Best CP Origin Stories

Jason The Toymaker

I don't have many memories left from my past. The faces of my real parents were like faded masks in my mind. I only had some remains of my childhood, faceless names and total darkness. At the age of nine, something happened to my family. The trauma was so deep that it made me forget most of my life. I only had the shred of a memory related to my best friend. He was the only one who was there for me my whole life. It was an image stuck in my mind along with the melody from a music box. Among the black holes of my amnesia, I caught a glimpse of his honey-colored eyes and his dark mahogany hair. I remembered his friendly smile... but nothing else. All the rest disappeared in the dark, so did he.

The memories went back to the orphanage where I was born. Some awesome parents, Maddalena and Steven, who adopted me and gave me a feeling which I had forgotten, the warm feeling of having a family. They raised me in their house until I turned fifteen. My amnesia led me to examinations and psychological check-ups, which year after year were slowly starting to fail. It looked like I wouldn't ever get my memory back. This fact left me distraught, On one hand, I wanted to know what happened, but on the other... an odd feeling of anxiety suggested I shouldn't wish for it. Obviously, there were some unpleasant consequence to my trauma. It was some sort of paranoia, as if I was being persecuted by something. The specialists told my parents it must have been linked to a particular memory, which was continuously blocked from my mind. Neither the cause, nor what happened was exactly clear but despite my efforts, I couldn't focus on it.

I felt like I was being observed, not by people, but by the stuffed toys in my room. It was stupid, I know. At the beginning, they were simply toys, but time and time again, their big round eyes seemed to stare at me. Since I was little I thought the stuffed toys in my room were alive and sometimes I tried to prove it: I spied on my room from the hall with the door ajar, I then turn away and suddenly turn back and never took my eyes off them, not until I felt a burning sensation from not blinking my eyes.

Time after time, the stuffed toys were the ones staring at me. It almost looked like they wanted to test me and I couldn't bare it anymore. The thought stuck in my mind at times, it seemed to me that they moved their heads turning their little faces towards me. At other times, they made noises in my room. This couldn't be true, obviously. Why did this thought persecute me? Why did I hate those stuffed toys? In spite of everything, why didn't I get rid of them? I could have presented them to other children, or thrown them in the rubbish. One day I tried, really, I did, but when I took one of them in my arms, a strong sense of anxiety and terror stopped me. I always ended up putting them back in their places, on the furniture, my bed, and the shelves. This caused me to have to take tranquillizers.

There was only one toy I took with me at night, despite my age, I couldn't separate myself from him and felt a familiar affection from him that started long before my amnesia. I found him in my wardrobe at the orphanage and from there on out we became in separable. It was a sweet bunny with ears as long as him, on one side it was red and the other side was a caramel color. He wore a black waistcoat, with two long sleeves that draped down to the point of his feet and dashed an elegant collar that dawned pointed tips at every edge of the fabric, a black button donned the center and wore a stylish frilly eyepatch over his little left beaded eye. It was funny, but he looked like the only stuffed toy that was harmless. Ever since I was little when I would slip under the sheets and fall asleep almost instantly among the creaking old walls he's slept by my side just like that night.

I was standing still in the darkness, unable to move and couldn't understand how I ended up there, surrounded only by the distilled silence. Something slimy grabbed my wrist and held me so tightly that instant pain shot right through me. A set of white nails slowly penetrated my flesh. I watch them cutting through my skin, making me bleed. I screamed and cried, but a laugh bellowed out, covering my desperate pleas. "She belongs to me," a voice whispered to me. Within that dark abyss, two green sparkling eyes appeared before me, they were a few inches away from my face. "You are only a hindrance to me". He laughed amused by my pain while he pierced the flesh under my nails with needles. He ruined my body with rusty tools...on the contrary; he said he was going to fix me all up.