"sʜᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴍᴏɴsᴛʀᴏsɪᴛʏ."
An eighty-seven-year-old man has spent his entire life with visions of a woman he has never met. She never speaks to him, nor does she understand what he says. One by one, people in h...
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He approaches it with heavy steps, his dirty bare feet shuffle on the concrete. He grips the closet door's rusted brass handle. The door creaks as it slowly sways open. He steps inside the dimly-lit room with the same heavy steps. His body seemingly washes into black as he steps further and further in. He stops a few inches from the foot of a chair. He stares into the eyes of the woman sitting on the chair.
Her head is bent over her shoulder. Her body is bound by rope. Her dark brown eyes are as dead as a doll's. Her lips are parted and her jaw hangs open. Her soot-like black hair flows down the back of the chair. He kneels down on his knee and slides his cold, dusty finger across the edge of her pale jaw. Then he gently presses his finger against her lips.
"There you are..." he whispers softly, "Why do you hide from me? Why do you behave as though you're mute? Have I done something to upset you?"
Her joints are racked with harsh stitches. She bears limbs that are not her own.
"I gave you my sister's hand. I gave you my niece's jewelry. I gave you my brother's arm." he mutters quickly with shaking lips, "I gave you eyes. I gave you feet to dance with, arms to hold with--"
The old man stops and rises to his feet. She's not responding to him. He can't understand why. Was she ignoring him? He feels a lump spike his throat. His lips quiver. Anger flashes through his eyes. "WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!! JUST SPEAK TO ME!"
The artificial woman stares back at him with vacant eyes.
"I. SAID. SPEAK TO ME!!!" he roars. He thrusts the chair off its legs. The artificial woman crashes to the floor. "DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" he wails. He shakes his head. He sees her on the floor. He blinks blankly. He gasps under his breath.
"Who did this to you?" he whispers in surprise as he grabs the back of the chair to prop her back up. The chair's wooden legs wobble before standing still. The artificial woman stares at the door ahead of her. He tries to prop up her head but her head knocks back down and flumps over her shoulder. He steps back, clears his throat, and softens his glassy gaze. "...Alright. Alright. Have it your way. I won't let you come out until you speak to me, you understand?"
The artificial woman's right arm flails over the side of the chair. Her soulless body slumps in her seat.
The old man blinks briefly. "I see now. This is a game. This is all a game in your head. Fine then. Tomorrow, I will get you a new arm-- a better arm--but when I do you will behave. Understood?"
The artificial woman makes no response.
"Good." he says, clearing his throat again. He walks out of the closet with lighter steps. He turns around to stare at her as he slowly closes the creaking closet door. It can be said the man spent far too many years trying to make her real. Her body is as cold as the room that keeps her hostage. She never did dance with the legs he found for her.
