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Wooden Prison

The piece of music echoing out from the subtle white box rang through the room. The etched wood on the side eroded from years of being held. I drew the top up, the golden buckle unclasping. You could hear the age of it as you unfilled the inside of the chest. A porcelain ballerina leisurely turning on her enthralled pedestal, head back with a delicate essence of freedom.

That freedom that made her feel contained in this box with a velvet lining. As the music played, gently arousing the listener into a lethargic state, I kept my eyes open watching her rotate in that one position, never straying from her abode. Obedience kept her. The face of this woman had been worn off with age, but the expression remained. A depressed, longing look. Hopefulness showed in her eyes for alternative being, only to be reminded that she would devote the remainder of this one in an infinite loop.

Story by:

Paige Dewhurst

28 November 2012

Paige Dewhurst's web:

writtenin-reverse.tumblr.com