literature

The Doll Maker

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AsiaBreen's avatar
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Literature Text

Do not allow yourself to feel, that is what They've told you. That's what They've always told you. Show your feelings and they will know your weakness. They will hunt you down. They will kill you. We are never told who 'They' are.  

I'm his Doll Maker. I make dolls, puppets, toys and other titbits of entertainment. People have said my work is grotesque, ghastly and frightening. But with forty two years of pent up emotion, what do they expect? I had to be able to show them somehow.

He is all-powerful. All-ruling. The Emperor of the New State. We hate him. His regime has caused the percentage of suicides in the past fifty years to rise by eighty nine percent. We aren't allowed to show feeling, He says. It hinders the work ethic. We aren't allowed to have sex for pleasure either. You must sign a contract with the government when you marry. Everything must have a function and a purpose. Something as volatile and unpredictable as emotion must be destroyed.

He loves me. Loves my work. Everything is functional and has a working purpose; His entertainment. The doll with the sewn lips and no eyelids is His waiter. Brings Him whatever He needs without question, when He wants it, where He wants it. He once asked me if I could make a whole generation of passive children. From cotton, metal, steel.

Impossible.

I have never seen Him. No one has. Not even the highest-ranking Members of Parliament. The Parliament is a ruse. He works alone, and if you disagree, you 'disappear'. Die. Simple. My mind is creative, my thoughts and emotions flow free. i was bold enough once to gather likeminded people and shout our emotions on the street in from of the Parliament building. We were brought before the courts and He was our Judge. He sat at his desk with his flag of office behind his high-backed leather chair. We did not see his face, only his hands. He offered us death or service as punishment. I was a coward. The others chose death.  I convinced myself that my actions were wise and I chose life. Servitude. The others called it cowardice moments before they screamed. They were executed right in the middle of the court. An example.

And so I became his doll maker. He had cameras and screens installed in my new work/living space, so that He could monitor me at all times. If I slacked off, or was bold enough to put a heretical political symbol in my work, He would pop up on a TV screen, just his hands clasped and his voice dripping with sweet, sweet malice.

"Now, now, Sandor. This won't do. Remember your friends."

His regime is called the Functionality of Humanity. We are to serve a purpose, he says. No emotion. Just production. There are factories everywhere. The sky is black with smoke and other pollutions. I have never seen what they call the sun. I don't even know if it exists. Repetition. No emotion. Just production. Repetition.

In my forty-two years of following His regime to avoid death, I have found myself wondering why. I have created over five thousand fully functional, humanesque dolls. I hate Him. I hate me. I should have chosen death the first time. And so I sit in my destroyed studio, dragging the needle from my demolished sewing machine repeatedly against the delicate skin of my wrists, contemplating joining my old friends. Just one little slip and I —
Written for a Creative Writing lecture in school. Nothing big. :L
© 2012 - 2024 AsiaBreen
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TiaPrincessNews's avatar
Cool. Do you think you'll expand on this world?