The Man, manequin, Scrooge's

[Deleted54170User]

For you? For U? For Um? Forum! :woot:

 

I tire of forums ways it treats me as it appears when I am typing here. I am trying to play with the words. The idea I got was to join in conversation with others to see if we have common likenesses. As I find the words others type are for gaming, and when I speak of words mingled into gaming I find my words are not of sorts which I was attempting to align and found the others wanted to critic the games.

 

I wanted to have a conversation that complies with the truth and lies I have become acquainted with so.

 

So, I began to be a critic too and I found the critic voices mingling what seem to be spoilers for the game into the critic. I found what appears to be an ideal reference to making the game more interesting and I became deflated in the hope of finding people who know a part to fit into the cog of gears to make a bigger part that will fit into the pieces of an even bigger picture and make it more interesting.

 

One who I had begun to derive his modding teachings treasures even died!

 

I felt a jab, I felt a heart pinched with pain, tears welled up until they burst like flames of hot water from my eyes out of my brain. Suddenly I felt as though I was being stabbed all over with pins and needles. Someone who might, who is trying to put together some cloth on a child told to stand stock still, and I the child who is eager to go out and play with the others in the street did not respond well to the words as the occasion the seamstress slipped and stabbed me so I wanted, even more, to flee.

 

But because I want to bolt, as the person prepares a suit so I may attend to the real world in finery or for a marriage, my movement is rewarded with more tiny stabbing pains.

 

In all the times I have been in this divined state I have never seen, "the where." What for whom the suit is being prepared, because there are no reflections for my eyes to behold the stages of the suit that invisibly, I am sensing is, being made such a way and so.

 

My wooden head was visited by invisible people, whose voices stretched across the land, only to seem to be talking to the air. For I am not there in sight of their eyes. Then there is someone else who speaks up and it too seems such that the displaced words are to gain my attention. Until, another, who has spoken before, puts a call out to the name of the other, than I realize I am not who the words are for, and until I knew for certain because they have begun to speak with each other I wanted even more to move.

 

I feel my own person being torn up inside as I want to go out and be included in the joyful cries and wonders made into visions I can only pretend to comprehend.

 

For being eager I find that movement again causes me to be pricked. While I stand stock still to avoid being stabbed again, by another tiny spear, the voices fade as their beings are more distant.

 

As the cloth is being addressed I feel as if the suit is really being prepared for someone else making me sour for their wealth is causing me to lose any chance at play.

 

Then suddenly a sense I acquire is that I am a mannequin.

 

A mannequin which has somehow been given a sense of feelings. With occasional stabs from the seamstresses occasions to fumble with needle and thread. I can do nothing more than stand stock still while all the excitement makes my wooden frame tremble from voices whose talk, shouts, and inner thrills affect my wooden shape.

 

I can only stand, I cannot leave, as the excitement of the outer players thrills some more to gather around and about. Then I sense a battle.

 

Fights in the street which cause my wooden frame to tremble as I feel valor and fear ripple upon my wooden frame. I stand helpless to help or even cheer.

 

At last the pining for some recognition reverberates and I feel the stabs of being a part of the crowd. At last I am free! I am no wooden person made from a tree!

 

Ah but then a pin, or a pike, stabs my hopes outside of my wooden mind. All my hope seems to have been for nothing.

 

Then my sense of sorrow becomes so great it causes a miracle. I can see!

 

As the events unfold before my eyes, it gives me the sight I see for the first time. It is, that I am a wooden man and stand, as soldiers are practicing their thrusts, and jabs with bayonets attached to the rifles they have in hand. The one whose eyes I see through, his intense feeling are for me, as he feels sorrow for poking and breaking my wooden shape into kindling, as he prepares for the day his act is played upon someone who he hates.

 

As my wooden mind goes blind, my wooden soul shouts to all who pass by, but no one can hear, "Why am I not?"

 

The battle cries have faded. Again I find a soul whose eyes let me see as she picks of me what's left to keep her warm and make warm her brew.

 

Odd?! What is this? It seems I have awakened from the fire to find I am flesh and have the desire to go out and play.

 

What's this some say?! I cannot quite hear, but feel it in my bones, that they endear only fear of becoming old like me when I am near. Too old am I?! A shame I feel, my youth is gone, and my being old has no more appeal.

 

Bah Humbug!

 

I am going out and playing anyway!

 

Happy Holidays!