"Dolls"
By: Avoirdupois
A/N: Chobits….
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this fiction.
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Shops are tiny boxes sprouting off the ground lined up to and fro in two neat lines. These boxes are filled with things of sorts begging to be sold. Like clothes, or books, or shoes, or what ever bizarre trendy paraphernalia these boxes contain. In glassy cages, they sit whispering into the ears of onlookers, whispering enticingly.
Take for instance Persocoms.
Upon store shelves there are row and rows of persocoms, although some are being displayed by large windows. They are funny mannequins with protrusions for ears. These mannequins are different from each other but all at once, the same. They have waxy and pale faces as blank as an unused sheet of paper. Their eyes are glassy marbles that stare unseeingly ahead, and their mouths are opened in half smiles muttering wordlessly to customers and would-be-owners. They are plastic and porcelain dolls held up elaborately by screws and bolts. Like dolls, they are meant to be thrown away as they will have been graduated for something better.
Yumi knows this as she looks into one of the box's large window. The window is covered entirely by persocom products and new models. She feels pensive about this very much.
She holds tightly onto her very tiny persocom, she knows it is obsolete. It is chipped at one part and the pea green paint is peeling. She liked picking at the paint.
She is standing in a crowded street of people who step into these boxes, or walk on, probably oblivious to the rest of the world. These people are awfully a lot like persocoms too, she thinks. Blank faces and empty glass eyes like those of dolls. Perhaps she is like them, or, perhaps not.
She had absolutely no idea. Should she have?
She shivers against the biting wind of winter, and winds her scarf tighter around her neck. Her nails are little blueberries frosting at the tips of the twigs she calls fingers. Her hands rub together, for warmth. Sometimes Yumi thinks that persocoms need to be warm too even though they do not feel.
You know, moisture causes rust and all that.
She walks along the street filled with doll-people and people-dolls, walking hand in hand, forgetting what it is to be man and what it is to be machine. She finds this all too amusing, these dolls and their owners.
Or was it the other way around, these people and their owners?
Because, and Yumi strongly believes this, these dolls have enchanted their way onto humanity, blurring the boundary between people and dolls-- Real and fake. Carefully infiltrating, carefully displacing people and replacing them with one of their own. In a sort of twisted hostile take over.
It scares Yumi, and, at the same time, makes her upset because one day, she too may be replaced. The thought makes her feel very queasy inside.
Almost human, as they would say. Almost.
And when she thinks of that, she thinks of Hideki and Chi…
And him… and…
And she begins to feel sick all over again.
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A/N: Waha. Finished, I hope you've enjoyed! If you've read (Duh) this please review! It's a bit weird, because it's not in my nature to write Chobits fiction. But I heard this song by the Dresden Dolls (Coin Operated Boy) and poof, this baby came to be. It's meant to be a tiny depressing one-shot. If I've got bad grammar please, please alert me! Yikes! And wrong spelling (I know I've got that). Flames, Criticism, and regular old reviews are good and welcomed!