Tired Mechanical Heart



Scene Title Tired Mechanical Heart
Synopsis Troubling dreams plague a telepath's mind.
Date August 28, 2018

In Dreams

Everything is dark. Her feet are bound together and stuck in place no matter how hard she struggles. Her hands press against the walls around her. She can't quite take a deep breath, only quick, shallow gasps of thick, stale air. Hours pass this way, days, pressed like flower petals between pages.

And the she feels it, gears turning beneath her, tightening around her feet until she feels like she's about to be ripped apart, twisted off at the waist, with her hands digging scratches into her cage wall.

The cage opens, letting her breathe, letting her stand. But just as she feels the rush of sudden freedom, the gears under her move. Tinny music plays out of her music box and her feet start to untwist. Her arms lift, poised like a practiced ballerina. A shadowed figure looms over her, hands on the box— her cage— and his face smiling gently. It reflects in the mirror behind her, but she can't look at him long enough to make out any features.

She spins and spins, her head confused and dizzy, her muscles tired. When the gears slow, she slumps over and takes a moment to catch her breath.

Hands slam on the desk on either side of her and move to grip onto the box. Gears turn again, unseen hands turning a key at the side of the music box. She can almost make it out if she leans far enough. But as she thinks to do so, fingers release the key. Gears turn. Her arms lift.

She dances.

Even when the figure leaves, she dances. Even as the figure steps away from her, she dances. Even when he forgets that she's there, she dances.

As she spins and spins, she catches only glimpses of figures standing in the room. If she could only keep her eyes on them, she knows she would recognize who they are. As it is, each time her eyes leave the figures, she forgets their features. One thing is certain: she knows them. She should know them. Familiarity tortures her more than her cage and the gears binding her feet. She tries to keep her eyes on them, tries to find them in the mirror. The music slows and turns haunting, unsettling. Just before she stops entirely, one of the figures looks back her way before stalking over.

"This is not for you," booms a voice she knows, but can't place. Hands grip the lid of her cage, slamming it down around her, trapping her between its walls again. Then she hears the voice again, softer, muffled through the music box lid.

"Don't feel jealous."

Fingers drum against the box. And then she's alone again. And everything is dark.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License