Short Story Fiction – The Ivory Dolls
Photo credit: Melodi2 from morguefile.com
I knew you.
And you, and you….I knew you all. Cheri…Sarah…Kurstan…
Each in my own way.
When first I arrived in this place I thought I had come to heaven. What could be better than to be surrounded by the three most definitive forms of beauty one had ever seen. Matchless perfection, unmoving. This was paradise as I had never imagined it. That first day I stared in wonder at the ivory hued marble goddesses arrayed before my sight. I wanted nothing more than this. I sat. I stared. I walked over and lay my hand upon your breasts. I stroked your perfectly replicated hair, and whispered into your ears, “I love you.”
But it is only an illusion.
I could remember dreams where you were all princesses dressed in white, and I was the knight in gleaming armour. I would be your protector, and you would love me. Life was never as simple as were my dreams. In life, you never knew me – the nerd with the thick, horn-rimmed glasses. The silent, suffering child with dreams as his only escape. Dreams were life as it was supposed to be. In my dreams I was a god, and you were willing supplicants.
When I first came here, I sat here on the hard marble floor and stared for hours at your angelic aura. I could talk then. I could tell you all of my dreams. But dreams soon lose their luster when there is no life in them. I sat and watched, but you never moved. No sound. No whisper. No light laughter. I was imprisoned within a dream. I begged you to speak to me. I pleaded. I touched your cheek hoping for a response. Nothing ever happened until I turned my head.
That first day, I never turned away from your exquisite faces. In my mind I never wanted to stop watching your beauty, but the hours of that first day soon caught up with my joyous spirit and begged me to sleep. There was no darkness to signal the night, but I knew night must have come by then. So I bundled my white, pressed shirt under my head to nap. That’s when this dream changed its colour.
Scot is so handsome.
What did I hear? I turned to see where the voice came from. There was no one there. I shrugged it off. I was alone.
Jim is much better.
I knew there was a voice that time. Where is it? “Who’s there?” I yelled. The only sound I heard was my own echo off the unseen walls. I stood and walked down the hall to find my visitor, but I found none.
You’re both wrong. Mike is the best.
The voice was behind me. Turn…no one there…only my idols of beauty. I walked the other way.
But Scot is so strong.
“I know that voice. It couldn’t be…she’s mine,” I thought. Turn again. Walk to the ivory dolls. They haven’t moved. Nothing has changed. Turn away.
Jim is smart.
“Jim? Jim Delapore? That isn’t me. I’m Tom. Tom Bartlett. I kept Jim from failing Trigonometry. He’s an idiot! I’ve helped him since fifth grade!”
I didn’t understand then. I tried to go to sleep.
Mike is the captain of the football team.
“Is that you Kurstan? Mike Bailey? Was he your dream? Why not me? I’m here. They’re not! I love you! Why don’t you speak to me!”
I stayed awake as long as possible to see if my dolls ever moved or spoke. The only movement during that time was that of my eyelids sliding closed. But I never had a chance to sleep. They never let me.
Scot is president of the student council… Awake…Cheri?
Jim is top of the Dean’s list… Awake…Sarah?
Mike has a scholarship to Notre Dame… Awake…Kurstan…
“STOP! All of you! Stop talking of them! Talk to me! I love you! Why don’t you speak to me? Can’t you tell how much I love you?!”
I’ve been here for five days now. My eyes feel like steel bearings rolling down to my chin, but I cannot sleep. When I don’t look at them, they talk. But not about me. No. Never me. Only them. The jocks, the rich, the popular. I can’t stand much more. Don’t they understand? They’re killing me. I loved them, but now…I think I hate them. I constantly tell them how much I love them, but they never listen. My dreams were never like this. Please talk about me…think about me as you do the others…love me…please…please….
__END__
