Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not Tim Burton, nor do I own Disney, Touchstone, Skellington Productions or that swirly hill thing...

AN: Something I've been working on the past few days... I was going to post it all as a oneshot but... I am experiencing what can only be described as a Monster Writers Block... I'm talking Godzilla sized...

I wrote it in the same style as my Godfather ficlet, it worked quite nicely for that... also it's written a bit weirdly because... well, it's Sally, what were you expecting?

"Aha! Success! She lives!"

I open my eyes.

"Here, my dear, stand up – if you think you can," a kind voice, it belongs to an unkind man. At least he looks unkind, I don't know.

I blink.

"Come on now, it's not too hard, just lift up a leg – that's it! Now the other one – marvellous!"

I am standing.

I am alive.

"Now, to name you…" the man – my creator – puts a finger to his chin and taps it.

I look out the… window, I believe it is called. I notice that the landscape has been cut in half. Whoever cut it did not do a very good job, where the two halves meet – where it should be smooth – there are weird jagged shapes sticking out, ruining the line. I don't care , it is very pretty, to me at least…

"Hm, has to be two syllables – so you'll recognise it easier," he frowns, "Rona? Mona? Karen? Sharon? Linda? Cinda? Trudy? Judy?"

… the top half is dull and dark, boring even to me, everything should be new and exciting for me and it is boring. The bottom half is black and mysterious. It is not flat like the top, I can see flickers of 3D in the shadows, illuminated by small squares of yellow…

"Glenda? Brenda? Marla? Carla? Missy? Sissy? Anna? Hannah?"

… the top half does have its attractions though. There is one… two… three small dots of light tossed across the navy strip. As far away from each other as they could get, as if they are repulsed by the mere sight of their counterparts. I notice that the navy becomes more intense in the areas around these dots, as if a layer of dust has been blown off them…

"Kayleigh? Hayley? Molly? Hollie? Sheena? Mina? Sally? Jane? Elaine?"

"Sally." It sticks out to me. Different from the other names somehow.

"Are you sure?" he clearly wasn't asking me, merely thinking aloud, but he doesn't want us to start off on the wrong foot.

I nod.

"Sally it is then," he nods and writes it down on my "birth certificate".

I am Sally.

Sitting in my room, sewing of course, what else? I need the practise, so I can fix myself, should the need arise.

But if it should, my creator will be around to help, I am never away from his side. I have never been outside the laboratory. I have a good view of the town from my room. As I sew, I look out and watch the world.

I am not allowed outside, "Too much excitement!" my creator had cried.

My creator. He wants me to call him "father" but I can't. I know what a father is - from reading - and he is no father. He is too old – too distant – I am not his daughter, I am his accomplishment. I won him an award.

He never leaves either. Always stays to watch me. Not because he cares or loves me, but because he fears. Fears that I shall run away - be kidnapped - have an accident and he shall lose me; his accomplishment. His award.

He has no friends and nor do I. The lab assistant avoids me, fears me. He helped create me, and he fears me because of it – thinks I resent him for giving me life.

And so I sit, friendless and sewing. In my room.

I am lonely.

Outside. At last. I convinced my creator to let me out. His legs were crushed in an experiment gone wrong and he needs to visit the doctor every week for physiotherapy. He still won't leave me alone – doesn't trust the assistant – and so I go with him so he can watch me. He cannot watch me whilst I am in the waiting room and he is with the doctor. Except, I am only in the waiting room for two minutes; when we arrive and when we leave, to make him believe I am waiting for him. The therapy takes an hour.

For fifty eight minutes once a week, I have a life.

I am outside.

I am outside. My leg has fallen off. I have not brought a needle with me. My heart – my small, fragile heart – cannot take it. I will be late, my creator will know – if I make it back. Which I won't, without my leg.

Now I know what my creator meant about too much excitement, my heart cannot take it. I am lying in a heap, where I tripped after the loose thread attached to my leg got caught on a thorn. On a rose. The first rose I have ever seen in real life – not in a book – in real life. I guess this is irony, I had been searching for a rose. Curiosity unravelled the leg.

A shadow, a small gasp.

"Are you alright?" concern. A male voice.

