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Madness is an insidious disease. We do not see the danger until it is too late. It creeps into the cracks and crevices of the mind and makes itself at home, like carpenter ants in the framing of a home. We do not know the floor has rotted away until one ill-timed step destroys the façade of normalcy.
One cannot move out of one’s own mind, try as we might. We are trapped within these structures of ours, for better or worse and come what may. We must make do with what we are given and what we have left. Whereas you or I in our daily lives might seek a new homestead in such an infestation, in this labyrinth of the psyche, we cannot.
An undead psychopath to whom she was mildly attracted, but that was another stupid problem entirely.
Cora do you have a deathwish
“You need to understand your cage before you can try to pick the lock.”
“When I wanted you in my lap, I wasn’t expecting this was how you’d wind up there.” “Go fuck yourself with a corn dog.” “Sounds squishy. But I suppose if you’re into that, I’m willing to try anything once.” He snickered as she slapped his chest. His arms tightened around her just a little.
He cradled her cheek in his hand, and for a moment she hoped he might lean in and—no, bad Cora! He shot you today. He tried to eat you yesterday. She pulled back from him, and his lips twinged in a faint smile. He kissed her forehead instead.
“Now, unless you want this moment to grow incredibly awkward for both of us, I do recommend you get off my lap.” Her face rushed with heat, and she knew she must have been blushing the same color as his suit. Just a little too quickly, she took his handkerchief and stood, wiping her face with it.
“That’s the look of someone staring at the empty void and wondering if they should just jump into it. But I know what will fix it.” “What?” She shot him an incredulous look as she handed him back his pocket square. He folded it deftly into a complicated pattern and tucked it back into his breast pocket. He smiled effortlessly, like he always did. “Ice cream, of course!”
When she heard a cabinet door open and shut, she finally looked over to him. Simon was standing a few feet away from her, holding a cast iron skillet out to her by the lip, offering her the handle. Something about it made her laugh. Finally, his serious expression cracked into a small smile. It faded. She shooed his hand away, and he put the skillet down on the counter.
“Good—” She slammed it shut again. Shutting her eyes with a beleaguered growl, she really debated leaving it shut. The person who had been standing there was, naturally, Simon. Holding a tray of food. Am I ever going to be rid of him? Ever? Probably not by leaving him on her doorstep. She opened the door. “—morning.” He was grinning as though nothing had happened. “Hungry?” He held up the tray. “You missed breakfast and lunch.”
You’ll just yell at me some more.” “No, I wouldn’t.” “Yes, you would.” Yeah, she would.
“She does not like to be touched without permission.” Simon smiled sadistically. “And you’ll respect her wishes.”
Simon paced toward her slowly, and she retreated with each of his advancing steps. She backed into the kitchenette table and squeaked, startled. He chuckled at her reaction and placed his arms on either side of her, caging her in against the chairs.
She felt his forehead rest against her. “I’m proud of you, cupcake. Standing up to me like that…If they see you unafraid to face me down, no one will mess with you. I’m not upset. Dress me down all you want in public, because someday soon you’ll let me dress you down in private.” He placed a kiss against her cheek, just by her ear. Slow and sensual.
But things don’t look exciting when they’ve always been there.
Don’t think of this place as a gilded cage. Think of it as the freedom to be who you were meant to be, free of pain and a world that sought to break you down.”
We live all our lives in cages.
We answer to the call of our peers, and we take our place within the structures of humanity around us. We are the ticking cogs within a machine that contains us. We are protected by its housings, even as we are driven forward by the gears about us through no choice of our own. There is no such thing as freedom.
A slave who leads a rebellion is still a truth within the confines of his context. A tyrant overthrown is the same.
Hate your cage. Find another. Build it with your own bare hands if you must—but understand that it is a cage all the same. Embrace it. Fashion it with pride. Make it your home. There is no such thing as freedom for our species. Take these words to your soul, and happiness will follow. -M. L. Harrow
