Twisted Hopus Story

I Shall Stitch You a Smile, My Marionette. . .

It began. The needles were pulled quickly and precisely from my arm, each one making its way into his own arm, his mouth hanging open in a scream that didn't quite make it past his lips from the shock and pain, a strangled gasp the only thing that passed.

I slide the knife out from behind me, where I had worked it into the lacing of my suit, running it precisely down the side of his neck, tracing the pretty blue veins of his cold white skin, ever so carefully, across his color down to his bulky wrist. . .

And then not so precisely I dug my nails into the clean cut, pinching the tender veins and drawing them out, pulling and pulling, watching them with a grin as they followed the line I had created, before they broke off with a squelching sound at the base of his neck. The bloody threads fell to the floor, blood seeping out into a puddle at my feet.

I spun his body around, winding the string off my other arm wrapping it quickly around his neck. . . his arms were drawn into a web, along with his legs and ankles, until the thick black string seized him like a distorted marionette.

I drew the blade of the knife along his fragile spinal cord, watching in glee as the bones cracked and his drained body began to spasm in a grotesque dance, his face twisting in pain as his whole body shuddered and stopped, paralyzed.

I leaned forward, my hand twisting round to meet his lips, knife in hand as I ran it through his flesh, whispering softly into his ear. . .

"Smile for me. . ."

The skin tore apart, the smile extending from the corners of his lips to the tips of his cheeks, blood spattering onto the cold white floor, the ruby red shining brightly in the well lit room, reflections and shadows bouncing off the liquid.

Silence congealed within the air, suffocating those closest. Men dropped dramatically in horror, but they didn't concern me. Women watched in horrified silence, but they did not matter.

I passed by another prince, rather porcelain colored suit with light green tie and his head full of brown hair fluttering with the light draft of wind in the room. He had a man and a woman connected to his arms, the two I had seen and known well. At the slight moments where I would go outside, I would see the two shopping for fabrics or getting food. The two worked for the princess as the outfit makers and shoppers of the castles. As I passed them by, they all looked terrified but I mutely almost inaudibly said, "Hello Pharous~. Have fun with Whitney and Christopher." Before continuing on my war path. I looked back to see the treble in shock.

Charlie was next.

He stood at the podium, beside the princess who seemed. . . intrigued? Her facial expression was captivating- instead of being shocked or horrified, she seemed entranced by my actions. . . compelled almost?

I shook the thought from my brain, slicing through the crowd- knife swinging in a rhythmic motion as it sliced the flesh of those closest, screams, shrieks and gasps saturating the silence as I made my way towards the terrified statue at the end of the room.

I reached him and grinned at the tears that ran down his face; selfishness he held- did he care for his dead father and brother? Chances were slim. Did he care that he longer had a father to pay for his expenses? Most definitely. But right now, the thing he cared about most shone through his thin exterior- what was just a glimpse before almost blinding in comparison.

And as I reached forward to grab him, there was still only one thing at the center of his mind.

Himself

And it was through this selfishness that he was due to die- that, and sweet, sweet revenge.

I leaned forwards and whispered delicately in his ear, a shudder running through his body as the words comprehended, stiff with shock and fear.

"Wanna go see daddy?"