Disclaimer- naruto dun belong to me. plz dont flame...XD;;;

What enjoyment do you get from dragging me into the dirt Danna? Do you have fun, pushing me around?(figuratively of course) I know our views are different…very. Our way of thinking-


You pick everything apart—down to every last detail.

Scouting out

and eliminating any possible flaws. There's no room for error in this wonderful little skit of ours. The puppet strings must be pulled to—taught, and perfect. They must be everlasting, ever performing, this twisted little satire, meant to represent our lives. They have to last. Have to be immortal—the show must go on. We can always dip into the stockpile of characters stored in your malignant little wooden dollhouse.

Nay Danna. I think differently- a varying opinion- I disagree. My thought patterns- though perhaps not as sharp as yours, nor as keen, are still observant of the world of art and theatrical behavior around them. Yet, your heart seems to be carved of stone—you're so lackadaisical—it's maddening. My beautiful art—the color, The instantaneous lights flashing violently back and forth at each other—brawling, and leaving a deep impression on your brain.




Yet, its puzzling—through all its artistic glory, its still prompts no reaction worth noting from you. Do you not feel anything? Perhaps you should be cast a more lively character in this play! Cut a few strings and loosen up.

Yes. I think I should edit this script a tad bit—Just add a little more blood, drama, sweat, tears, action

Oh? Brat you say? I'm deserving of that title for wanting a little excitement? I find that odd. I think you're just afraid of new ideas. Yes, that's it. Your afraid—don't bother arguing. I'm not listening to your growls of opposition.

It can't be too awfully comfortable to stand— why don't you lay down?

And that's not an offer.

Very well. Let me help. Why you're protesting so damn much is beyond me Danna. I don't see what the big deal is. It's just a simple action—are you that mortified to feel anything? Judging by how your acting, you must be. Please don't fret—I don't mean to hurt you, but if you keep insisting on struggling…

Your eyes are wide

And your lips, cold.

You really are just a manikin- carved of dense hard oak, and sweet smelling cedar…

No. I refuse to believe that. The way you gasp at me, eyes round and huge—like a deer caught in the headlight. So different from the usual blank, and apathetic look, that they usually bear. No. in this play you're more than just a hunk of bitter wood. Not just a puppet master, the controller of all—the instigator.


I'm the ringleader this time, and you will be my instrument of entertainment.

Not the other way around.

No. Not this time.

Is every inch of you like this Danna?




I'm going to find out- please, just don't bother to remonstrate—like I said before—I'm not listening. Oh?

What's that? Your cold?

That would make sense seeing as I just pulled your cloak off…But then again, you must be lying because you're nothing more than a puppet, you can't feel anything.

Or can you?

The cloaks are now shed aside. The red, black and white brilliance decorating the stage, in the beautiful form of warped, clouds. Yet. It needs more. And you— less. The act you're playing in tonight requires no clothing.

Au natural

I suppose is a word for it. Your mouth is still cold- yet damp- An open cavern, for my tongue to explore. Intertwining and fighting with yours, over the dominance of the vacant space. You groan slightly against my lips, pressing closer yet.

Maybe you do feel it.

You're dancing right into my tongues palms—your strings are being pulled in my favor. Yes. I think you can feel me Danna—bare flesh touching—I don't know what to call it.




I can live with that.


Dancing along your body- dipping into any possible shape or curve—seeking out any possible flaw. There is none. You're like the celestial being- Yes. We can have that be your name. God on earth. I bit of heaven. Tacky—but it makes people pay attention. Oh yes. What an exciting role you have. But we are just getting to the best part- no time for an intermission.

Its center stage! You cant leave now.

Oh? Stop? Why? What I'm doing right now is perfectly acceptable. Just making it less painful for you in the long run. Oiling your creaky solid puppet joints—your not usually part of the action—your not used to moving. I love that sound. That high pitched cry—it sounds like that of pain, and pleasure. It's like music to my ears—do it again.

Stop? It hurts? Please? Is that pitiful begging I hear, coming from you? What's wrong? Has your haughty attitude, and self-assured complexion disappeared with your clothes? Strange Danna. I thought higher of you—perhaps the feeling of me inside you is too much to bear. Poor Danna. You're so pitiful. So large and important a role is too much for you to handle—too much of a responsibility. You'll have you suffer through it. Were almost to the most exciting part—the climax of this skit is nearing. It'll all be over soon.

I hope, that after all this is finished, and through this clever and well written skit, you'll discover, as you lie panting on the floor, that my art is just as meticulous as yours. Hopefully you'll stop draggin me down. I respect you views Danna. I really do but…

The final act is not complete.