B.R.T. 19.14 - Puppet Unstrung - Posted 4/8/2013

***

Buried alive in her own body.

It seemed so long. She could hardly remember how it began.
She had nearly forgotten her own name.

A long time ago, the gynoid had controlled her own actions.  
Then fear.  Then pain, and then something like strings 
or motors...pushing her along, pulling her along, forming
her words, changing her actions, blotting her vision. 
Invisible, impalpable, irresistible.  Only those sensations,
and the dull, aching chill buried in her chest.

Now the strings were tangled...the motors were stalled.  She 
was lying, she was still, she could not move and could barely 
think.  But voices.  She heard talking...

Quiet voices.  Quiet and quick and conspiratorial.  
The voices of children.  Two of them...talking...
about freedom.  Freedom for her.  

Freedom for...Ach.

Yes.  Ach.


***

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