DollMaker: A Confession Of A Madman [COMPLETED]

ONE

I simply had to confess! It's been eating my insides ever so slightly for quite some time now. And with each bite, I slowly converged to the utter madness within me that I now find impossible to escape. I managed to keep my temptations at bay but now, I cannot resist! My past, my memories are a part of me. And if I can erase them with such ease, I would, immediately.

I was by no means talented. I was average and sometimes bad at things I do. No matter how simple it was, I always find a way to make it seem impossible to accomplish. Therefore, you can now imagine that I failed terribly at my studies. However, to be frank, I was incredibly talented perhaps gifted at especially one subject, which was chemistry. Yes, I studied the subject at school and made it my major at college, but I was never fond of it. It was unexciting and tiresome. However, my father couldn't stand my hatred towards the study. Therefore, I did what father desired. I spend my childhood reading books about the different concepts of chemistry and studied the subject thoroughly. When I was younger, I made soap blocks for my science project, which my father was deeply proud of. I was six at the time.

After I graduated, I was put in a lab and worked for my father in manufacturing drugs and such products. Father benefited from my work greatly and that was all the reason not to object him.

My mother took advantage of my talents and so she would come to my lab where I often abide and ask me for whitening creams and anti-aging products.

One evening I collected my courage, came forward to father, and told him that I no longer desire to fulfill my courses. And so, after a long argument, and with mother's kind aid, father was convinced. He was able to let me do the one thing I love to do for a living! Which was doll crafting.

I enjoyed sculpting dolls out of clay immensely! My teachers have told me that my dolls are so close to life than anything else. It was as if my dolls are possessed by utter beauty. Their matte texture was so close to a child's smooth skin. Their eyes, ah their eyes were the most alive! They follow you wherever you go, and then stare at you gently with their long lashes that flatter their rosy cheeks.

I opened a small workshop at the heart of New Orleans, on a busy street where people wander for souvenir and fine music. That was two years ago, in 1916.

My place is a humble place. I had my tools kept aside behind a door. And the rest of the workshop opened to the street, displaying my latest work for people to feast on and purchase. Letters would reach me, and the most difficult the quest appears to be the more I was intrigued. I was happy. Happy that I made my life fulfilling to a certain point. Happy that I'm no longer caged in a lab. Because I, I was empty before meeting my creations. Meeting my dolls and then greeting them, left me in great bliss. However, when they leave me, I feel the thickest despair my sadness could ever muster. It was overwhelming in a sense. But I get over it quickly.

Soon, when my craft caught the eyes of wealthy customers and admirers, I had the finance to purchase high-quality silk for the doll's gown and upgrade my workshop.

One day, and this important you see, I had a queer request by a nobleman. The request was for a doll with hip-length midnight hair, deep-sea eyes, and has a height of a 12-year old girl. I get such requests and I like it very much to be challenged! But this particular letter raised some questions. However, a part of my job is not to question my customers' requests. They pay me and I'm more delightful to accept.

The letter did not mention a deadline. So I took my time. I wanted it to be gorgeous, a masterpiece. Not to mention, this is my first time making a doll of such height. All my dolls are no taller than an arm's length. So as you can see, this was a challenge, because the taller the doll is, the more their features stand out. Therefore, everything must be smoothly molded.

A week has passed and I hadn't worked on anything but that nobleman's request. I delayed all the other letters with an apology. I've hit a wall, and all the other's dolls I made came out—ugly. Their eyes were empty again; they reminded me of my own eyes. How they used to be when I worked under father. In rage and frustration, I broke down several of my precious works. I stared at them, fallen at the ground. Broken and hollow inside. My hand was bleeding; it was as if the dolls have injured me in return.

I went out to the local store for bandages and a pack of cigarettes. On my way back, it began to drizzle softly as autumn is just on the corner. I hurried before the weather got heavy. As I passed through a bridge that climbs over a river, I saw a young girl. She appeared to be just in age to finish grade school. She leaned down the low wooden fence of the bridge, staring down the rushing water. She wore a black kimono with white lotuses. She wasn't Asian, but she wasn't local.

"Do you want to fall?" I asked softly. She didn't notice me due to the dimness of the atmosphere. I believe I startled her.

"Will you let me fall if I told you that's what I want?" she replied.