A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

In the shallow basement of her three-story house, Shea set up the table at the center of the room with a scene of small, smooth pebbles she gathered from the steady stream just beyond her yard. An artist's mannequin stood strong, wielding a small, intricate pickaxe made specially to fit the magnetic hands of the doll.

Shea was a new artist. The mannequin was a hand me down from her aunt. She had trouble finding inspiration but, in her past, she would create scenes just like this one to photograph, no action, just scenes depicting the raw, unmatched beauty of nature.

The walls of the room, a home for photographs of vast, open plains, and varieties of dense, green thickets bewildering to the eyes were grey and dustless. A computer desk housed a subtle set-up she used to store the images she collected. A camera faced the table, looming down on the hard-working mannequin.

Shea would first photograph the scene for reference after her work was finished. She pressed the power on button on her old Canon DSLR camera, but nothing happened. The battery was dead. She discharged her solo battery then walked it over to the charging station strategically placed next to her computer. With no plans or obligations other than her work for that day she sat at the chair letting out a deep sigh. It was a lot of work to set up scenes like this one. A clink sound at the table interrupted her.

Curious, she turned to the scene on the table. The mannequin had lost its pickaxe and was lifting the enormous in scale pebbles. It walked with a hitch in its step from one end of the table to the next, placing the pebbles in a not so perfect line. After the pebbles were placed it dragged the pickaxe down then sat next to it bathing in the light of the room. It looked up at a picture of an open field featuring two great mountain peaks in the background. A stream ran through the center of the picture ending in a deep blue puddle.

Shea was shocked and dared not move. She sat in disbelief until the camera's battery was fully charged.

Abandoning her first idea she lowered the tripods vantage and tilted her camera up slightly to capture the scene the mannequin had revealed to her. She snapped the shot with a satisfying click from the camera.

The mannequin stood up giving the impression that it was satisfied given by its defined features and stance. But then it pointed towards the computer. A picture of Shea swinging her still young sister on a swing at a park displayed as her background.

More curious now she carried the mannequin over to her desk, trying not to hurt it?

It moved the mouse, clicked on the Microsoft Word symbol, opened a new document then stretched its arms and legs before dancing on the keyboard.

"When it started, I was so unbelievably lost in the delusion that my reality was being played for the world to see. It hurt more than anything I have ever felt. The illusion of a sound outcome had run out when I seen it; my life over to those that claimed to love me. The craziest part was my pain can only be talked about, in a mockery of the chaos that is my truth.

When the love for one thing becomes too great, we are taught to cut that thing off. When the envy we hold for the love that someone holds becomes unbearable, we try to cut that thing off. When we get lost in what it means to fail in an attempt to cut loose ends, that thing will cut you off.

The time alone that is spent, panning around my surroundings, for any life was worth at least one hundred fifty words, because I can still feel myself struggling to find life, surrounded by nothing but love. It wasn’t anybody but myself that concluded that in the darkness of my mind, there is a scar that is only there because of the silence the world asked of me; taking my life and warping it into a whip to punish those that can’t hold a candle to a flame. In the darkness of my mind there is a flame lit, and the monsters are afraid of its’ warmth. What once bruised me has shown me my inconceivable outlook on life. I look out my six roomed home disgusting myself, as you lock all five locks to my playroom. The world is but a breeze under a doorway that has been locked from the outside. Make what you wish of it but keep that in mind when there are only the voices in your head that will stick around to the finish."

It was so forward, so beautifully thought out, so very creative, yet still flawed, just like a human had written it.

The mannequin looked up in Sheas amazed expression as she finished reading it then stiffened itself motionless. This mannequin, this hand me down was something special. It was so alive; her gift was priceless to her.

Shea spent the rest of the day juggling her camera on its sturdy tripod around her table, placing the mannequin in front of each picture, making sure everything was as perfect as possible before she took the rest of her pictures.

This mannequin would never be confined to a drawer full of art supplies. The idea of ruining it was too much for her. She imagined herself walking with it in the park and taking it camping occasionally. She wanted to go shopping for it, maybe buying little dolls, fully clothed just to get the sizing right. Anything and everything the mannequin needed it would get, regardless of the cost. She fell in love with it, never mentioning to anyone what she had found. A magic more powerful than she could muster herself. The mannequin was an explorer who once understood the beauty of life but is now completely misunderstood. Could anything compare to the adventure it would now know and how much it's point of view would be polarized.