Okay, so this was written in my sleep deprived state, but I decided to post it anyway. The entire story is in Mary's point of view. Enjoy.
First, I was an idea. A longing for life, a soul, a child. The reason why I existed was a mix of thoughts and yearnings, all of which made a big impact on what I became.
The guidelines were first. I'd like to say that was basically my skeleton, although it wasn't much, just messy and light lines on the canvas. Even though I was just a collection of pencil scratches I knew I was going to be great. He started creating my dress, the green fabric going down to my soon to be knees. Underneath it, my torso and arms were created. When my hands were formed, I was tempted to fiddle with the blue handkerchief that was attached around my neck, I couldn't though. My legs were next, being formed underneath the black tights being painted. I was excited when I imagined wriggling my toes hidden beneath the brown shoes created for me. I could've been able to walk anywhere, free to go wherever I please. The thought excited me. When my face was finally created, I felt pure joy. The brushes tickled as it colored my cheeks and nose, a small giggle escaped my newly formed lips. It was when I was given sight, that made me feel alive.
The blue orbs that became my eyes made everything feel real. I could finally see what was happening. I could see what was outside of the canvas, the brushes that created my blonde curls, and my creator, whom I love so much.
And then I was done, a work of art ready to be framed. I could see the joyful look in my creators eyes, but also sadness. I knew he wanted me to be real, and I wish I was. I wanted to be with him, to play games and have talks and personal jokes with him. Although that wouldn't happen, I liked to imagine it. It was then when I started calling him Father. I wish he knew I call him that, but he would never know.
After I was finished, Father never came back. I thought he was simply busy and will return to frame me and hang me up with the others later. I was patient, containing my excitement. Then, I started getting restless, then worried. He never did come back. I didn't think he abandoned me though, but I still felt alone. Out of the canvas, I could tell that days passed but I never knew how long it had been. Eventually, some people came. They began taking Father's works away. They took me as well. The rest was a bit of a blur, mainly it was just the people traveling, the paintings with them. Then we arrived at the museum.
The people never put me up in the gallery, I was tucked away in storage. The other gallery was accessible though. I managed to step through, leaving the safety if my canvas. My painted legs soon became real,(or as real as they could get) and I could walk. A wide smile began to spread across my face. I was walking, really walking. I could move, my arms, legs, hands and fingers, they could all move. The other gallery allowed me to walk wherever I pleased. Many paintings and sculptures were there was well. I befriended all of them, especially the blue dolls. They were my best friends. I had fun, but eventually, it got lonely.
I thought back on Father and where he could've been and what it was like in the real world, being able to live a normal life. It looked fun out there, and Father was out there somewhere as well. I thought, maybe I could find him and grant his wish of me becoming life. If there was a chance for that to happen, I decided I would take it.
It never happened in the end.
