Ariel’s Broken Jukebox Pt.2 - Gaslighting and the Fingerless Prince

What is it like to lose a voice?

A lot of people wondered when they heard I had been gaslit for three years.

Well, it's both simple and complex, like an equation not everyone can solve. It was like death, yet it felt alive. Gaslit people go to work, have fun, work out, meet family and friends.

But to do so, they must do without a voice box. They might use an AI program to speak for them. Or they could use their abusers, who know how to talk to them well. In that case they speak but not their minds, they laugh but not at the jokes ty find funny, they attend parties and gatherings, they buy clothes, cut their hair, shave their legs, but they are still not them, even eating their favorite ice-cream bowl or lying lazily by the sea.

Sounds complex? Well...let me tell you a story about a prince who was everything everybody wanted him to be, but not himself when he agreed to lose his voice.

"Once upon a time, there was a prince. He was the son of a very strong family, but they were all athletic and strong. They participated in hunting expeditions and played sports, they went out to parties and immersed themselves in the fierce comradery of bros against hoes; well if you can call dainty princesses with tiny waists and magnanimous bosoms hoes then yes...they formed an alliance against that.

But the prince was not like that. He hated being a bro. For all that mattered, he wasn't against hoes or anything. All the prince wanted was to play the piano deep inside the forest where he could not be found. He played and played until his fingers bled, until it was neither dawn nor sunset. But nobody appreciated this. The king was furious at the prince. There were loyalties to make, land to conquer, swordfights to excel at, and women to bury his head within their warm lace.

So an evil sorcerer was asked to approach the prince, and trick him into accepting a binding contract. If he signed, he would be obligated to follow the kingdom's rules. The prince, although fragile, was a rebel. He rejected all attempts to mold him. He wouldn't be like his brothers. He hated their lives. He was not interested in the monarchy. To the world he made a fool of himself, but to himself music meant something. It is possible that if he played long enough, a symphony, an awakening, thunder might strike him dead, or flowers would bloom throughout the night, from among these ferns and coniferous growths.

But the sorcerer knew his way with the prince. He waited and waited, patiently weaving a cloak of submission. He knew the prince was not interested in wearing crowns or jewelry. He didn't want to be identified with materialistic things. He was wild as the cattle stampede that stormed across the kingdom's lands. But wild ones don't stay wild forever. There are obligations, and those responsibilities come in the form of the aftermath of a first heartbreak.

And the first heartbreak came from the beautiful and arrogant belle that the prince fell for. He never thought she would reject him. Yes, the prince was fluid. His first kiss was with a boy, but that was in the past. He never thought of who he loved, and whether they were like him or different from who he was. He followed his heart and wherever it took him, he landed. So when he met the arrogant belle at the pan flute lesson, he was charmed by her skills. She played the flute until he felt his soul fly. When he took her to the forest to show her his music skills, she was impressed. That day, he played the piano like nobody else. He wasn't just creating music, he was soaring, the veins in his forehead popping, his eyes distant, focused and scary. He wooed her, not with his charm, for he knew that no matter how charming he was, there were more charming people out there. People like his brothers. But that secret talent, those fingers playing the piano, there weren't too many out there. So the incredibly attractive and arrogant pan flute genius was smitten, as he had hoped. He lost his virginity to her, on the damp piano from early morning dew. That day he returned home wearing Air Nike, pumped and charged like nobody else. But the evil sorcerer watched, his face lurking in the shadows. He knew like all the wise that first love doesn't last. Never lasts.

And last it did not. The king held the annual ball, and the prince attended, confusing everyone in the grand palace. But it was different this time. He will wear a mask and search the crowds for his pan flute belle. He will bow to her and dance with her. Then they will stun the crowd as they play a version of "He's a pirate", her on the pan flute, him on the piano. They will make their own concerto, a stunning prelude in D minor, and the world will cheer him on. He need not be his brothers or father, just himself, and that will suit him fine.

But the moment he wore the peacock mask and entered the ball, there she was, his belle, in the arms of his middle brother, wearing a hawk mask. He bent her over like a marshmallow, her neck so long that he could feel her veins trembling. The prince stood. Tears clouded his vision beyond the mask. Then he stormed, rode his horse and ventured deep into the forest. In his secret place, the piano was covered with mold and mildew, vines and thorns grew all around it. Enraged, the prince sat at the piano, raised his hands and slammed them against the keys. Music came out of his body like a purge. He shook and heaved; his chest pained with gurgling tears. He didn't just play, he smashed his fingers against the keys until they bled, again and again. His music ruptured something in the heart of the forest, something evil, not beauty or Gothic, but dark like the pit where his father threw enemies to hungry boars and deformed beasts. So dark and deep that nobody heard the fallen's screams. The prince remembered these stories and played harder. He hated them. He hated violence, but there he was, wishing he was there with the beasts, eating someone out. Taking their hearts with his claws and fangs.

The evil sorcerer approached. He wore a peacock costume, but different from what the prince wore. He came with a cloak, perfectly woven to knit all the prince's fingers together, so he wouldn't play. He showed him the contract, held the prince's head in his lap. Told him it was his fault. He was weak. He was pathetic. He gave too much to this piano, and nothing came out of his music but misery. He showed him the kingdom's people in a crystal ball. They were all tired and depressed. None of them cared about his music. None of them wanted to listen. And the children cried every time they passed by his hiding place as they played. Nobody cared. Why keep playing music when all it did was make the world miserable? The prince cried further, his hopes crushed, his soul grey at the edges. He asked the kind evil sorcerer in the peacock mask what to do. The sorcerer showed him the cloak and instructed the prince to sign a contract not to upset his father, who loved him more than anyone in the world. And as a term of this contract, he had to stop playing music. And to make sure he wouldn't revert back and cause himself - and the ones he loved - pain, they would make him wear this cloak.

The prince dried his eyes and held the cloak in his hands. Not bad. It was royal blue, with gold threads at the hem. It would touch the ground behind him, he could hide inside it whenever he felt scared or troubled by the world. In addition, it had a large hood that almost buried his face. It also had sleeves that wrapped themselves around his arms the moment he donned the cloak, the fingers knitted together so he couldn't move them freely. The hood also had a cloth face shield that silenced him whenever he covered his head with it. The prince got scared, threw the cloak away. His fingers gave life to his dark world. And even if he didn't talk much, his music usually communicated what he wanted to say. But the sorcerer was kind. He patted his shoulder and told him to travel to the edge of the earth, try his luck and come back. If all worked out, the king would forget he had a son. However, if it didn't, the prince could always count on the evil sorcerer to guide him."

Stay tuned for part III.