Wooden curves hang off the edge in a almost admission way. The strings tangling it up in tight knots, hoping it won't fall apart. It sits there, mind simple and omniscient.  Magnetic screws keeping joints together as it props itself up. 

Simon; the name it was given, although the wooden figure could not feel any emotion, it's hollow structure engraved with unseen programming, to help and comfort the one who sees it.

Everyone has one. A Simon that is, but not all of those other Simon's are like this Simon because this Simon is different. He's Simon all the others are not.

It's neck crooks, looking up at the ceiling, brackets churning and moving to a rather uncomfortable position​ as it lied on it's back.

Waiting.

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