The Puppeteer's diary ~ 33 ~
I can't stand looking at the wall around the house, my hands shiver, finger-tips prick. I clench fists convulsively, I almost hear plastic splinters crunching in my hands. Sharp splinters. Blue walls are broken, white fluffy laces and wires stick out of them. The door will be opened soon, blood's flowing on my fingers - I've compressed my hands too tight. Rustle, a chink of light starts widening. I close my eyes. They pull a knife switch - a firework behind my back, shouting, fast thread, don't stop now. Abrupt movements aside, white splinters run into one's skin - alive or not, you've been preventing me from release for too long.
