Johanna knew something was wrong the moment she woke up. There it was again—that familiar feeling, like a string that was attached to her being pulled. She hated that feeling, and had never grown used to it, even though she had felt it as long as she could remember. Deciding that she was too tired to struggle at the moment, she slipped out of bed and quickly dressed. For some reason, she also felt like putting on her favorite hat. She adjusted it in the mirror and frowned at her reflection—is this what she was reduced to? A puppet?
She caught a glimpse of her son as she walked out of her room and out to the entry way. Autor…he was only a child. He didn’t understand what was happening at all. He had no idea what the recent crow attacks might mean for him…
Trying not to think of the danger he could be in, she walked into her husband’s study, this time moving of her own free will. Uhrmacher was asleep at the desk, a few of Drosselmeyer’s books piled around him. She shook her head sadly as she took a piece of paper and a quill off of the desk. She tried to tell him that researching Drosselmeyer was dangerous, but…
Johanna quickly wrote out a paragraph on the sheet of paper. No time to make it an elegant piece of prose, just something, anything. She could feel the strings start to tug again. She set the piece of paper down on the desk, then shook Uhrmacher’s arm.
He barely even stirred. Of course…that was probably part of the play, as well. She walked out of the study and through the house until she reached the entryway, slipped on her shoes, and walked outside.
She did enjoy going on walks, but…not at this time of the night. The normally bustling town was as quiet as an empty theater. Johanna was the only actor in this play.
As she was tugged along through the city streets, she couldn’t help but wonder how much of her life had been just part of the story. When she and Uhrmacher had met, did she find him attractive because the story told her she did, or was it of her own volition?
And Autor, then…was he just another character written into the story? Was he planned and outlined before she had ever even seriously considered the idea of having a child at all?
The strings were pulling her along towards the bridge over the river. Once there, she was allowed to stop.
The river’s current was strong tonight—recent heavy rains had caused the river to swell. She watched a twig bob helplessly in the water, twisting and turning in the current.
…That twig probably wasn’t even important enough to be a puppet.
Suddenly, unimportant sounded like a pleasant existence. No feeling that you’re constantly being pulled along…no worrying about what would happen if you dared do something that he didn’t agree with.
“I hate you, Drosselmeyer,” the woman hissed under her breath as she watched the water below her. “I hate you and every word you write.”
She felt another tug, and took a step closer to the railing of the bridge.
“..So that’s what you mean to do.”
Another step.
She couldn’t do anything to protect her family if she stayed with them. In fact…the safest thing would probably be if she wasn’t there. She knew this…she wrote that.
Another tug, and she leaned out across the railing of the bridge.
It would be a way to finally be free of the strings…
A puppet couldn’t move without its strings, but at least it was free.
Freedom…
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31_days2007-04-09 01:00 am
