The Puppet on My Strings

The Strings of a New Beginning

The Russian did not think too much as his hand began to hover over the page while the pencil left behind thin, almost invisible lines of nape. After the first line he added another one and after that came the third line as well.. His movements went on and on while at first the form obtained on the worn page did not really present itself with anything comprehensible. But even if at the moment Dostoyevsky saw no results, he was still diligent and patient enough to keep fiddling with the pencil in his hand until he finally spotted a familiar shape on the page. And after a few seconds of observation, he realized that it was a nothing else human eye which right now lacked in details yet was recognizable.

The small discovery very quickly managed to raise Fyodor's whole mood while he was more excited than ever to sit down and continue with the same action that repeated itself over and over again, this time without stopping for a moment in searching for familiar features as he did earlier. And indeed, he did not remain disappointed as he also noticed the shape of a nose that was slightly crooked and even lips whose edges were turned upward, in the form of a gentle smile. For some reason this also caused the creator of those lips to smile slightly for a moment. Immediately after that, a pair of ears and one outline joined the picture, creating with itself the jaw line of the face that was created as if by itself on the page.

As Fyodor finally pulled the dying pencil away from the page, he could not help but feel satisfied with what he had managed to create so far, even if according to the clock hanging on the wall five whole hours had already passed in which all he did was sit and draw line after line without knowing where it will take him.

The features of the face he currently saw on the page couldn't help but please the Russian, as he saw how every detail that made up the face was positioned exactly where it needed to be in addition to being a perfect match in terms of symmetry and anatomy. And yet, even if what he saw now left him satisfied, he could not ignore the one imperfect detail that was gaining all of his attention right now.

Among everything he had managed to do until now, he quickly noticed that something very important was missing nevertheless all he had already managed to create, and that was the second eye of his creation. At first, he didn't pay too much attention to it since he was very excited about the other features he had sketched in place of that eye, but now, even after he tried to add a few more lines in an almost desperate attempt to make that eye appear he noticed that the shape he was looking for wasn't really in a hurry Appear. Instead, he watched as a completely different form appeared where that cursed eye was supposed to be. And after he took a few more seconds to try to understand what it was about, he concluded with himself that the new form now created was actually a mask designed to hide what Fyodor himself did not want to see. And he decided that he had no reason to argue with himself.

Instead of dwelling on the missing eye he moved his hand to another spot on the paper, while the ruined tip of the pencil finally found itself outside the confines of the face, he had set for himself. And while his hand continued to float over the worn page with a lightness that was not typical for him at all, Fyodor continued to observe what was happening on the page while his other hand already found itself at the side of his face, while he bit with his front teeth the short nails whose outline was decorated with remnants of clotted blood. And even if he felt old wounds opening up there, he didn't pay too much attention to it while all his concentration was directed at the sharp shapes that began to appear on the paper.

First, he noticed how rounded and wild lines create with themselves a new frame for the face already found on the paper, so that Dostoyevsky very quickly realized that it was an act of airy hair that connected the outline of the face of his work like a designed frame decorated a work of art. And even if some of the hair spikes that were created hid the facial features of his creation, Fyodor could not help but feel satisfied with the combination that came out between the face and the hair.

Then he noticed how his hand started to go down, without giving the pencil a chance to rise from the page until eventually he noticed that the new lines were also part of the haircut of his creation. A long braid that reached almost halfway down the page. The sight made the Russian's heart beat even faster in his chest as he also felt a slight pain in his chest from each of the muscles movement. Yet, he hurried to put the tip back on top of the table before he suddenly heard a "CRACK!!!" coming from beneath him. The sound was so powerful that it continued to echo in the room for a few more seconds before completely disappearing.

The tip of the pencil he had been using until now finally reached its limits and broke almost to ashes.

But of course, Fyodor could not let a minor obstacle like this stop him from completing the project he had already invested so much of his time and energy into. That's why he quickly sent what was left of the pencil to an unknown location before his hand was already drawn to rummage through one of the dozens of messy drawers he had before he pulled out from among all the paperwork and dirt a pen that looked like it had been lying there for years, and it probably wouldn't have bothered him too much if he hadn't Discovers that he has no ink left when he tries to make another line on the paper and in doing so almost tears it.

The sound of the point rubbing against the thin piece of wood caused Fyodor's heart to stop for a few seconds until he made sure that no damage had been done to the page and no scratch on it. Immediately after that he did another search in another drawer before pulling out another old pen that this time was almost half full of ink, giving Rossi a chance to continue with his work even if his eyes were already starting to feel heavy and his body needed rest. But he was already used to sacrificing hours of sleep as well as basic needs in favor of everything else, so he filtered out the cries of his body and instead simply continued to draw already with the red ink of the pen.

Fyodor's opinion was that the red ink very much suited the character of the character slowly forming on the screen, so he continued to move his hand faster and faster hoping to see the final result that was waiting soon. And indeed, he saw how the figure's jawline quickly formed a long, thin neck that was connected at the end to a pair of broad, muscular shoulders to a degree similar to that of a person who dabbled in athletics. After the shoulders, the full picture was joined by strong arms, a chest that, just like the shoulders, was reasonably muscular and a thin and elastic pelvis, while it seemed that the proportions were more suitable for a woman than for a man. But the detail that pleased the Russian the most out of everything he had seen so far was the last thing he came out with the red ink.

After his hand had finished shaping the pelvis and the rest of the upper body he noticed that the shape the lower body had taken was much more fleshy while the long legs of his creation quickly took on an outstanding shape, like those possessed by an experienced dancer who had trained these muscles all his life Constantly. And even if the strange proportions were created with the presence of the long legs, Fyodor could still feel no other emotion than pride in what he now saw on the table, even if he knew that this work was not yet completely finished and that he should not yet be too excited by the results he still not received

So, he hastened to close his rare lilac eyes while his hand continued to hover over the paper, while he felt how something he could not explain was pulling her from side to side and making it add more and more lines until he finally felt that enough was enough. Enough with it for now. He had been working on this piece for several hours and now he felt that he had done just enough to earn himself the results he would be satisfied with. Therefore, he hurriedly got up from the creaking chair he had been sitting on all this time before he took several steps back without opening his eyes for a moment. His goal at the moment was to be exposed to the full picture at once and thereby also try to understand what it was all about. Who was it about?

And while he was standing in the center of the room with his eyes closed by his own little hands, he could not help but run through his head countless questions related to his activity during the last few hours, if activity was the right way to describe what he did.

Who could be the person he draw just now? Who was the one who made him sketch it and why did he do it? Is God trying to convey an important message to him with the help of the piece that is a few steps away from him? Does he want to give him an ability that none of the wretched people who shared a place with him on earth possessed? Was the person now on the old page someone he knew? Maybe it's even someone he'll meet one day in the future?

So many questions and at the same time so few answers. Therefore, Fyodor decided not to raise his expectation too much while he finally opened his eyes again.