Clover
I’m sat on a chair. It’s probably red.
My wrists are tied individually with string and hung above me. My ankles are too. There’s a wooden wedge ensuring that my back and head are straight.
I’m a puppet. I’m strung up like a puppet.
I blink away my fuzzy head and try to focus. There’s an audience and I’m on a stage. The stage is black and shiny. The walls are red.
The chairs facing me are all red. A light beams onto me I and try to turn my head away but I’m unable to move because of the wood holding me in place.
‘Males and Females. Welcome, to the dollhouse.’ That voice. I recognise that awful voice.
I feel a pull on my wrists and they begin to raise, being pulled up into the air and forced to dance. My ankles too. I can’t see through the stage lighting but my chin begins to m
