Dreams
Oh No! Poor 10. Hope she's ok… Wait, I control her fate. I say she deserves to live, no?
Disclaimer: I still don't own 9. Pour qua…
You told me 'run away'.
You said that here I can't stay.
You told me 'run from this pack,
And don't ever look back'.
And you know, if I could,
Then I swear that I would,
I'd come back for you…
But you said 'run away'.
You said that here I can't stay.
You told me 'run from this pack,
And don't you dare look back'.
But if you knew me well
You'd know that I'd go through hell
To find you…
…To find you…
The sounds of explosions and cries echoed through the fog all around her. 10 was scared, no... terrified. She could hear voices, but they didn't belong to her, or the five that normally tormented her. They were outside. She was running, fast as she could; after all, that WAS what 5 had told her to do. She turned back to see a building collapse to the arm of a giant black monster. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath hitched as she tried to scream. She quickly ran to hide behind a wall, her back pressed flat against the stone.
Her chest rose and fell heavily. She felt sick, and water leaked from her eye.
Wait...
She leaned over in exhaustion, trying to catch her breath- a movement that was completely against her will. She saw long legs, clothed in some sort of dark blue material, and instead of black steel joints for hands, she had a palish tone of skin. She counted her fingers. There were five on each hand.
"What's happening?" She whispered between gasps.
The sound of another building crumbling into stone frightened her out of her hiding place. She tore across the street, stumbling over cinder blocks and pipes. The water streamed down her face; her feet carried her to a place she didn't know. A large house, somehow still intact in a world a debris. She pounded on the wooden door with both fists, screaming at the top of her lungs. "HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!" She turned back to look over her shoulder. The black beasts were closing in, now bigger than ever. Her body shook with horrible sobs as she turned back to the door, slamming her fist weakly on it. "Please..."she pleading, "HELP!"
She fell forward. Warm arms wrapped around her and dragged her through the door into the dark. The heavy wood was swung shut, shrouding her in an abyss.
She trembled, and through her fear she turned her head away from her captor and became sick on the floor. A large hand rubbed her back soothingly. She cried hysterically, unsure as to why she was so sad, why she hurt so much. What were those things? What happened to my body? What was this strange thing in my chest? This liquid running from my eyes, or this vile substance coming from me? She shook violently as another wave of illness overtook her. Please, she thought, make it stop...
"Annabelle, answer me!"
Who the hell is Annabelle? 10 coughed, and choked out, "Huh?" Her throat stung; was this fire coming from her? Liquid fire? Why did it have to taste so awful?
"Anna, dear, what happened?" There was a soft click, and a small light turned on, illuminating the room slightly. An old, graying man stood over her, his face saturated with worry and knowing.
10 didn't know what he meant. What had happened? She wanted to know too.
But her shaking grew, and her sobs became wails. She squeezed her eyes shut. The fear grew inside 10 as she was plummeted into greater darkness. The anticipated the torture that normally followed the gloom... But her head remain silent. Only colors and images flooded her mind.
"It killed them!" she cried, "It killed them, they're dead, they're dead..." She broke down crying again. What killed them? And who is 'them'?
"Ohhh, dear," the elder man shushed her, pulling her into his lap as he sat down on the floor next to her. She gripped his shirt, sobbing madly into his chest. A quiet beating came from it, a soothing thumping, like footsteps of family walking down the empty halls of the cathedral. Her crying was calmed to nothing more than hiccups...
"Anna," the elder said to her, pulling on his lab coat. His face looked very solemn. "I am doing something very important. I need you to not get in the way."
"I won't, Sir. I promise." 10 had become accustomed to being called 'Anna'. She wasn't sure why he was calling her that, but she felt that she shouldn't argue. It wasn't like she could have, even if she wanted to. She had very little control over her actions, if any at all. "May I ask what it is you're doing?"
He sighed, pausing in front of the staircase. He turned slowly to study her with smoky grey eyes before beckoning her to follow. She hurried after him. The climb was much shorter than it would have been if 10 had had her old body. At the top of the stairs, the elder unlocked a door. Inside was a vast room; a desk stood parallel to the door that 10 stood in, a mysterious contraption sitting on it. Something about it gave 10 an odd feeling in her stomach. The elder walked over to the desk solemnly and began shuffling through papers. 10 scurried over to him looking over his shoulder to see what these documents were. A chill ran down her spine as the man, having found what he was looking for, placed the pages down with a flop.