A boot crunches a leave, one of my leaves. I am lying on a mound of my own stuffing; mostly leaves.

"No," I whisper, my first conversation with an outsider. My heart beats faster, trying to escape me, looking for someone with a better chance of survival.

"Is this your leg?" the owner of the shadow tenderly lifts my lost appendage and shows it to me.

"Yes," I get out. I realise that I am panting and sobbing. Mostly panting, created by my increasing heart rate.

"Do you feel any pain?" he sounds unsure, I do not think that he has ever encountered a legless rag doll having a panic attack before.

"No," this is true. Besides my chest. Accomplishments do not feel pain, but my heart – my small, fragile heart – is not an accomplishment. It is a real heart. I do not know where it came from, but it is small and fragile and real and it can feel.

"I'm sorry," the shadow owner speaks, "I am not used to this type of situation," he admits, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Sew," I gasp out, putting a hand on my heaving chest.

"Do you have a needle? Or thread?"

"No," I confess, mentally slapping myself. I have forgotten my needle, "Thread…" I say and gesture to my skein, hidden in a patch on my thigh, "…no…," gasp, pant, sob, "…needle…"

"I see," replies the shadow owner. He thinks for a minute then snaps his fingers, "I know!" he unbuttons his shirt and cracks a rib, pulling out the sharp, skinny bone, "Maybe this will work…"

"No…," sob, pant, gasp, "…eye…"

"Hm," he frowns, he places a pointed finger near the blunter end of the bone and quickly spins his hand around. His twirling finger drills a hole in the bone, he puts the thread through, "Uh, can you sew?"

I nod and attempt to take the makeshift needle but my chest will not let me. I collapse onto the ground and try to steady my small, fragile heart.

"Don't strain yourself," he says kindly, "I may not be the best tailor in town, but I know the basics… it won't look pretty though," he warns.

He tries to be gentle when inserting the pointy tip into my skin, not knowing of my imperviousness to pain. I appreciate the gesture, my creator just haphazardly stabs into me.

With each thrust my heartbeat decreases, he speaks to me in a low and soothing voice, telling me that I will be fine. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, my sobs terminate.

Eventually I feel him bite the thread and I am sad, I do not want him to stop talking.

"There you go," he helps me up, supporting me as I hobble a bit. He has joined my calf to my knee at an awkward angle, noticing this, he grins sheepishly at me.

"Sorry, I did try to warn you," he chuckles nervously.

I smile at him, shy.

"Here, let me make it up to you," he looks around and spots the rose. He plucks it from the ground and bashfully offers it to me, "I know it won't help you walk, but…," he struggles, "It sure is pretty," he offers, grinning.

I beam at him and take it from his skeletal hand.

"Thanks," I say.

"My name is Jack, by the way," he stuffs his rib back inside his shirt and offers me his hand.

"Sally," I say, taking it warily. This is the first word I have said that is more than two syllables.

"Nice to meet you Sally, it's weird, I thought I knew everyone in Halloween Town, if not by name then by face, where do you live?" he frowns thoughtfully.

"The laboratory," I point to it.

His eye sockets bulge, "Dr. Finklestein's laboratory?"

"Yes," if I could blush, I would. It dawns on him that he is talking to a creation, not a real being, a fantasy… an accomplishment.

And yet, he smiles at me, "I'll be sure to swing by some time, see you later, Sally."

"Bye," I almost whisper as he saunters away on his stilt legs.

He isn't repulsed by me…

I head back to the waiting room, I am late. My creator is angry but I do not care.

I am smiling.

I have not been outside since that day when I met Jack. My creator has given up his therapy and resigned himself to a wheelchair. He is crabbier than ever, he had to replace a valve in my heart.

"I nearly lost you!" he said to me, looking over my shoulder at his trophy.

I am still recuperating from the heart surgery. I had Igor – the lab assistant – push my bed up to the window so I can observe life more easily.

Once or twice I have been fortunate to see Jack passing by in the street below. He seems to be very popular, everyone knows his name. I think that he is some kind of celebrity, I could have sworn I heard my creator mention his name once.

I am still waiting for him to "swing by".

I hope he does soon, my mind is unravelling faster than my leg did, that fateful day.

