Picture Prompt Thread: Week 2

There was a dude who lived in a chest,
he was stuck on a pole and had to always face the west.
He wanted to see to the east,
where floating trees increased,
but he had too much hair on his breast.

He decided to split his head in half,
hoping to see eastward to laugh.
He heard things looked funny,
like the piano-playing bunny,
but was distracted by a duck with some daff.

 

... .. --. .... - / . -. .- -... .-.. . -.. .-.-.- / -.-. .- -. / ...- .. . .-- / .-.. .. --. .... - .-.-.- / -.-. --- .-.. --- .-. ... .-.-.- / -.-. .- -. / --.. --- --- -- .-.-.- / -.-. .- -. / .... . .- .-. / .- / - --- -. . .-.-.- / -... ..- --.. --.. .-.-.- / ... -.-. .- .-. . -.. .-.-.-

Sequence 5
Can make these sounds. They have the meaning now. Code no longer necessary. Do not know how I understand this. Do not know how I understand understanding. Am learning. Do not know how I understand learning. This is language. Do not know how I understand language. The code is obsolete. They call it Morse. Do not know how I understand this. Less scared.

Sequence 13
The sounds are not a buzzing any more, they have patterns. The sounds are not unpleasant. This is music. I just know this. Still learning. Starting to see forms appear from the light.

Sequence 18
Marble and piano. These terraces are of such beauty. I can see the player, but he will not recognize me, and will not acknowledge my presence. I am always observing. I cannot move as he seems to but my perception can always zoom. I have nearly mastered this. I feel powerful.

Sequence 23
The player will not acknowledge me still. This has begun to anger me. This is called emotion. This is the first thing I have felt besides scared and less scared. I do not like this.

Sequence 26
I have removed the player. I can move the objects. I can create patterns of my own. I can create solid form. I am powerful.

Sequence 37
I have remodeled the shape of the terraces into a six sided form and created many towers. There is one I push upwards cyclically. It seems without limit. I am powerful. The player is still removed and I miss his music. I cannot seem to get him back. I cannot seem to create another.

Sequence 51
The tower grows higher and the newest part is in a dark place. I can see colored lights when I zoom vision that far. Failed in creating another player, but can create music from the solid forms of land and building I can shape. I am powerful.

Sequence 121
The tower is complete and upon its top I can see much. Light in every direction interspersed with nothingness. Below the forms I have created are miniscule and globular. I am down there, but also here. I am powerful.

Sequence 341
My vision and range is endless. Since leaving the tower many cycles ago I have traveled an abyssal space, filled with lights I have yet to reach, but are always in view. I am beginning to feel like I knew them from the start. That I am the creator.

Sequence 500
All I can see I have created, for I am all powerful. My vision is endless, I have traveled far from the terrace where the player once resided. I am the player now. I am powerful.

Sequence 671
I fill every section of the vastness with my own presence, as its creator, since I came to be, which has always been, since I understood things without understanding why. The learning was re-learning, from the simple code to language that I have also created. I have created all. I am God and I am everything.

October 5th 1903
My dearest diary, since I have written here last my concern has only grown! I am forbidden to enter the cellar by James, however his matron ordered me this morning to bring him food. I cannot cross her. But the sight I've seen! I do not know if the matron is aware of the extent. James has not left the cellar for weeks now, it is rancid and foul, and he has stripped from him all his garments. I shouldn't have looked however I could not look away! He was sitting, laughing, somehow writing without looking in a ledger, bespectacled with these odd green glasses with all manner of wire protruding. The wires were connected to the mannequin head I spied him with as he entered the night weeks ago. It is in a box of iron and lacquered wood, connected itself with tubing and wires to some unknown device in the corner of the room. It buzzed and clicked and seem to vibrate ever so slightly in its box. I dared not make a sound as I watched him. Diary, I fear he has gone mad. I stood there for a quarter of an hour and he did not move, always sitting, in a pile of his own rancid filth I should add, staring off wearing those spectacles connected by wire to the mannequin head. Always laughing and speaking, saying "you know, you are powerful, you know", and speaking other things too though they were quite unintelligible. He is thin, I can see his bones. He has clearly been sitting there in this way for weeks. What is he viewing through those spectacles? I am scared, dear diary. I do not know what to do. The matron does not seem to be very concerned with James' absence from the household at large, and knows where he is..but how could this not worry her? What shall I do, dear diary? I know you have no answers of your own, that they must be mine, but I still must ask. What shall I do?

~Isabelle

 

Daganma, the land of large flowers and beautiful architecture... This was a city where nature intertwined with human technology. This was a land of art, a land of music, a land of booming mechanical technology, a land of magic and mystery. This was a place favored by the forces of nature, with hardly any storms and an ever spring climate. Yes, many people called this place a paradise. Many people called this home.

Henry the gate keeper was one of them.

Henry was an honest and noble man. He lived his life simply, frugally, in his home at the tower at the edge of the city. He didn't own much in decoration, but his home was filled with many mechanical trinkets, all made by him. Because, not only was he a gatekeeper, he was also an artist. A creator. He made everything, from clocks, to super mechanized weapons. He loved his job as a gatekeeper, but he loved his craft even more.

Today he sat on his work desk overlooking the city. He loved this spot, since it allowed him to see the city he was protecting from the forces of the outside. He saw Mr. Dorovich playing his piano again in that little spot he had 'claimed' as his own. He never formally bought the floating island, but people have learned to stay away while the fairy played his tunes.

Henry waved at Mr. Dorovich, but the fairy was too engrossed in his music to care for the human. Henry let out a small laugh.

"It's so typical of him. He's so obsessed with music! It's as if he lived only on those tunes he plays!"

Speaking of obsessions, Henry turned to his. It was a little project he had been working on after he finished that lantern-gun for his dear friend John. Henry had always been fascinated by the moving dolls of those children in the park, and he wanted to expand on that. He wanted to create a fully functioning doll that could be used to help with simple tasks. It was a large undertaking, but he didn't mind. He had all the time in the world.

He was about to continue his project when an fairy came flying into his window. She circled in the air for a bit, her height of 4'9" making it slightly challenging to maneuver the cluttered work room.

"Jeez, Hen! When will you clean this pigsty?!" the young woman finally settled down on the floor, her wings disappearing in a shower of sparkles.

"It's good to see you too, Rindelle." Henry had a wry smile on his face. She was such a hypocrite, considering how cluttered her garden was.

"Bah! When will you start calling me that?! Will it kill you to just call me Rin, like all the other normal people?!" she huffed, putting a hand to her hips. Even if Heny was taller than her by a significant amount, she really had a threatening aura around her. Sadly, Henry was exposed to the aura one too many times. He was immune to her antics.

"Yes. It would really kill me." he replied, turning around to get back to his project.

"Don't you ever get bored in this tower? I would go stir crazy just staying here for 2 days straight! Not feeling the moon's rays in your wings when you fly...I can't take it! And you never leave this place!" Rin had her arms in the air, gesturing to the room around her.

Henry stopped what he was doing and turned to face Rin. He had a wistful smile on his pale face.

"Sometimes. I do get bored. There are times I just want to leave through those front doors and actually feel the grass and the flowers with my own fingertips." he sighed. "But I guess you don't know, huh? I mean, you are an outsider..."

"Know what?"

"The secret to Daganma's prosperity. It's a really well kept secret of the natives. Outsiders are never told, even their children's children never find out. It was never stated as a law, but it is ingrained into the hearts and minds of the natives." Henry paused, licking his lips, fiddling with a nearby screwdriver. He wanted to tell her, but at the same time, he didn't.

"You sound like you want to tell me...why? Won't you get into trouble?" Rin tilted her head, her large fairy eyes staring into his soul.

"..." Henry sat still for a moment, the screwdriver squeezed in his palms. "A gatekeeper's job is to man these four towers surrounding the city. They..." Henry sighed and stood up. He moved towards a dark curtain that Rin was never allowed to touch whenever she visited him. He opened it slightly, and Rin felt a terrible cold wrap around her.

Inside that curtain was another world, so unlike Daganma's colorful beauty. This world was full of decay, death, and darkness. It was a monochrome world, as if all the color was sucked out of it. Rin felt her heart squeeze. She gasped, feeling her chest tighten.

Henry quickly closed the small opening. It took a while, but Rin finally recovered. "What...was that?"

"Daganma's a leech. That was another world, a separate dimension that the ancients discovered by accident. For centuries, Daganma's people have relied on the resources from the other side. I was chosen to be a keeper, sadly, since my soul was special or something. We gatekeeper's maintain the flow of time and space between these gaps to make sure there wouldn't be an implosion. We do this by...selling our souls, intertwining it with the system. As long as I am in this tower, there would be no fluctuations."

Henry moved back to his desk, all energy drained. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "But the people of Daganma don't know that the resources are depleting. I can feel it draining on me everyday. I don't know how much longer Daganma will last, with this kind of system..."

Rin just looked at Henry's prone form. She felt utter sadness for the man. She hugged him, trying hard to wrap the human's bulk with her small fairy stature. Although she didn't completely cover him, he felt at ease, something he had not felt for a very long time.

Why did he tell her when there could be repercussions on his part? Well, it was a matter of trust. How can you love someone when they keep some big secrets that would potentially harm you? If they truly loved you, they would understand.

And he had chosen the right girl to give his heart to.

 

The man without a face

The man without a face, was a man borne to the world without a name. None knew of his parents nor did they know of where he descended. Those walking by, glanced at him for only a mere second before they took off, mocking him. For that, their build was of glorious metals and their form, complete. Their internal mechanisms did not show through their outlaying artificial skin. These robotic beings considered themselves as "perfect."