A picture of 1 stared back at her.
"What is this?" she asked, picking up the blueprint curiously. 10 knew exactly who this was... why had she asked that?
The man was rummaging through a wooden cabinet, pulling out various objects: material, buttons, sewing needles, screwdrivers, pieces of metal. He turned back to her, his arms full of what seemed to 10 to be junk. She laid the page down and hurried over to him to help. She took some of the material from him, and they both walked over to the desk. His arms being freed, he pulled 1's blueprint over to him and stared at it almost forlornly for a while. Safe for the explosions outside, the room echoed with silence. 10 wasn't sure if he'd answer her; finally, he peeled his eyes away from the sheet. "This is the plans to the new beginning," she said, his voice cracking.
What, 1? 10 wanted to laugh. 1 was a sad example of 'a new beginning'; a more proper position for him would be 'World's Greatest Asshole'.
"It looks like a doll," she said.
"Sadly, once this war nears its end, dolls will be the only thing fit to survive..."
1's lifeless body stared up at her. She knew she should have felt uneasy, but she only felt cynical. "Are you sure this will work, Sir?"
"Most positive, dear," he replied, taking the limp doll's body from her hands. He hung it on part of the contraption, in between a large golden bell and a strange looking pin that was held directly parallel to the center of the bell. "Stand back, Anna dear," he said, then turned and added, "You might want to look away if your stomach is weak."
10 wanted to see, but she turned away as she was told. She could hear the sound of an electrical current running through something, and the wall she was facing flashed with an eerie green light. She shuddered.
When she turned back to see the elder slummed in his chair, looking very pale. The odd pin was sitting in a holder in the contraption, glowing slightly. 1 hung by his arm in the bell, swaying a bit.
The elder weakly peered up at 10, panting as if he had done something extraneous. She didn't know what had happened, but she had an idea. Out of the corner of her eye, 10 saw movement in the bell. Both she and the elder wiped around to see 1 slowing come to life, his optics blinking to see in the shadows, his body trying to wiggle free of its noose. The elder sat up, laughing as he reached to untie the squirming doll. "It worked! Oh ho ho, see that, Anna? It worked!" 10's face scrunched up. Had there ever been a doubt? she wondered.
1's face was that of pure terror as he watched the elder's comparatively massive hand wrap around him.
"Ahhh!" he cried, flailing madly. The elder untied him and placed him gently on his feet atop the desk. 1 backed away, shrinking down into an upright fetal position.
He seemed weird, recoiling cowardly from the two humans, his optics like wide trapezoids; it was so unlike the 1 that 10 knew. She leaned forward and poked him roughly in the stomach. He swatted at her hand and recoiled. "Stop that, monster!" he shouted, trying to make himself look bigger.
10 crossed her arms as she stood straight. "I think I liked you better when you were a lifeless toy," she said.
He blinked up at 10. He looked weird to her; not as she had known him. He blinked up at her with two optics.
What had happened to his other eye? she wondered.
He hadn't squirmed like the others. Even gentle 2, who normally was rather trusting, had wiggled about in the toymaker's hands as he was untied. And the twins... 10 wished she could smile, but her body didn't allow it. The twins would NEVER allow anyone to touch them, even after they were awakened. They had to be released the quickest- from the moment they woke, they were scurrying about, getting into everything. It had taken every ounce of the toymaker's and her energy and concentration to catch them (she had to trap 4 against a wall and scoop him up in a glass jar). The chase had exhausted her elder; once they were released, he went into his room and didn't return until the next morning.
10 never quite understood what they were doing. Hadn't 1, 2, and 5 been alive already? She was beginning to wonder where she was, if she was in the past or present, and what she was.
She wanted to ask 5. She wanted to know what was going on. But her body didn't seem to care. She had no control over what she did or said; although, that didn't seem like anything new. She did notice, however, that her mind wasn't tormented. There were no voices! Even with no control, she preferred this body any day; as long as she didn't have to fear being alone or the dark anymore, she was satisfied.
It was a sad day for her when they released 5. He had stayed the longest: at least a week after the day he woke up. She had found a personal sense of comfort in his presence, and her new body had seemed to grow attached to him as well. But who couldn't? He was sweet and honest. He had stayed to help with making 6, for the elder had grown rather weak with the creation of the first five stitchpunks. 10 watched him as he sewed the stitching of what would soon be a new friend, a look of slight sadness on his face. He knew he had to leave, and may never meet this new being that he was creating.
