Sunday, October 11, 2009

The Dress.

The Dress

Threads take hold and spin through flesh. Pain isn’t the word you might use to describe it. Jeweled corset that conforms to the body, slow, razor like boning pierces the base of my rib cage and invisible phalanges reach in and push upward. Arms become flowing sleeves of fabric that twist and bend as they dance before my eyes. Magnificent colors that reach into my skin and through my bones. Stockings provide gentle movement up my thin legs and gently interweave into my thighs and hips providing support for a tenuous waistline yet undetermined.

Just once in this lifetime I had hoped for something beautiful. A simple wish made by a foolish young woman who couldn’t possibly begin to dream for anything extravagant in this lifetime. Employed as the mere assistant of a seamstress, I could never seek to possess any type of illustrious garment. The dresses produced were of the highest caliber. Pure Radiance. The fabrics were foreign, exotic and out of the ordinary. It was no mistake that I’d longed for expensive fabrics and the dream of attaining a piece of magnificence of my own. Despite my best efforts, the scraps of fabric I gathered were never enough to piece together a suitable reproduction. My own selfish fulfillment never allowed for mediocrity. Such gowns were travesties, indeed the bastard children of these exquisite creatures. Quite often, the seamstress would find my creations and ridicule such feeble attempts. It became clear I would have to find other means for bringing life into my dream.

Desire leads to longing and longing to lust that leaves a gaping emptiness in the middle of your soul. My unquenchable need for this long lost vision became madness throughout my mind, night and day. The image in my mind could not be reached. The perfect fabric seemed to elude me until one fateful afternoon. The errands found me gathering new materials in an old corner of the world. Many would not find themselves in such a dark place. The town looked a hundred years old. Shops had dusty windows that showed no sign of life in decades. The place I sought out had a unique thread that my employer sought most viciously. She said ‘Accept nothing less that a ten spools, twenty if you can talk him down in cost.’ So I delicately found my footing down a dark alley way amidst the ghost town. Whispers seemed to gather on the air as I reached the doorstop.

Small bells jingle as I enter. It was dank and dusty in the tiny shop filled with thousand upon thousands, spools of thread. A small man sitting behind a counter, practicing needlepoint, surrounded by the countless spools speaks up, “You’ve come for Lenora, have you?” I nod as he glances up from his stitching with small eyes peering at me through tiny spectacles. “But you seek something of your own, do you?” I nod again. “I can not give you all that Lenora asks, but I can help you with your desire.” I stop breathing and wait. The miniature man gets up, walks over to a large spool and motions me over. “This will enable you to create whatever your heart desires. The label on the spool is worn. I’m not sure what it was for, but the texture of the thread is unquestionably odd and quite old. “Take it, and return these small rolls of thread to Lenora,” are his last remarks as he hands me a small satchel of five rolls before disappearing into the back of the shop.

The threads grow and swim as though alive. My mind confused as I began the dress. It seemed to be alive and becoming more human before my eyes. The form had become anything but lifeless as I pieced together the last stitches on the bodice. Until that last piece… Blood. I pricked my finger on the tip of the needle. Uncertain of the gift that the old man had given to me, I continued to sew. Quicker and quicker my fingers moved and it seemed as though the thread had become interwoven among them. My heartbeat growing faster and faster. Fascination instead of fear took hold. The dress slowly unraveled from the form and found its way up and down my spine. Spilling onto my skin the tiny pieces of stitching pierced flesh until only threading and beadwork remained. My waistline cinched in until my body can barely manage the breath of life, expels long flowing silk-like fabric. The transformation continues until there is nothing of me and only beauty. Blinded by my own desire for beauty, I am living and animated. The Dress.

Silence. enjoy. kisses. m.

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