strange dreams

last night, while i was asleep, i found a gateway into the society of mannequins.

it was a rectangular room, with walls painted a uniform dull grey. there were about a hundred of them there, males and females, all doing various strange things. two of them were trying to plant hair in the ground. another pair (male and female) were alternately tearing each other apart and putting each other back together. a group of five males were sitting around gibbering. the one in the center was gnawing on a toad.

i walked along, trying to find the way out, but i tripped over a female mannequin. she sat up and looked at me.

"you're not real," i said.

"no, we're not real. we don't feel; we don't bleed." she plucked out her right eyeball and put it in my breast pocket. "but then," she continued, plucking out my right eyeball and squashing it, "neither do you."

i took her eyeball out, listened to it for awhile, and put it in my right eye socket. it fit perfectly.

now i live a life of sin and madness with the mannequins. i don't feel; i don't bleed.

i rather think that's an advantage.

don't you?

© 1997-2001 Narciso Jaramillo first person | dyslexikon | nj's face