When they finally did release him, 10 had felt tears streak her cheeks. She didn't want him to leave, not any more than he did. He leapt out the door and down the steps, looking back solemnly. She bit her lip as she watched him continue on until his number disappeared in the dust. Before it vanished forever, one final tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, "Good bye…"
He was still only half finished when 5 left. His face was empty, and his chest was gaping open like the mouth of an empty cave, exposing his inner circuitry. The elder was sleeping; He had been doing that more often than usual, whenever he wasn't creating the stitchpunks. 10 paced the room, bored and lonely. She paused to look at the unfinished 6 doll. Finish him! She wanted to scream, force her body to complete her friend. But she stood there staring at him for a bit, until she walked over to the table, picked up the incomplete stripped artist and passed him from hand to hand, observing him. She held him in her open palm; his body laid limp, gaping open at her. She sat down, pulling the little desk lamp closer to her, and held 6's carcass beneath the light. This was the cleanest 10 had ever seen him… Although, to be fair, if SHE had spent all her time dipping her hand in ink, she would have been rather messy looking too.
She grabbed two optical lenses and held them over the eye socket. She had watched the toymaker attach eyes to brain chips before—she herself had never even tried. The extent of her assistance had been left to sewing and checking to see if joints would bend properly. She placed the lenses down; perhaps she would wait to do that later.
She poked around his inner workings. There were many gears, nuts, bolts and screws, but she wasn't sure what they were for. So this is what my insides are like? She wondered as she held the chest cavity open wider and poked around lower. Her finger caught an exceptionally sharp screw and she quickly withdrew her hand from within him. A hot red liquid dribbled down her finger. What is this? she pondered, but wasn't given the chance to observe it. She immediate stuck her finger in her mouth as she turned away, searching for something while softly placing the doll's body down. Ugh, why'd I do that? she wondered as she leaned over and grabbed a bundle of white cloth. She pulled out her finger and wrapped it in the cloth, allowing the blood to seep through. After a while, the bleeding stopped, and she threw the stained cloth to the side and began to examine the object that had cut her. It was a screw, placed in the lowest region of the abdomen. It seemed to have no purpose, and 10 was very tempted to rip it out, but she assumed that it must have some purpose, so she left it.
She checked the plans for 6's design. Most of his outer structure was complete, and his inner structure was fine. All she needed to do was sew him up…
"Anna?"
She jumped, nearly stabbing her finger with the needle.
"Anna," the old toymaker asked drowsily, "What are you doing up so late, dear?"
10 quickly tied the knot and snapped the thread. She held up her creation. He was complete. "Ta-da!" she said, holding up the striped stitchpunk. "I finished 6 for you while you were asleep!"
The elder leaned forward, his smile wide. "Ahhh, how wonderful! You did an excellent job!" He squinted for a moment at the doll, as if it had a crazy part of it, like two heads.
'What?" she asked, almost irritated.
"Well…" he looked at it objectively. "You see, Anna… You sewed on two different eyes!" He turned 6 around to face her, chuckling. It was true—he had one silver optic, and one larger golden eye. 10 gaped at him, but burst in a fit of giggles at her own ridiculousness. "I'm sorry, Gramps," she said. For some reason, she had taken custom to calling him that, and he hadn't argued with it. "I'll fix him."
"No no, dear, it's quite alright," the toymaker held the doll up to further examine him, and gave a weak smile. "I like it. It gives him character."
"I gave him hair too. Doesn't that add character?"
"Most certainly."
10 watched as the old man tied the doll to the contraption, as he had done 5 other times, and 10 stood back as far from the machine as possible, as she had 5 other times. The process was the same, the same as it had been the past 5 times. Except this time, 10 watched.
6 had gone on his merry way, but 10 was left feeling empty inside. She wished she hadn't been so curious; she had watched as the toymaker situated his face in a mask, and as the button-like object that was held between the elder and 6 glowed bright green, an eerie aura was drawn from the man. He had gripped the table and shook as if possessed by an evil entity—and when it was through he collapsed against the table, too weak to even sit upright for several minutes. And 6 opened his optics as 10 took him down, her own eyes filled with tears and her pale freckled hands shaking. 6 struggled as all the others (safe for 5, of course) had done before him, but he squirmed much less and was quicker to trust her than even 2. And she let him go; as soon as the little stitchpunk had finished looking about and examining his new body, 10 took him to the door and placed him down.
