Walking into a ballroom of masks, strings and plastered smiles. Knife in hand, broken strings hang from my wrists as my mask shatters before their eyes. I will not stand as a puppet to them any longer. I am who I am. No one but me can change who I am. My past does not define me, my future is not painted by the hands of others, and my present is where I reside. I dance to my own tune, be it alone or with others. I can only hope other will follow in my steps and break free from the controlling powers as I did. Maybe, just maybe then they'll see the light they hold inside.
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Random Stories
AcakOk, so these are some little stories I'm writing that are beginnings of could be future stories. If you like one and want it to become a bigger story, please comment on that story.
