Into The Pink, Part 3
We continue our decent into The Pink, a world of our bright, flush nightmares and objects action figure collectors have never imagined. If you're new to our expedition, we suggest beginning with the First and Second parts before continuing.
Day 3.
I eat the last of my food this morning and still feel famished. There is something about this place that drains the strength from my veins and leaves me exhausted. The wound from last night grows worse.
I know now I am lost in the Pink, with no map or hope of rescue. I tried climbing one of the displays to regain my bearings, but the shelves gave way. I was lucky to escape without any broken bones: I will not try that again.
I seem to have wandered into the dark corners of the Pink. There are things here I do not understand: miniaturized kitchen sets, dolls the size of inchworms which fit into a case which folds into a purse, and, most horrific of all, a sign of betrayal.
It is not the Twilight figures themselves that turn my blood cold: it is the name of the company which produced them. NECA. A company I have bought from before and will surely again… how could they do this? How could they produce so grotesque an affront to nature?
They were wise to hide them here, where they must have thought no living man would ever set eyes upon them. And, should I die here in the Pink, what then? No one will ever know.
Day 3.
I eat the last of my food this morning and still feel famished. There is something about this place that drains the strength from my veins and leaves me exhausted. The wound from last night grows worse.
I know now I am lost in the Pink, with no map or hope of rescue. I tried climbing one of the displays to regain my bearings, but the shelves gave way. I was lucky to escape without any broken bones: I will not try that again.
I seem to have wandered into the dark corners of the Pink. There are things here I do not understand: miniaturized kitchen sets, dolls the size of inchworms which fit into a case which folds into a purse, and, most horrific of all, a sign of betrayal.
It is not the Twilight figures themselves that turn my blood cold: it is the name of the company which produced them. NECA. A company I have bought from before and will surely again… how could they do this? How could they produce so grotesque an affront to nature?
They were wise to hide them here, where they must have thought no living man would ever set eyes upon them. And, should I die here in the Pink, what then? No one will ever know.
At noon, I come across food, and my heart leaps. Fruit grows from the pegs, and I am overtaken with a madding hunger. I tear the bags free and begin to gorge. As my stomach fills, I regain my senses long enough to look at what I'm eating. Inside, the pulp is that same rosy shade that permeates this world. I reel in horror. I can feel it in me. I'm growing dizzy now. Tired and confused. I've begun to shake, and it grows difficult to write. Is this my last entry? What will become of me? Day 5. |
It is a wonder I am alive.
The past two days have brought nothing but pain and madness. In my sleep, I dreamed strange things. The world was naught but a spiral, and we were washed in its wake. I saw a thousand things in a thousand distinct colors, and each was but another shade of pink.
The past two days have brought nothing but pain and madness. In my sleep, I dreamed strange things. The world was naught but a spiral, and we were washed in its wake. I saw a thousand things in a thousand distinct colors, and each was but another shade of pink.
I remember blurs and images, like shadows of what I've seen before. There were horses, ponies, and dolls; all twisted and deformed. There were things my mind could not grasp, horrors I could scarcely imagine... I dreamt of a house, painted like the land. It was unlike any fortress I've seen or imagined. Truly, it was a house of dreams; alien yet somehow familiar. Consciousness had come and gone from me; but all the while I carried on. A primal part of my psyche had taken over, a part which knows these lands and their strange geography. What does this mean? The rest of it: the world I came from, with its television and movies - are these things but lies? |
And, if so, could it be that beneath our skin beats a pink heart, pumping pink blood through our veins? A heart of pinkness, deep within us all. I saw it when I strayed into dream: a Care Bear's head on a stick with Disney fairies buzzing round. This vision did not come from this place: rather, it was inside me. It is part, I think, of that universal unconscious. The Pink was merely its gateway.
Now that my rational side has reasserted control, I can carry on. Still, I record my findings.
Beneath an overhang, I come across something truly remarkable. It is something new, strangely hypnotic. A doll, yes, of an animated figure who has yet to grace the big screen. It is a forged testament to the undying power of hand drawn animation. It is, dare I say, beautiful in its way. Even here, in The Pink, there are things of interest and fascination. A dark thought crosses my mind: am I going native? I consider dropping the toy I've found, turning around, and walking away before I risk my soul along with my life. |
But I cannot. I swallow my fears and bring the figure with me. Whatever the cost, should I live to see again those fields we know, I will see this toy reviewed.
Then I stop, frozen in my tracks. I’ve come to what seemed a cliff rising in the distance, but closer I can see otherwise. I’ve come to it: the thing from my hallucination, and at last I recognize it for what it is. I've heard of it before: a thing long spoken of in rumor and legend. A thing which serious scholars and archeologists have laughed at. It was myth, a story told to young girls: it could not be real. And yet I rub my eyes and look on in amazement. It is real; here before me. I’ve found the lost ruins of Barbie’s fabled Dream House. I steel myself for what I might find, and I prepare to enter. I know there may be traps inside. I know that, in all likelihood, I will find only death. |