He turned around and look up at her. He waddled over to her shoe and patted it softly. "Be okay," he said. It was almost as if he knew what she had seen, or what she was experiencing. "Promise."
10 nodded slowly. "I'll hold you to that," she whispered, her throat choked up. She didn't want to let him go.
6 smiled up at her with her favorite crooked grin before turning and going off on his merry way. 10 didn't even wait for his number to vanish before returning to the top floor.
Upon the completion of 8, the scientist was too frail to stand even hours after his creation's awakening. Once he could stand, his immediate thought was to begin the creation of 9.
10 had seen this pattern begin after 6 had left. She had figured that he didn't want her working alone on any of the others in case there should be more imperfections, but his hastiness didn't explain that. "Gramps, you can't try to make 9 now," she said.
"Anna, I must."
"No—"
"Annabelle."
She gritted her teeth. "Gramps, you're gonna kill yourself."
He only responded by looking up at her from his seat at the desk. That was all he needed to do. She knew now. She recoiled, her eyes welling up in tears. That had been the point, all alone. He had known that he wouldn't live to see all of his "children" wake.
He was going to leave her.
Alone.
10 stared out the window. It was murky with dust; it was almost impossible to tell what was happening outside. The world around the scientist's house was still and gloomy. The elder had long since gone off to bed. He had left his unfinished project on the table. The time was right, but she was procrastinating. She didn't want to do what she knew she had to do.
With a sigh, she finally gave in. She had to get going; there was no way of knowing how close to dawn it was. She peeled her sight from the window and made her way over to the cabinet that held all of the scientist's supplies. She reached in and grabbed a handful of everything: cloth, optics, wires, thread and needle, some leather and parchment. When her arms were full, 10 carried all of the materials over to the desk and lightly placed them down next to a burlap bag. She carefully began filling the bag, taking care not to make any noise or break any item.
Her bag filled, 10 took one last look around the lab. As gloomy as it was, it had become home to her in the months that she had spent with the scientist. She knew she would miss it. She turned to leave but suddenly froze. There was something she was forgetting. She turned slowly to the table where the unfinished, lifeless doll that would eventually become 9 lay. But it wasn't 9 that caught her sights. She didn't know him. For all 10 knew, he could be a complete jerk, or even worse, a total moron. No, what caught her attention was the odd talisman; that bronze-like circular object that she had watched transfer part of the scientist's soul into 6. That thing was her enemy, but it was her savior as well. It was her ticket to freedom. It was her ticket out of Hell.
"Sorry, Gramps," she whispered, nudging 9 out of the way and snatching the talisman, "I can't let you do this to me. So I'm doing it to you."
"Dammit!" 10 stamped her foot as the long sheet of red material once again slipped off the metal rods she had staked into the ground. She wasn't sure what she was trying to do, but it apparently wasn't working. "Just stay up, would you?" She violently thrusted the sheet back on the rods, and to her surprise it stayed. She sighed and crawled underneath.
Inside, 10 was surrounded with a red-tinted gloom. She felt nostalgic, as if she had been there before, but she couldn't remember when she had ever been there. She turned to a rock, where a green doll lie. She gingerly lifted it, holding it in her hands with all the care of a mother holding her new-born child. A ghost of a smile grew on her lips. She felt sad for some reason, almost regretful. She laid the doll down again and pulled a small black square from her pocket. She opened it with her thumbnail, examining the tiny pages. It was her journal. But it was so small… had it always been that small? She couldn't even write in it. She sighed and unzipped a pouch on the doll, slipping the journal inside.
10 reached into her bag, which was lying beside her, and pulled out a dark colored pen. Once again she picked up the doll, tapping the end of the pen to her chin. "I guess you need a name, huh?"
The doll didn't answer, only gapped up with empty black optics.
She sighed. "Well, what should it be, hmm? I mean, what would you like to be called? Alice? Newbie?" She held the doll up so that it was bathed in the light that snuck in from the opening behind her. "Greenie?"
