In The End, Do I Deserve It? I Do

Doll

This story was written May 3, 2021.

Warnings for this story: child abuse, descriptions of torture

Read at your own risk

Enjoy

~ In The End Of The World

________________________________________________________________________________

 "Come now! Get your very own princesa de porcelana today!" the man called, drawing in whoever he could from the crowd, showing them off his prized products.

The one right behind him was about 5'4, with scruffy brown hair almost covering his eyes.

He looked destitute.

Depressed.

Deprived of all that made life worth living.

And according to the strings drilled into each of his joints, it really was.

Through each of the boy's joints was a hole, constantly leaking blood from the jostling that wouldn't let it scab or heal. Through each miniscule hole was a transparent string, about as thick as fishing line. At the top, it was attached to two pieces of wood that were crossed one over the other. If one side was pulled, the joints tied to that end would move.

And the boy would scream in agony.

Or, he used to.

He doesn't anymore.

He doesn't make much noise anymore.

"Watch! Watch, my people! This doll doesn't make a sound! She's a perfect addition to your collection!" the man called again, climbing up the ladder behind the boy's enclosure.

Once at the top, he picked up the crossed pieces of wood, pulling them this way and that, and the boy had no choice but to follow along.

As the crowd watched the boy dance along to whatever his seller deemed, they were all shocked to see the boy wasn't making any noise, he wasn't even crying because of the pain.

If anything, he looked empty.

Once the puppeteer finished, the crowd clapped, and the boy crumpled to the floor. He curled up despite his restraints, hyperventilating.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

You're breathing too much.

Stop breathing.

1, 2, 3.

He was fine.

He sat back up.

A woman walked up to the enclosure, cocking her head in intrigue at the doll.

He wasn't a doll.

He was alive.

Why didn't anyone see that?

"How much for that one? She seems cute" the woman said, looking the boy up and down.

He was dressed in a flowing white dress, a crown of white flowers atop his head, although skewed from his ministrations. He really did look like a doll.

He wasn't a doll.

"Oh, I've never been able to sell her, even though it's been fifteen years! She's a difficult one alright, but I managed to curb her attitude enough to be a sweet little doll! You can have her on the house!" his seller proclaimed, seeming thrilled at having sold his prized possession.

His own child.

His own son.

No, his doll.

He wasn't a doll.

"Wonderful! Can I take her right now?" the woman asked, batting her lashes.

His seller nodded.

His father nodded.

His dollmaker nodded.

His puppeteer nodded.

He wanted to slap him.

He couldn't.

"Lovely! I'll get my men to load her box into my car. Don't worry sweetie, you'll fit right in at my home!" the woman cooed at the boy.

He looked up at her.

She startled at this.

"What are the marks on her face? Why are her eyes and mouth sewn shut? This is an awful quality doll!" the woman cried. The crowd's focus centered on her.

"I told you, she was a difficult one! This way, she won't be a bother! It's a great deal!"

"If you want me to buy this doll, you will cut those stitches off her face!"

"I'm already giving her to you for free, why are you complaining?"

"I won't have something so ugly in my house!"

"Fine! But I'll charge you an extra fiver for this!"

"Deal! Just cut them!"

And cut the stitches the seller did.

As soon as the boy's eyes opened, he winced, the light nearly blinding him. His eyelids fluttered a bit before finally adjusting, and he looked up at the woman properly.

"Eugh! This doll is awful! Her eyes don't even sparkle!" the woman cried.

"That's because we're in the wrong lighting!"

"No such thing! This is a terrible doll!" she repeated. The crowd was murmuring now.

The boy raised his hand to speak.

"Miranda, be quiet"

His hand shrank back.

"Good girl. Do you think you can sing?"

He shook his head.

"Do it, you ungrateful child!" he yelled, slapping the boy across the face.

Tears welled in his now open eyes, and the boy complied.

His voice cracked at first, before becoming a smooth melody that impressed all those in the audience.

The woman beamed.

"I changed my mind, I'll take her!"

"No, I will!" a man shouted.

"No, me!" another woman shrieked.

The crowd grew chaotic as the boy continued to sing, tears falling freely and smudging his carefully applied makeup.

"Shut up, doll. We're gonna be rich" his seller grinned, tilting his chin to look up at him from where the boy was sitting on the floor.

His joints were bleeding, his face was destroyed, his sense of self was nonexistent at this point.

All that he had was his voice.

"Yes, sir"