A Heart's Desire

The curtain covered the pain. The stage created the the euphonias creaks and showcased the mellifluous sound of the puppet’s voice. Absent amidst the flames and wreckage of the play at hand, seats vacant, among the crowd of empty people stood a heart of truth. Blackened to crisp perfection to the point of fanciful, deathly love that concocted the blood in the showmasters performance were the veins of the heart.

However, it would shine. The heart’s brilliant, invisible light would blind the darkness to its untimely extinction to bring out the truth that it held. The showmaster no longer would hold it back by it’s strings. The heart had no way of lying, it knew what penumbra of colors it was made of. Soon, the dwindling flames surviving on the puppet’s lost legs were blown away by the heavenly light that foreshadowed a creature of immense power. The stage cracked and burst at the seams, while the apparition of the agony painted curtain didn’t move in the slightest. The lights exploded into an amusement of sparks, just fireworks growing wearily dim in comparison to the heart. Soon the stage was silent, and nothing moved for hours upon hours, but the showmaster was still there.

The point of no return had been reached, the final hour on the clock ticked away and faded into nothingness; the heart knew this. Ease and chilling silence grew over every aspect of the claustrophobic emotions of the heart which had no guide, for it was the only to be known. The showmaster never showed itself to the poor light that had shun away all. And yet, there was a spotlight placed down on the stage to remove the guiding heart from it’s uncomfortable destination.

In the flickering, luminous, fluorescent light was a woman on her hands and knees, crying and begging for forgiveness. She wore a white gown, her hair a tangled mess of black wires leading down her back. She faced away from the heart, despairing to God that she must be saved. Suddenly, the heart heard another round bulb burst into action behind itself, but this was a different type of light. It was dark, but the heart could visibly see a man even darker in a shadow’s form.

Translucent in the shadows movement, the heart could still make out the features of a large male, much taller and muscular than the woman it had seen before. The heart fancied this man more, and decided that the showmaster was of no concern if he were to just leave him to rot.

Knocking on the door to the bathroom, the heart chose to be the guide of the man, and lead him to a small window that created a pathway into the same room as where the woman cried. The man smashed the brittle barrier that blocked his path given to him. The heart began pulling the strings. At first it was a guilty pleasure, but soon it grew stronger and stronger until the thrill could be heard screeching into the man’s ears. The pleasurable feeling of the rough grip around the soft neck was too much for the heart to handle. Tighter! Tighter! The strings needed to be pulled tighter!

The heart could not lie, it loved the rush, the way the undeniable, unfathomable pleasure made it beat so. The showmaster no longer had any reigns over it, he could speak, speak louder than any other! Oh, the way the bones bent and snapped made it feel so… Liberated. It knew where to guide the man next.

Up in the branches with metal wires tightly wound around the wrists and ankles she was stretched out in the fresh breeze. Her head a separate piece to the work of art tied around the highest branch to remain visible to the people that just had to see. She had ended up the same way the heart had when the showmaster had taken control. The heart was extremely pleased with the work that had been done, but it knew it couldn’t compliment itself, it was the man that did it after all.

The heart shan’t kill, for it shall only guide man to the truth of which they so desperately desire, under the showmasters reign.

Refreshing Demise (talk) 04:53, April 27, 2014 (UTC)