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Apr. 23rd, 2013 01:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nomorefeathersTitle: Toys
Story/Setting: Stolen Dreams 'verse
Table: Emotions & Mundane
Prompt: 062 - Toy
Word Count: 556
Rating: General
Summary: Does misery poker ever have a point?
Warnings: None
I read somewhere once than humans are predisposed to seeing patterns in the world around them, even when there’s no actual pattern there. Something about it being a survival instinct. Whatever the reason it carries over to those of us who used to be human. Maybe it’s just an unconscious way to try to gain back some of what was taken from us.
And maybe I just try to justify everything too much.
Whatever the reason, those of us who’ve made it back to the supposed ‘real’ world tend to categorize ourselves according to the roles we were forced into by those who kidnapped us. Three categories. You were either a tool, a toy or a pet. It’s not exact of course. Trying to be exact regarding a realm and entities that are only a tiny step away from pure chaos is an exercise in futility. So we go for the broad strokes. It gives us a base to work from, a way to talk about our experiences when the specifics get too painful.
In general terms then, I was a toy, something to entertain My Lord, and something to be trotted out to impress his guests. Some of my fellow escapees think I got off easy. Some even envy me when I speak of what I did for My Lord. “Dancing and singing?” they scoff. “If only I’d been so lucky.” And when they learn, or realize that I had done so in my life pre-kidnapping, and would love to do so again, too many want to dismiss me entirely. Even when I try to explain about the stage of overlapping leaves, where one misstep meant a fall into a cold dark void until My Lord’s anger at my mistake faded and he rescued me. Even when I speak of forever having to guess at the pleasures of My Lord and his guests - of how displeasing either with a mis-chosen song or some dance move that offended some unknown taboo would result in punishments I only remember in my nightmares. How light and heat in My Lord’s realm were luxuries only granted in exchange for absolute perfection. No, I was not forced to live as an animal, my rational mind stripped away like many pets. Nor did I have to toil for hours at a forge, or hauling impossible loads like many tools. But there is a trance-like rhythm to hard labor that one can lose one’s self in, and without a rational mind, worries about the future don’t intrude. But I was a toy and had no schedule, no way to know what My Lord would want from day to endless day. No way of knowing what would be wanted from me.
I don’t claim it was harder than anyone else’s time. I try not to fall into that trap because that just sets us against each other. Every time I hear folks arguing over who had it worse, I can’t help thinking that somewhere their former masters are laughing. It makes us no better than them with their petty rivalries and wars fought over trifles. The point is to be better than that. And what’s the point. We were toys and pets and tools.
No more.
Whatever I suffered, I know I will be a toy no longer.
Story/Setting: Stolen Dreams 'verse
Table: Emotions & Mundane
Prompt: 062 - Toy
Word Count: 556
Rating: General
Summary: Does misery poker ever have a point?
Warnings: None
I read somewhere once than humans are predisposed to seeing patterns in the world around them, even when there’s no actual pattern there. Something about it being a survival instinct. Whatever the reason it carries over to those of us who used to be human. Maybe it’s just an unconscious way to try to gain back some of what was taken from us.
And maybe I just try to justify everything too much.
Whatever the reason, those of us who’ve made it back to the supposed ‘real’ world tend to categorize ourselves according to the roles we were forced into by those who kidnapped us. Three categories. You were either a tool, a toy or a pet. It’s not exact of course. Trying to be exact regarding a realm and entities that are only a tiny step away from pure chaos is an exercise in futility. So we go for the broad strokes. It gives us a base to work from, a way to talk about our experiences when the specifics get too painful.
In general terms then, I was a toy, something to entertain My Lord, and something to be trotted out to impress his guests. Some of my fellow escapees think I got off easy. Some even envy me when I speak of what I did for My Lord. “Dancing and singing?” they scoff. “If only I’d been so lucky.” And when they learn, or realize that I had done so in my life pre-kidnapping, and would love to do so again, too many want to dismiss me entirely. Even when I try to explain about the stage of overlapping leaves, where one misstep meant a fall into a cold dark void until My Lord’s anger at my mistake faded and he rescued me. Even when I speak of forever having to guess at the pleasures of My Lord and his guests - of how displeasing either with a mis-chosen song or some dance move that offended some unknown taboo would result in punishments I only remember in my nightmares. How light and heat in My Lord’s realm were luxuries only granted in exchange for absolute perfection. No, I was not forced to live as an animal, my rational mind stripped away like many pets. Nor did I have to toil for hours at a forge, or hauling impossible loads like many tools. But there is a trance-like rhythm to hard labor that one can lose one’s self in, and without a rational mind, worries about the future don’t intrude. But I was a toy and had no schedule, no way to know what My Lord would want from day to endless day. No way of knowing what would be wanted from me.
I don’t claim it was harder than anyone else’s time. I try not to fall into that trap because that just sets us against each other. Every time I hear folks arguing over who had it worse, I can’t help thinking that somewhere their former masters are laughing. It makes us no better than them with their petty rivalries and wars fought over trifles. The point is to be better than that. And what’s the point. We were toys and pets and tools.
No more.
Whatever I suffered, I know I will be a toy no longer.