"I have tried simply to write the best I can. Sometimes I have good luck and write better than I can." -Ernest Hemingway

“The only living works are those which have drained much of the author's own life into them.” –Samuel Butler

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (The Devil's Got His Hands on Me)

The hair-thin metallic strings strangle my wrists. They bite into my skin and keep digging deeper until I have no hope for every removing them. My arms are jerked around to do the bidding of this evil manipulator, who gloats every time I unknowingly let him make my decisions.
Hating these bonds, I struggle to break free. I loathe the overwhelming darkness that hangs like a cloud of smoke around me. There isn’t any oxygen to breath here and I am slowly dying from the toxic atmosphere.
My wrists bleed as the wire cuts deeper. My muscles weaken and pain runs up my limbs. Defeat envelops me in its suffocating embrace and I am losing my will to fight the strong tug of the strings.
My strength continues to waver and I feel like giving into the enemy’s prompting. Fighting him off keeps getting harder and harder. His cruel words, whispered into my ears, are helping to chip away at my resolve. I am so close to giving up.
All he wants is to see our destruction.
Finally, I cry out for the only One who can sever the puppet-string manipulating me and a bright shaft of light slices through the oppressive darkness. Sweet air inflates my withered lungs and the strings that bite into my wrists and ankles slacken. I glance up to see a glorious day enveloping me in its gentle warmth and I feel the sweet breeze caress my weary body.
But even after being freed, I somehow seem to slip back into my prison. I take a few wrong turns out of selfishness and I stray away from the sunshine and grace. Running straight back into the darkness, I let the puppet-strings become taut again and this vicious cycle takes another turn.

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