Post by fireshark on Jan 21, 2008 14:40:18 GMT -5
Well, I've posted this on fanfiction.net as well, but I figure it's small enough to actually post it here. Not to mention I'm bored, so I'm just posting random things. xD Anyway, here it is.
The other little girls play with dolls: dress them, comb their hair, and bring them to life in worlds of their own making. I want to play, too.
“Can I play?” I ask them timidly. They look at me, then look back at each other.
“Um, well…you don’t have a doll to play with,” one girl points out. “You can’t play without a doll.” The circle closes, and they go on with their games of pretend, ignoring me completely.
-----
The next day, I bring one of my own dolls, a ragged thing. Its head is only halfway attached to the neck, and the eyes are falling out.
“I brought a doll,” I say, running over to them. “Now can I play?” They look at me once more, but can find no objection, so I join the circle. But their games don’t interest me. Once again, I am ignored, and I feel an unreasonable jealousy toward the girl who talked to me yesterday. Her doll is the prettiest, with the nicest dresses, and is the main character in all the pretend scenarios. I hate her.
-----
The next day, she can’t find her doll.
“Where is her doll?” They ask me, but I shrug. They look and look, but don’t find the doll. Finally they tell the teacher. Teacher searches everywhere before also giving up. The girl cries.
I lift my desk to peek at the hidden doll.
-----
After the weekend, we go back to class. The teacher holds up the precious doll, with my scissors still stuck through its eye.
“Why did you do this?” She asks. I don’t answer. “What can you possibly gain out of destroying someone else’s toys?” I can tell she is mad.
The girl is sobbing, and glaring at me with adolescent hatred.
“You can’t ever play with us again!” She yells. “You destroyed my dolly, so you can’t!”
My own hatred flares anew, and it is much more potent than hers. I narrow my eyes.
The girl’s hysterical sobs suddenly turn to shrieks of pain, and she clutches her eye. It’s the same eye the doll is missing. Blood oozes from beneath her small fingers, and I still glare. The teacher is yelling, not understanding, and the other children are screaming, running away from me. The girl is writhing in pain.
Finally she is dead, and I go home.
-----
“Tyki, why don’t people like to play with me?” I ask, clutching my worn out doll to my chest.
“Because they know you are better than they are,” he says, not looking up from his book, “and they don’t like it.”
“Why are we better than them?” I ask, confused. He puts down the book.
“Because we are from the clan of Noah, and are pure-blood humans, Road. They are only half-bloods, hybrids as it were, and we are chosen by God over them.” He says, smiling. He knows this is only the first of many times this conversation will be held.
“Oh,” I say, still not quite understanding, but I know I will, someday. Then I change the subject. “Will you play with me, Tyki?” He looks at me solemnly.
“Yes, Road, I think I will.”
The other little girls play with dolls: dress them, comb their hair, and bring them to life in worlds of their own making. I want to play, too.
“Can I play?” I ask them timidly. They look at me, then look back at each other.
“Um, well…you don’t have a doll to play with,” one girl points out. “You can’t play without a doll.” The circle closes, and they go on with their games of pretend, ignoring me completely.
-----
The next day, I bring one of my own dolls, a ragged thing. Its head is only halfway attached to the neck, and the eyes are falling out.
“I brought a doll,” I say, running over to them. “Now can I play?” They look at me once more, but can find no objection, so I join the circle. But their games don’t interest me. Once again, I am ignored, and I feel an unreasonable jealousy toward the girl who talked to me yesterday. Her doll is the prettiest, with the nicest dresses, and is the main character in all the pretend scenarios. I hate her.
-----
The next day, she can’t find her doll.
“Where is her doll?” They ask me, but I shrug. They look and look, but don’t find the doll. Finally they tell the teacher. Teacher searches everywhere before also giving up. The girl cries.
I lift my desk to peek at the hidden doll.
-----
After the weekend, we go back to class. The teacher holds up the precious doll, with my scissors still stuck through its eye.
“Why did you do this?” She asks. I don’t answer. “What can you possibly gain out of destroying someone else’s toys?” I can tell she is mad.
The girl is sobbing, and glaring at me with adolescent hatred.
“You can’t ever play with us again!” She yells. “You destroyed my dolly, so you can’t!”
My own hatred flares anew, and it is much more potent than hers. I narrow my eyes.
The girl’s hysterical sobs suddenly turn to shrieks of pain, and she clutches her eye. It’s the same eye the doll is missing. Blood oozes from beneath her small fingers, and I still glare. The teacher is yelling, not understanding, and the other children are screaming, running away from me. The girl is writhing in pain.
Finally she is dead, and I go home.
-----
“Tyki, why don’t people like to play with me?” I ask, clutching my worn out doll to my chest.
“Because they know you are better than they are,” he says, not looking up from his book, “and they don’t like it.”
“Why are we better than them?” I ask, confused. He puts down the book.
“Because we are from the clan of Noah, and are pure-blood humans, Road. They are only half-bloods, hybrids as it were, and we are chosen by God over them.” He says, smiling. He knows this is only the first of many times this conversation will be held.
“Oh,” I say, still not quite understanding, but I know I will, someday. Then I change the subject. “Will you play with me, Tyki?” He looks at me solemnly.
“Yes, Road, I think I will.”