The Doll

What a waste

    My life's meaningless. I was created out of pure boredom. Now I sit in the corner, stitched together from broken bodies. Eyes, dead eyes, lop around in my skull. I watch quietly as my creator creates other pieces of horror. Toys. He makes toys for little children. They never really love him though, not like he loves them. But yet he still makes toys for them, only to become consumed with rage when he finds that his love is not returned.

    I can walk, I can move, but ultimately, I am also a toy. I am not alive, though I do appear so. Though life was breathed into me when I was first constructed, it is not life, but foul breath that fills me. Once my creator saw that I would not speak or move, he cast me away into a corner. He would check on me often, at first. Gradually he cared less and less as he focused on his other creations, which didn't have life like I did. They were like robots, they did as they were told. The only way they might be compared to me is the way they also had no meaning.

    Once, there was a boy, the first one to see my creators workshop. This boy loved my creator almost as much as my creator loved him. This made me almost jealous, but seeing as how I was not truly alive, it was near impossible for me to feel human emotions. But yet, as the years rolled by, I began feeling something I had come to the conclusion was loneliness. I had no friends, and had found that I was sad. I wanted purpose, but could find none. Perhaps it is this feeling that made me walk after rotting in in the corner for so long.

    I saw the workshop from different angles. It was so much different than I initially thought. Toys littered the workshop, some broken, some new, and some half finished projects. There were so many colors, yet they all made the room feel so much more, happy. Why hadn't I come out sooner? I found a mirror, I know this because the thing I consider to be myself appeared in this mirror, she copied my movements, she moved when I moved and looked where I looked. My face was cracked after years of being solitary. Scars on my neck, arms and wrists show that I was not truly human. My hair, was long and luscious, like so many dolls my creator had brought in.

    "Finally decided to stop mopping?" A bell like voice said from behind me. My creator. His bright blue eyes seemed to glow through the darkness, but I could tell he was wearing a smirk on his porcelain face. As I tried to talk all that came up was dust and a choked sound. I was broken. My creator came out from the shadows of his workshop. I had seen my creator so many times before, but never had I thought about how truly beautiful he was. His tall slender body walked with grace that no human, that I have seen, had ever walked with. His jaggedly cut black hair was almost purple, but real. Was my creator a human? I didn't believe he was, but he looked like a more perfect version of humans.

    I was to serve him until the end of time. I did not age, nor did my master. As his first creation my master had a certain attachment to me that would not allow him to simply dispose of me. He fixed me when I would occasionally break. I did not require food or water, and I could stay unusually still. Whenever the master would bring in a new child I would do as the little human asked. And when the little human was no longer little, and no longer loved my master, therefore bringing on his wrath, I would be the one to take the child's soul and place it into a doll that my master had created for the child.
I loved my master, and he loved me. But I never knew why I still felt my life to have no meaning. Perhaps I'll never find out.

News Report, January 18, 2014

Another body was found in yet another ally way. Another victim of the heartless murderer. It seems that the perpetrator brutally rips the heart out of their victims. Police are still unsure as to why. Witness reports say that the perpetrator is a women with long curly hair, cracked face and stitches on her neck, wrists and arms. Police still have no leads as to who this women could be, please stay tuned for the weather.

   What makes a human a human. Its soul? No. Its heart? Perhaps. One way or another. I will find meaning to my life. Then, and only then, my master may love me as much as he loves his little children.