A/N: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, A100 – write from the POV of an inanimate object.
Sock Puppet View
The stitches have never hurt it. What hurt it, now, was the stiff cold fingers so unlike the loving ones it had always known.
They didn't belong in it, and it longed to wriggle free and go back to the sad little girl who'd made her and given her life, and the happy little boy who seemed to balance it all out. And even the other boy, a stranger compared to the other and who'd never worn him, but made all their lips turn up by his presence and his words.
Usually. He was there right then, so close and yet so far. It wished it could reach out to him. Far preferable than the wood-like fingers inside, but he couldn't. It was made, and made to move. It was a slave to the desires of whoever wore it, and what longing it had could only wish and never do.
If it were alive, the pain would have been enough to spur action. But it wasn't. And it could only hope.
But even an inanimate, created, thing like it could hope.