fic: a catalog of ersatz fairytales
title: a catalog of ersatz fairytales.
fandom: shutter island
I'm not really fond of this, so I'm going to quickly post it before I look at it too long and consequently rip it to shreds.
' we are the hollow men
we are the stuffed men.'
- t.s eliot.
.
a thunderstorm, a monsoon. hands washing themselves in a sink covered with spidery cracks. rain, lots of rain. the kind that makes the sturdiest houses rattle and sigh.
a island, a mirage. not so unlike the kind of place that is guarded by dragons in storybooks. a monster resides there, that is indisputable.
'you look like the cat that ate the canary. '
a man in the basement - guilty as sin. busted lip, encrusted with brownish blood. a lie, a facial twitch. uneasy bloodshot eyes that glance around him as he speaks. he is afraid, so afraid. peeling pock-marked skin, almost gray. this man may or may not be real.
antibacterial soap. hospital shoes that go clack clack clack all the way down the hall. chattering teeth with dark eroded roots. the expectation of seeing ghosts carrying chains.
' i'm bones in a box, teddy. '
electroshock therapy. lobotomies. experimental drugs. lungfuls of lake water. blue baby faces. open chest cavities. the words help me scratched into a concrete cell, pieces of fingernail embedded inside the letters. personality disorders. murder. rape. abortion with a wire hanger. bad cafeteria food. all the same sins, the ugly step-children of American the Brave.
' the mother bird pushes her young of the nest,
because being the same as her, they are capable of flight.
but the babies do not know this, and must face either
survival or plunging to their death. at which point
the mother bird emits a cry, wondering
'who did this to my babies?''
mirrors reflect faces but not intentions. if they did, Teddy would close his eyes as he passed. he didn't want to know himself, whoever himself was.
that's what crazies did now-a-days, they disguise it in three piece suits, hid themselves in the pit of their stomach. down down down. melt it away in the acid. read another newspaper, smoke another pack of cigarettes. maybe that hole in your chest will go away.
' i feel like i've been on this island for years.'
the water makes him sick now. cold miles of water, little bodies bobbing like booey's. foggy grayish water filled with secret shadows. like the suffocation of a womb, once empty it is a haunted room. a fetal tomb. no place to rest your heels, a woman's heart.
because some animals eat their young.
and disillusionment is like a empty thing.
' for years and years '
when he thrashes in his sleep, he imagines that he is drowning in the belly of a monster. a woman.
.
fandom: shutter island
I'm not really fond of this, so I'm going to quickly post it before I look at it too long and consequently rip it to shreds.
' we are the hollow men
we are the stuffed men.'
- t.s eliot.
.
a thunderstorm, a monsoon. hands washing themselves in a sink covered with spidery cracks. rain, lots of rain. the kind that makes the sturdiest houses rattle and sigh.
a island, a mirage. not so unlike the kind of place that is guarded by dragons in storybooks. a monster resides there, that is indisputable.
'you look like the cat that ate the canary. '
a man in the basement - guilty as sin. busted lip, encrusted with brownish blood. a lie, a facial twitch. uneasy bloodshot eyes that glance around him as he speaks. he is afraid, so afraid. peeling pock-marked skin, almost gray. this man may or may not be real.
antibacterial soap. hospital shoes that go clack clack clack all the way down the hall. chattering teeth with dark eroded roots. the expectation of seeing ghosts carrying chains.
' i'm bones in a box, teddy. '
electroshock therapy. lobotomies. experimental drugs. lungfuls of lake water. blue baby faces. open chest cavities. the words help me scratched into a concrete cell, pieces of fingernail embedded inside the letters. personality disorders. murder. rape. abortion with a wire hanger. bad cafeteria food. all the same sins, the ugly step-children of American the Brave.
' the mother bird pushes her young of the nest,
because being the same as her, they are capable of flight.
but the babies do not know this, and must face either
survival or plunging to their death. at which point
the mother bird emits a cry, wondering
'who did this to my babies?''
mirrors reflect faces but not intentions. if they did, Teddy would close his eyes as he passed. he didn't want to know himself, whoever himself was.
that's what crazies did now-a-days, they disguise it in three piece suits, hid themselves in the pit of their stomach. down down down. melt it away in the acid. read another newspaper, smoke another pack of cigarettes. maybe that hole in your chest will go away.
' i feel like i've been on this island for years.'
the water makes him sick now. cold miles of water, little bodies bobbing like booey's. foggy grayish water filled with secret shadows. like the suffocation of a womb, once empty it is a haunted room. a fetal tomb. no place to rest your heels, a woman's heart.
because some animals eat their young.
and disillusionment is like a empty thing.
' for years and years '
when he thrashes in his sleep, he imagines that he is drowning in the belly of a monster. a woman.
.