Everyone is part of a chain. Joined together, hand in hand, a delicate paper chain hanging loosely on the wall of life. The connections are strong, yes, but always in danger of breaking.
We are nothing but fragile paper dolls. And we stay together just until something stronger tears us apart.
In the shadows something is lurking in the corner, anything and mocking your every move.
The scissors.
Cruel reality, society itself - it comes and cuts one person off from the rest.
Snip.
If you listen closely, maybe you could hear the sound, like a ache echoing in your head. One paper doll flutters gently to the ground, where it will lie limp and be flattened and stomped upon. The scissors float slowly back into the shadows.
The paper dolls murmur to one another, their joined hands rustling softly. We lost her, but we will stay together now. They can't take us all.
Yet soon enough, the scissors grow bored and emerge from the shadows again. There is nothing the paper dolls can do.
Snip.
This time, the sound is like a bang - a gunshot, the thud of a body hitting the ground. The scissors go on, mindlessly cutting the hands apart, quiet and cold.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
The paper dolls fall, helpless, and will not rise again. Now there are only two left, both screaming and yelling to stay together, stay together.
But the scissors won't allow it.
Snip.
One left, barely hanging on. Alone and fearful, wondering where everyone had gone. Maybe she can't see the scissors at all. Maybe she does not know what they are. As far as she's concerned, her paper sisters have abandoned her, and she is the last.
And then - a soft breeze, just a whisper, and that's all it takes for the last one to surrender.
She falls quietly. No one hears it, no one notices, until the brush of paper on the floor hisses through the room.
The wall is bare. The life has gone from it, the happiness cut.
The scissors move on to the next one.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Dolls
Historia CortaPerfection. Everyone wants it. You can try to resist it, talk yourself out of it, but we all fall under its spell eventually. We want it. We need it. It seems so simple, so innocent. You'd think that perfection makes us complete. But paired with our...
