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I sat there day in and out watching looming, hanging on a nail on the wall looking down on the girl I never could be, she was so young and happy, so vibrant and jovial, always hating her. Her curly locks made me sick, and that sweet tender smiled made me want to cut her pretty little face. But she owned me, her only thing in the world to hold dear and precious.
Every day until she was six did she sit there and stare at me, touch her hair and move it to look like mine, touch her face and frown at how dark it was compared to mine. Tug at her skirt, and wish it had ruffles like mine. She couldn't articulate it in words well but I could see, I could tell she loved me; she wanted to look like me. But did I care, no I didn't, I wanted her soul I wanted her life, I didn't want to be a doll.
On the day of her fifth birthday I was taken off the wall and put in a box, I thought to myself," great I’ve been sold, well now I won't have to look at her anymore." Oh was I wrong, so deadly wrong. The box quickly opened with rips and tears, and then, suddenly, grabby hands covered in something sticky that had only partially dried wrenched me from the box I felt absolutely disgusted, the inner core of me wanted nothing more than to purge every content of my cotton laced torso. I was hers now body and soul.
Day in and day out she played with me, beat me, threw me around, shoved imaginary cup full’s of tea into my porcelain face. I wanted so much the ducts of tears, so as to stop her now and then, but it came and came, and came. Nothing could stop her tyrannical beating of my fragile form. Five years passed like this and nothing more than a "whoops" every crossed her lips as she dropped me face first onto the carpeted floor, or a " oh no," when she realized she had been dragging me through dirt all along.
She was ten now, her voice was there present in my mind, I attended her lessons, and watched with faded eyes this little human emulation of myself soak up knowledge like a sea sponge does waste from other sea creatures. How I hated her. Her Grecian hair was mine, her dress and apron, was mine, her very complexion, she had stolen from me. I wanted all in me to rip it from her and cry sobs of morning for my fading looks. Glancing down, almost unnoticeable, there did my eyes see the sodden state of my clothing and skin. Yellowed, soiled. Dirty, she made me filthy with her filth.
She would pay for all her offenses.
Slowly in me a burning began, I wouldn't have any more of this; I felt a finger wiggle without her help. It had happened, and I finally would escape that wench of a girl, with revenge as a plumage on my life.
Late one night as I lay in the bed next to the foul smelling breath of the breathing she beast I practiced my movements, an arm rose and fingers grasped. But feet remained stiffened by the magical bond of in-animation. In a swift movement I found myself falling, and then, bam, a floor now blocked my vision. Three sharp cracks later my face had been scarred by the marks of fragility betrayed by gravity, I had been made into... junk.
Something snapped inside at this juncture. My limbs became completely alive and I jumped up. Feeling my face I opened the cavity around my lip, and it began to tear away at everything, only my cheeks and eyes remained. Enraged and blinded by faded paint and aspirations to kill I sprang up to the bed. Grabbing a pillow that called out to my hands, and soon. There was the crime, being committed, right there, I was murdering her. Suffocating her, my porcelain hands unbound by any magic that once had them in steel grip, she was dying I could feel it she struggled under the pillow.
Then, it all went dark, I remember a loud crash, a sharp pain, a face sobbing in the arms of a loved one, and pain coursing up and down in every appendage, I thought," where am I?" "Why is it so dark" "Why do I hurt so?"
Then a voice," master I have disposed of the doll, she lies in the incinerator waiting for the lighter by morning, I made sure she was good and smashed."
A Burly voice, “Light it now I refuse to wait"
"Yes, very good sir."
"Now dear you are never to speak of that doll to anyone understood, they will lock you up and through the key in a trench far beyond the reach of any man. It was special, daddy knows, but it was never meant to do that."
The voices left, and my realization rang true, I lay in a million pieces at the bottom of a waste heap. About to, die.
The striking of quick sand paper rang in the shaft, again, and a third time. A squeak from a rusting iron knob, and the hiss of natural gas feeling the shaft of the incinerator, a rush of blue caught at the midpoint in the charred metal framing and then orange flames inscribed the grate pan at the bottom. Flames sprang to life, flames engulfed lesser bits of trash in the small incinerator, and then bits of cloth from an apron, a green dress, some yellowed skin, and auburn hair. Finally, a glass eye left in its socket, with faded bluish paint still traceable, gave a tiny tear that crossed the upper lip of a porcelain figure, and then slowly melted into a black heap along with the rest of the junk.
-an original short story by Richard Shehulski inspired by such films as puppet master, and dolls, as well as the twilight zone episode : talky Tina.