She lowered the doll, now taping her thigh with the pen as she stared at the blank face of the green stitchpunk. Maybe I should name it after what it's supposed to do? She bit her lip and thought. You're being created to do what? Record what happens to the world after everyone is gone, right? To analyze and remember…
"Crap!" She held the doll back, suddenly realizing that she had been subconsciously circling the dolls eye with the pen, and it now had what looked like a dark monocle around its right eye. She held the doll to the light, and realized that the pen she had used wasn't even black – it was purple. "Ugh!" she dropped her hands into her lap in exasperation, staring irritatedly at the ruined face. She tried to wipe it away, only to smudge the still-wet ink down the side of the dolls face. She glared at it, but slowly her anger melted. Gripping the pen, she carefully drew a curve running down the dolls cheek, turning the purple circle into the letter P. It actually looked cute, in a quirky way. It gave the stitchpunk character.
But what did P have to do with anything? 10 didn't know. She thought long and hard, but found nothing.
And suddenly, as if her body knew something that she didn't, she turned and scrawled out a word on the rock. The bright stream of light illuminated the purple writing: P-S-Y-C-H-O-L-O-G-Y
Psychology? What is that? She didn't know, but apparently her body did. Her hand, once finished spelling out the word, began to tap each letter individually, as if it were counting them. Next thing she knew, the hands were flipping the doll over and carefully writing in a number on the back.
10.
"To explain us," she said, smirking as if it were a joke. "Like a psychologist, sorta."
Terror. That's what she felt. It was gripping her like the gnarled hand of the grim reaper, choking off the air into her lungs. She was running at high speed, chasing the swift iron beast ahead of her. "Get back here, you monster!" She lunged at it and was lucky enough to grab it by its cord-like backbone. The beast turned to see what had snatched it, its yellow eyes glowing menacingly; from its jaws hung the limp body of the 10 doll, swinging from the momentum of the beast's head.
With her free hand, 10 grabbed the nearest object and began beating the machine in its face. It yelped, so to speak, as one of its luminous eyes was broken from its head, and it immediately dropped the doll and bucked its captor off its back, sprinting away furiously. Once it was a good distance away, it turned back and snapped its jaws at 10, who furiously flung the stone that she had used as a bludgeon at it. She missed of course, making the machine cackle and wheeze as it stalked away into the rubble.
10 sat up, her body sore and her throat and chest in flames. She picked up the green doll; its side was gapping open, but apart from that it was mostly intact. She sighed in relief. Trembling madly, she stood and turned staring at the side of the cliff she had just sprinted down. She dreaded returning; her shelter was so far up, and she was so tired. With a sigh, she stuffed the doll into her pocket and slowly began to scale the side of the cliff.
10's hands trembled as she sat her doll up on the rock. She had been dreading this day, from the moment she had run from the scientist's house to now. Her finger shook uncontrollably as she placed the wiry structure in front of the little doll. She had fixed the stitchpunk's side with a red piece of cloth from the tent, and had added a cute little hood as well. She forced herself to smile; thinking about what she was about to do would only make the experience more painful, more frightening. She took a deep breath as she reached into her bag. Her body flinched as her fingers brushed against the icy metal talisman, and she forced herself to pull it out. She held it before her. It looked so cruel, its fascinating inscriptions mocking her.
She connected it to her makeshift structure, her stomach in knots. This was it, right? This was the end. This was her ticket out.
Her ticket out of Hell.
She tapped in the sequence on the talisman mindlessly, crouching in front of it as it began to glow. Her whole body was shaking, and she felt sick. She swallowed hard and held her breath as the talisman glowed a brighter green. She closed her eyes.
The pain was unbelievable.
She was suddenly aware of the whole of her body, of every strand of tissue that made up her flesh. It was unraveling, spiraling away as if it were threaded pulling away from its spool, opening her up and leaving her gaping and festering and burning and choking and suffering and suffering and suffering and suffering—
And suddenly she could see! She was certain she had not opened her eyes but she could faintly see it, the image of a young, red headed girl, her mouth open in angst and her eyes squinted shut and her body frigid in horror and terror and so so much pain…
And behind her shone the two eyes of a demon, one red, one yellow, glowing brightly in the pitch black night of lost civilization. It had come for her, come for revenge, to drag her to Hell. She had been wrong. This wasn't her ticket from Hell, but TO Hell. She wanted to scream but no sound came out, and she watched helplessly as the demon snatched the girl in its jowls and torn into her without mercy, the green flow of the girl's soul flickering and twisting with her body. 10 felt faint, her body ripping apart and becoming nothing but static, slipping from reality to imagination and back again.
What are you doing? Do SOMETHING!
So useless. If you just sit there, you will cease to exist.
Get off your ass and move! Now! