Easily Breakable
Tied to a string; my master shaped me in such way; I am made of wood
after all. I have no control in my limbs, and what restrict me are slender,
loose strings.
Ironic, isn't it?
I – a small, wooden mannequin and a tool to
assist my master's sketches and drawings –am controlled by strings that could
easily be slashed by, well, anything; even wood, such as I. Please do forgive
my complains, it is not easy for one to live in such way; tied and stirred
against my will. Yet I am somehow useless to some, yet an aid to others.
My master – patrons call him 'Lance', if I
am not mistaken – gives me a welcoming attention, glancing at me as a mother
would do to her child. At times, when I fall over, he would hoist me up,
muttering an apology followed by a pat on my bald, wooden head. He seems
friendly enough, indeed, yet he always seems so…cold, not literally, meaning
emotionless, blank like air.
His appearance is very well-known – wrinkles
adorn his face, a mustache that almost covers his upper lip, and a hat that hides
his baldness that resembles mine. His house was small, not that it bothered
him; in fact, he's quite satisfied. The so called living room is also where
he's done his masterpieces; moreover it's the room that I was 'born' in. The
walls were laced with dark brown paint with traces of blue, green, and yellow
handprints that he never bothered to clean.
Lance's visitors were few; same faces and
same knocks. One would knock twice – light like a feather, almost soundless – revealing
a young woman, possibly in her early twenties – her flaxen hair tied to a loose
bun, skin somehow fair, with the exception of a burn mark on her right arm, and
olive eyes – with an exquisite smile. A silvery voice would fill Lance's ears,
as he once told me. Her requests were few, whether its salt, sugar, or other
items that would aid her meals, Lance would never hesitate to comply her
request.
Another visitor, known by his loud knocks,
sharp tongue, and a dreadful smell of alcohol, was my master's least favorite. The
man would barge in, speaking with a careless accent and knocking a handful of
items, which includes…
Yes, you guessed it, me.
Why wouldn't he? The man finds me helpless,
faceless, not expecting me to whimper or weep at his cruelness, which is
unfortunately true; I have two openings for eyes and merely a scratch for lips,
so I do not expect myself to move anytime soon.
The final, usual visitor is, not my
master's, but my favorite; a simple knock alive with youth followed by a
girlish giggle. Once the door opens, it reveals a lass, no older than nine
years. Her smile alone would fill the room with playfulness. Once she greets
Lance, she immediately sprints towards my immobilized form, giving me her
signature smile and titles me as her 'Buddy'. She would move my limbs around in
different poses, occasionally pulling my small, wooden body into a suffocating
hug. She would also tell me of how her parents would fight continually, that
she wishes for a better world with no struggles. I wanted, somehow, at this
very moment to crack my so-called lips and clarify the truth, which is hid from
a child such as herself.
One day, Lance approaches my still
position, sitting right in front of me. He seems…off today, his gaze meets the
ground and his half-covered lips are formed into a thin line.
After what seems like hours, he looks up to
me, his eyes welled with tears. His cries were silent, ceased of sobs. His next
words, however, startled me even more; He states that he 'broke'. Is that even
possible? I mean, I could break, but humans cannot break, can they?
He starts complaining, how no one
appreciates his work, people's constant lecture, and the chip on their
shoulders. It didn't occur to me that humans could be so mentally defeated.
They hold on to what they believe in, but
then they let go; At first I thought it was simply lethargy, but after I saw
Lance's state, I recognized that not only glass, wood, or even treasured items
break,
But also
humans do.
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