steps I shall lay out the path you yourself took to lead me to my fate. Soulless shall I come to you, numb to the words that once held me tight. Without soul I shall be immune to your pleading, without heart I will not hesitate. With cold steal I shall bind you to your fate, and expose you to heart you chose over mine. Let her see your blood as it runs cold upon her hands. The same blood you have corrupted with your deeds. Let her feel the pain you yourself have wrought.
Thus no other shall feel your warmth, and no other will endure your pain. No breath shall you waste with you lies, and no innocent shall fall to your charms. Death does not wipe the slate clean, nor does it undo your harms. And together we shall walk once more witness to the happiness of the world around us, but incapable of embracing it’s warmth.
Bind me tightly in the darkness, so never my lips shall utter your disgrace. Words are not needed for vengeance, nor an audience to know what you have done. In darkness you have destroyed me, and in darkness so shall I return. With quieted steps I shall lay out the path you yourself took to lead me to my fate. Soulless shall I come to you, numb to the words that once held me tight. Without soul I shall be immune to your pleading, without heart I will not hesitate. With cold steal I shall bind you to your fate, and expose you to heart you chose over mine. Let her see your blood as it runs cold upon her hands. The same blood you have corrupted with your deeds. Let her feel the pain you yourself have wrought.
Thus no other shall feel your warmth, and no other will endure your pain. No breath shall you waste with you lies, and no innocent shall fall to your charms. Death does not wipe the slate clean, nor does it undo your harms. And together we shall walk once more witness to the happiness of the world around us, but incapable of embracing it’s warmth.
Assignment 2: Loss
Gracefully she twirls across the floor, her body adorned in ribbon and tulle. The audience cheers, their eyes shine with pride, as she moves about the wooden stage. Within her world of castles and fantasy she rules with a childish charm. All her domain adores her, and that world can do her no harm.
The clock ticks away the years without remorse. With each year the magic fades. Suddenly the world grows cold as steel and cuts like the sharped knife. In the moment she knows what the stranger with candy desires, or sees where the unwanted creatures go. When words lose their meaning and promises are as disposable as tissue paper crumpled on the floor.
Once upon a time she could do no wrong, but as the numbers grow so does her guilt. Accountable for the things others have done wrong, accountable for what others may do. The simple joys grow corrupted, with agendas hidden beneath. Stipulations and exclusions dependent on the things she is expected to be.
The world is no longer kind to her, and her ignorance is no longer an excuse. The darkness hides within the light, and of this she grows fully aware. What will it take to garner the attention that in her youth was given with ease? What will it take to draw the love of which her cravings steadily increase?
Stripped away abruptly, and taken without remorse. The innocence of youth so precious, yet cast too quickly into the past. The hands of time move swiftly, ushering her into the night. Left upon the floor are her dreams of princes and castles and happily ever after.
Now she twirls across the floor, her body adorned in ribbon and tulle. The audience cheers, though their eyes reflect something much different than before. She still moves above the stages, and still she likes to dream. Dreams of escape, or recaptured grace in desperation her heart pleads. Somewhere deep inside her soul she calls out to the little girl gone, though those cries can never be answered once the innocence is lost.
The clock ticks away the years without remorse. With each year the magic fades. Suddenly the world grows cold as steel and cuts like the sharped knife. In the moment she knows what the stranger with candy desires, or sees where the unwanted creatures go. When words lose their meaning and promises are as disposable as tissue paper crumpled on the floor.
Once upon a time she could do no wrong, but as the numbers grow so does her guilt. Accountable for the things others have done wrong, accountable for what others may do. The simple joys grow corrupted, with agendas hidden beneath. Stipulations and exclusions dependent on the things she is expected to be.
The world is no longer kind to her, and her ignorance is no longer an excuse. The darkness hides within the light, and of this she grows fully aware. What will it take to garner the attention that in her youth was given with ease? What will it take to draw the love of which her cravings steadily increase?
Stripped away abruptly, and taken without remorse. The innocence of youth so precious, yet cast too quickly into the past. The hands of time move swiftly, ushering her into the night. Left upon the floor are her dreams of princes and castles and happily ever after.
Now she twirls across the floor, her body adorned in ribbon and tulle. The audience cheers, though their eyes reflect something much different than before. She still moves above the stages, and still she likes to dream. Dreams of escape, or recaptured grace in desperation her heart pleads. Somewhere deep inside her soul she calls out to the little girl gone, though those cries can never be answered once the innocence is lost.
Assignment 1: Hidden
I awake and she wakes with me, echoing my every move. She follows with the precision of a razor cutting sharp lines in my consciousness, allowing no escape. With each footfall I hear her voice, questioning my every move, criticizing my every thought. She is angry, always so angry, and spiteful and jealous. She keeps away the light, and forces me to stay with her, always with her, in the abys that spirals down.
And down is where she takes us; even as I lead my own steps they always follow the same path. She stands aside but still she guides me, to the places where I know I am alone.
Silent I stand with my companion, cold and still in the dark. Her words torment me, with warnings of faltering, and failure, griping my soul in a contorted pose. She delivers attacks like needles stuck deep beneath the skin, making even the slightest attempt to escape torture. She is the bane of my existence, and yet I wish nothing more than to set her free.
Thus I bid my demons welcome, gathering them close to me amidst the candle light. Let us revel together in our misery, let us scream at the shadows that expand into the darkness beyond. We are not welcome beyond this place, where we writhe in our self-imposed confinement. Our path is twisted and gnarled too dense for our escape. Our position offers up but two options, neither of which is chosen with ease. Continue to abide by the rules of seclusion, or fight the monsters that torture me.
I am no warrior, my resolve is not strong. I crumble far too easily to the breeze let alone a cast stone. She knows this, and taunts my weakness. If I had the strength I would lay the blade to her, silencing her finally in a moment of peace. But this I cannot do, she knows this and further taunts, leaving me the only recourse within me. I shatter her image with furious blows, reducing her to shards. She is broken, but this was true before the mirror reflected her so. She was broken a very long time ago.
And down is where she takes us; even as I lead my own steps they always follow the same path. She stands aside but still she guides me, to the places where I know I am alone.
Silent I stand with my companion, cold and still in the dark. Her words torment me, with warnings of faltering, and failure, griping my soul in a contorted pose. She delivers attacks like needles stuck deep beneath the skin, making even the slightest attempt to escape torture. She is the bane of my existence, and yet I wish nothing more than to set her free.
Thus I bid my demons welcome, gathering them close to me amidst the candle light. Let us revel together in our misery, let us scream at the shadows that expand into the darkness beyond. We are not welcome beyond this place, where we writhe in our self-imposed confinement. Our path is twisted and gnarled too dense for our escape. Our position offers up but two options, neither of which is chosen with ease. Continue to abide by the rules of seclusion, or fight the monsters that torture me.
I am no warrior, my resolve is not strong. I crumble far too easily to the breeze let alone a cast stone. She knows this, and taunts my weakness. If I had the strength I would lay the blade to her, silencing her finally in a moment of peace. But this I cannot do, she knows this and further taunts, leaving me the only recourse within me. I shatter her image with furious blows, reducing her to shards. She is broken, but this was true before the mirror reflected her so. She was broken a very long time ago.