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?
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