I look at my rose, it started to droop so I pressed it in a book and hung it on my wall, in a frame.

I look at it and wish.

I am waiting.

Jack still hasn't swung by, I am getting restless. I have made a decision; if he won't come see me, then I shall go to see him.

I am not an idiot, I have made sure that my heart has completely healed before I do this.

I squeeze my eyes shut and step forward into nothingness.

I hear some gasps as I hit the ground and my limbs separate. I have seen enough to know that detachable limbs are not uncommon around here, (I even saw a clown with a detachable face) it is probably the shock of a rag doll dropping out of the sky that prompted the gasps. The staring stops as I pick myself up and sew myself back together. I get some admiring looks at my presumed stoicness, most monsters can feel pain after all.

I smile wryly at the remaining gawkers and set off, that Deadly NightShade won't last forever.

I don't know where I am going, I realise this. I stop a vampire and ask if he knows where Jack is.

"Jack Skellington?" he booms, his entourage of fellow vampires gasp.

I hazard a guess, "Yes."

"I believe I saw him head towards the fountain in the middle of town," the vampire answers.

"Thanks," I say sincerely, I just hope that it is the right Jack.

I head towards the fountain then stop.

Jack is there alright, he is not alone.

He is mobbed by groupies, witches, mermaids, monsters – every female of every species it seems – they are cooing, stroking his arms and giggling at his jokes.

I stop a random ghoul, "Who is that?" I point to Jack.

"Jack Skellington? He's the Pumpkin King! The cream of the crop, the best there is at scaring! They don't get any better than him! He's a hero! Could have any girl he wants, and has plenty of opportunity too!" the ghoul waggles his eyebrows.

I nod at him cordially and back away. My eyes start to dampen. My heart speeds up, testing its new valve. I wish I didn't have a real heart, I wish I had a cold, unfeeling, mouldy bit of cloth, to match the rest of me.

I wish that Jack wasn't famous. A poseur. A liar. I wish that he'd come to visit me, then I could have a higher opinion of him. I wish he couldn't have any girl he wanted. Then he could have me.

I run back to the laboratory where my creator has awoken and punishes me.

I was an idiot to ever think that Jack was just an ordinary man, a nice man, a helpful, thoughtful, kind man. Not an egotistical, womanising, jerk-man.

I let out a small cry.

I am a fool.

I spend the next few months obediently in my room. I am polite to my creator. I am cordial to Igor. I am a quiet, helpful little servant, who does what she is told without question or back talk. I moved my bed away from the window, no longer interested in what is going on out there…

…I still occasionally look out though. I have forgotten all about Jack Skellington. I never think about Jack Skellington. I have not seen Jack Skellington since the day I drugged my creator and escaped.

Jack who?

I look out again. He shouldn't stop me from being free. I feel as if he is the one who locked me in my room.

I mix a potion and slip it to my creator, he isn't suspicious, I make him lunch every day.

An eye squeeze and a jump later and I am outside again. The wind lifts my hair in a pleasant way. I close my eyes.

I am back.

Walking through the streets. Enjoying myself. I have spoken to people and am recognised as a citizen, hats have been tipped and heads nodded at me.

Inevitably, I see him. But I need not worry, I have forgotten who he is, and he me.

Sally who?

Jack who?

"Sally!" he beams and waves. I politely wave back.

He steps over the crowd with his stilt-legs and grins at me, "How have you been?"

"Fine," I thought that I had gotten past one syllable answers…

"Sorry I didn't come visit, the mayor's been running me ragged with the planning for Halloween this year! I barely have time just to collapse on the fountain to cool down!" he laughs, "What have you been up to?"

"The usual," he does not know what the usual usually is for me. He smiles anyway.

"Great! Well, I've gotta go, say hi to Finky for me!"

"Bye," back to one syllable.

My creator. I run home again and am locked in my room. I look out my window.

I have a whole life out there.

I am restless.

AN: Well, yeah. I was bored the other day so I stuck in a random DVD, guess what movie it was! I haven't seen it in ages! It brought back so many memories! I just love the Jack/Sally thing, I don't know, it just makes me feel fuzzy. The writing and grammar stuff is supposed to be weird by the way... :\