nico_noire (nico_noire) wrote in emopoetsociety,
nico_noire
nico_noire
emopoetsociety

redeemer

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I think that this scene in particular best represent the sense of dread that I felt on that sidewalk. It was an incredible feeling, something that I found appealing and almost seductive. I stood for over an hour watching the grotesque mannequin. I stared at its stare and its hideously wonderful smile, held in place, captivated. I wondered what it might see and from what nightmare it might be looking out from, amongst so many cluttered anachronisms and relics whose ability to inspire delight had long since faded into a morbid, hollow, caricature. I imagined that its plastic was flesh. I imagined being in the cramped and dimly lit room of a cheap motel with her standing in the corner, standing still but staring at me vacantly. She doesn't move. Her glassy eyes don't move. Her terrible smile doesn't move. I only see the front of her velvet garment shifting slightly as to indicate shallow breathing. I can never leave that room. I watched mannequin in the window and eventually I was looking back into the shop behind it. Everything was dark except for a small light on a wall in the back of the store, providing an outline for all of the undefined objects inside. The mannequin didn't move or speak or breathe. It just stood as both guardian and usher, staring sightlessly at nothing, joyous agony fixed forever onto its twisted face. I looked inside and was inside and felt full of the dread that my own agony was somewhere inside of that blackness, thousands of agonies, as many as I could concieve of and even more that I couldn't, doorways into cramped apartment rooms with silent tormenters who were ready to hold me motionless forever. Maybe I'd wind up like the mannequin, perpetually frozen inside of a little box of windows like the display in the front of the store or the toll booth of the parking lot. Maybe I'd find myself locked in a tea cupboard at the bottom of a dark ocean with no surface, or chained to a slab, listening to torpid whispers emerging from the oily red haze that's cast by tawdry lamps. I couldn't know what was inside of the blackness, thus anything could have been inside, and by not knowing what torment dwelled within I could experience all of them. I entered, enraptured by my dread, the mannequin now behind me. I entered and I never left.
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