Vicarious

United States

[Nana O. | she/her]
est. 6/19/20
14│INTJ-T│pianist│writer│Christian│Slytherin
*A walking contradiction*
"writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers," - Isaac Asimov

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Message from Writer

Semi-hiatus? (Not as active as before)
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Lit. Journals I've been published in:
Don't hesitate to submit to any of these; it'll be worth it :)
- Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine
- Ice Lolly Review
- Elysian Muse Magazine
- Blue Keys Magazine
- The Natural Journal
- Everybody Talks Literary Journal
- Grits Quarterly
- Interstellar Literary Review
- Velvet Fields Literary Magazine
- Blue Things Zine
- The Hearth Magazine
- The Qualia Review (forthcoming)

The Liberated Marionette

August 5, 2020

FREE WRITING

2
As I slowly open up my eyes, I feel a forceful tug at my arm.
My legs on the other hand, are being twisted into peculiar angles.
My emotionless expression is being contorted into a large grin. 
That must mean only one thing- it is time for work. 

For years, I have been controlled by them.
I've lost all ability to move freely.
I've lost all ability to speak freely.
And lastly, I've mastered the art of apathy.

Day after day, my frail body is being manipulated by those wicked strings.
My arms & legs fluctuate in a laborious manner.
My eyes are fighting the urge to close while my mouth is fighting the urge to scream.
This process continues until the clock strikes nine.
My spiritless body falls to the floor...
Which also means only one thing- work is over.

It's an ongoing cycle.
Every second, minute, hour, resembling the previous day...
Up until now.

THUMP. 
My hardened body comes first, it slumps down to the cool green grass.
I soon feel my strings delicately fall among my side.
My limbs no longer feel numb.
Wobbling on my stiff legs, I am trying to comprehend what just transpired.

I then hear a high pitched shrill utter out the words...
"Stupid Puppet!"
And just like that, I am left abandoned in a field.
Yet, I've never felt happier.

Their harsh grasps which used to confine me, are absent.
The worn-out strings they used to control me have been cut.
As I lay in the grass taking in every picturesque detail,
an unfamiliar feeling wraps around me. Is this what they call-liberation?
Well then- I am no longer restricted.
I am no longer controlled.
I am free.

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  • August 5, 2020 - 4:39pm (Now Viewing)

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