asdfadsf
stir.
protaganist yelps. shoots up from his chair and into the ceiling.
his cage sends him in a fleeting rage from time to time.
he flits this way and that. bashing walls with his entire body.
slamming the ceiling with his stomach.
pounding the floor with his back.
they never last long. 5 or 10 minutes at the most.
the ritual seems to calm him and help him accept his prison.
its as though he needs to introduce every square inch of his body, face to face, with the bounds of his realm.
its no good for his stomach to just know it cant go out the window. it has to feel it cant.
so protaganist, the gentleman that he is, obliges his stomachs particularness.
stomach - window.
window - stomach.
‘nice to meet you’
‘also you’.
now it may be important to note that protaganist is aware of his perculiar situation. he knows very well that there is most likely a way out of his predicament. probably involving a small amount of humiliation but not greater than he could bare. there would probably an amount of accepting responsibility and it would also most likely be not more than he could bare.
however - he can not for the life of him see his redemption.
short of the 6 he would never role, protaganist has no idea what can save him.
and for that matter nor do i.
“i am” he proclaims suddenly. overwhelmed by all this talk of redemption and fate.
and that does comfort him for a while.
