In Promo by Aster Gray

The humble dollhouse.

A little girl sees the fabricated reality, the plastic dolls, and she takes to it like a moth to flame.

Her tiny hands get to work constructing a reality she wishes she could live. She positions these dolls in a menagerie of wonderful ways, moving them around the home and creating fantastical scenes inside of her head.

She plays God, toying with what she cannot have and indulging in a reality that she could never mimic.

Because you see, when this little girl goes into the real world, that’s when she experiences the paradox of the dollhouse.

She can create a perfect reality all she wants, move her toys all around and manipulate their lifeless frames as she wishes.

But the moment she enters the world around her, she’ll become aware of just how powerless she is.

Powerful, yet powerless.

The people around her, they move, they walk, they talk.

They are out of her control.

Without her dolls, she is nothing.

And without her, the dolls are the same.

Where are your pigtails, Harvey?

When I look to you, all I see is that little girl toying with her dollhouse. Your hands never idle as you take corpses and manipulate them to create your wicked scenes. With every diorama crafted by your hands a life is traded away to allot you a sense of power.

The bodies with which you create your art are completely under your control, aren’t they?

You use them to craft these erotic, fantastical scenes that you know you could never truly experience by yourself.

These people, they would never conform to your reality so you forced them to comply when you played with God their bodies.

Kill them while they’re helpless, keep them nice and still for your artful games.

But what is to happen when you take a step back, Harvey?

Without a diorama in front of you, without your life sized dolls to play with, you must realize something.

Not everything is black and white.

Your power over life ends as soon as you meet another living person who does not conform to the art you’ve crafted.

The dollhouse, the diorama, exists in the real world around you.

And so do I.

Deathrow is a far cry from your dollhouse, Harvey. Here there exists both stillness and motion, both life and death intertwined.

And I am filled with both.

You see, Harvey, I am neither alive nor dead.

Neither still nor in motion.

I will not sit there to be posed by your hands as I am not a corpse for you toy with.

Nor am I a living being for you to decimate and keep locked forever still in your grasp.

I am the gray that lies between.

Try as you might.

Fight me, stab me, try to make me conform to your reality.

I am beyond your control.

A being that defies both God and the man who tries to play him.

For you cannot kill me in any way that matters.