gold locks.
,
obsessive compulsive disorder was not recognized as a legitimate ailment. however, there was a simple cure-all for such things as mental and neurological inconsistancies. these were studied carefully and put under the broad heading of witchcraft. then, from under that heading, they were placed onto a stake, a zippo was wound twice before the little white light jumped onto the wick, and the manic-depressive schizophrenic was no more. ... in twenty to thirty minutes.
[or however long it takes for bodies to burn. who knows.]
such was goldilock's predicament. invisible needles and twitches and itches and bleeding fingernails from picking straw out of her mattress led to her gentle eviction from her parents' home.
"you dont understand!" she cried in vain. out she was ushered from her quaint cottage, and thrown to slump like a crazed ophelia just outside her flowerpatch.
"you dont you dont you dont understand!" her shrill voice sounded thrice.
her dear, sweet mother frowned at the curtains before closing them.
the girl was frozen in her strange juxtaposition: warm sunlight and butterflies and whispering trees looked uneasily upon muddy-booted nightgowned bloody-fingered-and-handed goldilocks. for hours, it was too much. all she could do was kneel silently, white knees looking dirty like gold rubbed through to its true metal.
my skin my skin my skin, she thought thrice. i'm dirt underneathe, i'm dirt. my skin, it's rubbing off.
now it was more than she could bear to be sitting there. there were too many dimensions to this world, goldilocks thought. she lifted up like a mechanical animal; her shoulders jerked straight, her feet snapped at rigid angles under her, and she clambored up on the heavy air to stand in filthy boots. a moment's calm. and she turned away from her home to quickly wander away.
she came upon a house quite like her own in the silent woods.
[arcitecture back in the middle ages was not very unique. but neither are you.]
i'm home i'm home i'm home, she thought thrice, and smiled wide, and rushed inside with white hands over a rosy smile.
three chairs! oh, three chairs three chairs three chairs! this place, oh, it was so perfect, tears nearly pricked goldilocks lashesless eyes.
[goldilocks had once had long, curling eyelashes as every young fairytale girl should have. a furious wrenching with her hands at the sight of four seeds in an apple ripped them right out. there should always be five seeds.]
she sat in the first chair, but those pins those pins those needles and pins her spine refused to stay.
"this chair is much too hard." she breathed. slowly, her fantasy house was fading. this is no salvation from the spiders under my skin, my hair will all fall out if i am to stay in this chair a moment longer.
quickly quickly quickly she went to the next chair.
"too soft!" screamed sweet goldilocks, "too soft, why are you so soft! my bones will not be held together much longer if i sit in you!"
shall she even bother with this chair, this last green chair, this last green chair with a small heart carved into the headboard.
[but bother she did.]
and finally, goldilocks could smile. her ligaments and cartilage were soothed, and the hairs in her head unstiffened, and she even felt some of the nails she ripped down creep a bit longer over the stinging red skin. in that little chair, goldilocks blossomed.
"this chair is just right." murmured she, and her filthy boots tapped gently on the floor as she rocked in this wonderful chair. oh, a warm bath and a silk rose petal and a cool rain and a bird song and a familiar lullaby were not so peaceful as this chair.
obsessive compulsive disorder was not recognized as a legitimate ailment. however, there was a simple cure-all for such things as mental and neurological inconsistancies. these were studied carefully and put under the broad heading of witchcraft. then, from under that heading, they were placed onto a stake, a zippo was wound twice before the little white light jumped onto the wick, and the manic-depressive schizophrenic was no more. ... in twenty to thirty minutes.
[or however long it takes for bodies to burn. who knows.]
such was goldilock's predicament. invisible needles and twitches and itches and bleeding fingernails from picking straw out of her mattress led to her gentle eviction from her parents' home.
"you dont understand!" she cried in vain. out she was ushered from her quaint cottage, and thrown to slump like a crazed ophelia just outside her flowerpatch.
"you dont you dont you dont understand!" her shrill voice sounded thrice.
her dear, sweet mother frowned at the curtains before closing them.
the girl was frozen in her strange juxtaposition: warm sunlight and butterflies and whispering trees looked uneasily upon muddy-booted nightgowned bloody-fingered-and-handed goldilocks. for hours, it was too much. all she could do was kneel silently, white knees looking dirty like gold rubbed through to its true metal.
my skin my skin my skin, she thought thrice. i'm dirt underneathe, i'm dirt. my skin, it's rubbing off.
now it was more than she could bear to be sitting there. there were too many dimensions to this world, goldilocks thought. she lifted up like a mechanical animal; her shoulders jerked straight, her feet snapped at rigid angles under her, and she clambored up on the heavy air to stand in filthy boots. a moment's calm. and she turned away from her home to quickly wander away.
she came upon a house quite like her own in the silent woods.
[arcitecture back in the middle ages was not very unique. but neither are you.]
i'm home i'm home i'm home, she thought thrice, and smiled wide, and rushed inside with white hands over a rosy smile.
three chairs! oh, three chairs three chairs three chairs! this place, oh, it was so perfect, tears nearly pricked goldilocks lashesless eyes.
[goldilocks had once had long, curling eyelashes as every young fairytale girl should have. a furious wrenching with her hands at the sight of four seeds in an apple ripped them right out. there should always be five seeds.]
she sat in the first chair, but those pins those pins those needles and pins her spine refused to stay.
"this chair is much too hard." she breathed. slowly, her fantasy house was fading. this is no salvation from the spiders under my skin, my hair will all fall out if i am to stay in this chair a moment longer.
quickly quickly quickly she went to the next chair.
"too soft!" screamed sweet goldilocks, "too soft, why are you so soft! my bones will not be held together much longer if i sit in you!"
shall she even bother with this chair, this last green chair, this last green chair with a small heart carved into the headboard.
[but bother she did.]
and finally, goldilocks could smile. her ligaments and cartilage were soothed, and the hairs in her head unstiffened, and she even felt some of the nails she ripped down creep a bit longer over the stinging red skin. in that little chair, goldilocks blossomed.
"this chair is just right." murmured she, and her filthy boots tapped gently on the floor as she rocked in this wonderful chair. oh, a warm bath and a silk rose petal and a cool rain and a bird song and a familiar lullaby were not so peaceful as this chair.