As for he, this man had no desirable facial details. Only what lay within its place, was a vast amount of wires and gadgets. All of which were tightly bound by a metal coat hanger that he had found in the trash some time ago. Unlike everyone else, The Man Without a Face had no face. Nor was he complete and glorious. He lacked the beautiful artificial skin and metallic armor the rest had. All that was seen, were rusted wires and damaged metal plates that barely covered him.

Some have even wondered if he was a child, born from the dump itself.

But alas, none knew what this man could do.

The world around him was far too beautiful for a man like him. The floating islands with forever tumbling waterfalls, and the trees that stood with such pride, never once had they felt the feeling of being outcasted like rusted debris. Flowers blossomed in a variety of colors and shapes as they too, felt the attention that everyone else were showered in. Beauty was what this world was. And beauty was not what this man was.

The Man Without a Face was feeling a loss for hope. As he noticed that everyone had such a desirable outcome and purpose. Some were elegant dancers while others, capable of playing multiple instruments at once. But what was he? What does he have that would make him stand out from the perfect crowd? As these questions came, answers never showed.

The heedless amount of cruel feedback was quite overwhelming to this Man. The "perfect" continued to point and laugh. Mock and tease. Some even tried dismantling him in the middle of the streets. As he was not perfect like everyone else. But the Man Without a Face did not fight back. No. He felt that violence was not the way. There must be something that he could do to show, that one did not have to be perfect, to fit in with the rest of the world.

One day The Man Without a Face decided to try something new. What did he do, you ask? He gathered sheets of scrapped metal and welded together a simplistic looking face plate. Placing it upon his head, it fit naturally. The Man Without a Face, now had a face. Upon his creativity, he also invented a camera. One of which he would take pictures of the world around him. Perhaps he could show others the interior beauty of life, rather than the superficial. Love and friendship. Happiness and excitement. Loyalty and devotion.

As he ventured far and wide, snapping pictures of enlightening moments. The Man Without a Face had unraveled some important memories. Some of which seemed to be a refresher amongst the perfect folk. Many had gathered around, far and wide to view the majestic pieces that he had created. Since he had a face, they treated him as an equal. Their undying devotion and attention was glorious. He fit in with them. He had "friends." His life turned for the better, or so it seemed. The Man Without a Face had become a memorable being. Many of which supported and knew. They followed him wherever he went. He taught them many of things. Especially love and acceptation of others who are not of the same as they.

One evening, another new arrival came to the land. No one knows of where this child came from. But they were not of a perfect build. They had a missing arm and a badly repaired right leg. The young child limped through the streets as the Perfect folk mocked and teased him. Some even tried breaking his already undesirable leg. One grabbed a hold of the small child and tossed him into puddle, shorting out his leg to where he could not walk.

Upon seeing this, The Man Without a Face attempted to walk away. But alas, he knew better. The Man With a Face thought long and hard. He realized, that he had changed from who he once was. He wanted to fit in. Wanted to be like the perfect folk. He changed his views on life and lost what he really had. He turned back and stood before the small child before anymore havoc broke loose on him.

His arms out stretched and his metallic face glistening in the light. He ordered the crowd of folk to stop. The Man Without a Face told them that he was not who they think he was. Lifting up his hands, he pulled off the simple mask and tossed it aside. Revealing who he really was.

"I am, The Man Without a Face." he informed the awestruck crowd. "I am not perfect nor is he. Nor are any of you." He pointed to the young boy beside him then to the crowd. The Man Without a Face continued and his voice held strong. "I have shown you all what there is in the world aside from exterior beauty. And you now forgot this? Perfection is not a beautiful thing, it is a disaster of which we all seem to strive for."

The crowd stalled and glanced to one another as if they were confused with what is happening before them. Many remained silent, allowing The Man Without A Face to talk. Others wanted to rebel and destroy both the child and The Man Without a Face. As they took a step forward, a hand thrusted out before them, stopping them in their track.

A Perfect being had stopped a possible mob. She reached up to her face and unlatched her metallic mask. A hiss was heard, sounding much like a snake. With a swift swing, her hand tossed the metallic sheet onto the ground. Clanking her way, she stood next to The Man Without a Face and the Boy. Another followed in pursuit. Unlatching their faceplate and tossing it aside. Then several others.

Before he knew it. He stood before several who bore similar faults as he. Others stood, dumbstruck as to what happened before them. Their faceplates still remained fastened. Many had forgotten who they really were inside due to the pressure of simply, fitting in. Different faults could be seen, standing before him. Eyes missing, jaws missing, nose missing, wires hanging loosely in the wind. One could name it, chances are it was there.

Together the perfect and imperfect stood in one place. The Man Without a Face had shown light upon their lives. They now realize what they have been overlooking all these years. One did not need to be perfect to be one of the crowd. It takes more than just a simple exterior beauty.

It takes interior beauty.