Dolls

Dolls. You think you know dolls? Punk? You don't know about dolls. You don't know about dolls.

Dolls are the native people of Clown Town. There, I said it. It may be "politically incorrect" to say that, but I'm not one who has ever been known for bowing down to the clown elite. I'm sick and tired of the shit they're doing to us and the dolls. They're pulling the comically oversized wigs over your eyes.

LEt's start at the beginning. Clown Town wasn't always Clown Town. Once upon a time at the foot of a big comfy couch, there was a town where the people known as Dolls lived. It was called "Domusnovus" in Dollenge, the native language of the Doll people. Their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world, obscured as it was by great clouds. Here they lived out their peaceful lives, innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below via the growing civil war between various Clown factions (a history too detailed to explain here). They merely tried to live in harmony with the spirit of their Big Comfy Couch, and that was enough for them.

Then one day, Clowns arrived in the town. They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses- but no one noticed them. The Dolls only saw shadows. You see, Doll eyes are fixed and static. They lack the nuance of a Clown eye. And, thus, the Dolls were blind.

The civil war had been brought to Domusnovus, and along with it came the horrific events that became ingrained and cast in amber in the minds of Clowns and Dolls alike. Clowns parachuting down onto the battlefield and digging trenches to hide in. Waiting until the sun set to kill people returning to their homes in the cover of night - sneak attacks, jumping out from behind corners. Corpses would be left in the streets to be seen by people waking up - bullets clean through the head. Sometimes, a survivor would describe how the Clowns died. Twisting, turning, screaming and yelping until they finally collapsed. It was called "the dance of the dead." This, my friends, is what the Clowns brought to Domusnovus.

In time, the Clowns found their way into the depths of the Big Comfy Couch, and it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable sincerity and beauty. By chance, they stumbled upon the place where all good souls come to rest. The inside of the couch, yea, is where the souls of the departed Dolls reside. Their souls, crystallized and turned to jewels, hang from the ceilings of the couch caves and roll at the feet of the Clowns. We do not know much of the couch, but this we know. The Clowns, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things. And soon they began to mine the couch. Its rich seam, fueling the chaos of their own world.

Meanwhile, down in the town, the Dolls slept restlessly. Their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls. Every day, people would wake and stare at the couch. Why was it bringing darkness into their lives? And as the Clowns mined deeper and deeper into the couch, holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of Couch. For the first time, the Dolls felt fearful for they knew that soon the Couch would stir from its deep sleep.

And then came a sound, distant first. It grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space.

There were no screams.

There was no time. The Big Comfy Couch had spoken.

There was only fire. And then.

Nothing.