Dolls
Why must I have been born? I cannot walk, I cannot move, nor can I talk.
Why is my heart the color of silver? I cannot feel, I cannot cry, nor can I smile.
All I can do is stare into Master's workshop, with my blonde hair collecting tangles and dust that I cannot get rid of.
My master made me, along with the others. In the distant days, he spoke to me.
"You are a special doll," he told me. Did that mean he loved me more? Less? Did I mean something to him?
He praised me, for my dancing and singing.
Even now, I still sing. I will always sing. I'll only continue singing for eternity.
Some day, I'll wake up and be able to feel Master's praise, his smiles, and his warmth.
I want him to know I love him, but I cannot express it.
I will now never be able to express it, because now, my master sleeps and I wake up.
Some day now, I'll sleep, and go to the place where he sleeps.
Why must I have been born?
I'll continue singing for eternity.
I sing, break, and live alone. Why am I the only one? Are the others not damaged?
Time passes, and I even forget songs. I still continue to sing, with my hopes still high.
I must keep a positive sight of what's ahead, or I'll crumble and break.
I've even written a piece of music, and sang it. It was a beautiful song, I must admit.
I continue singing, living without a purpose. I don't need to sleep, eat, or drink.
Nobody can see me. I stay in the workshop.
Wait, I do have a purpose.
I will go to sleep and see my master.
More time passes, and I struggle to remember most melodies that I've learned through him.
I do not have a will to live, and I break down to cry.
I haven't cried before; it's a new feeling. It's unpleasant.
I start to crumble and break into little pieces.
Why must have I been born?
Why do I continue singing?
Why is my heart made of silver?
I can't continue singing.
I gather my shards, and I hurry to the place where he sleeps.
I drag my cracked body, and fall many times.
It will be worth it.
After falling one more time, I look up.
I see him. I hear the voice that I've heard repeatedly in my dreams.
I can walk, I can move, I can talk.
I can smile, I can cry, and I can feel the warmth and love radiating off of him.
I stand up and he takes my cracked hands in his.
All I can do is cry and smile when Master hugs me, fixing my cracks, fixing me.
I hear his voice again.
It's warm, and sweet. It's calming.
"Rin."
I speak my first real word of living, that is not singing.
"Master…Len."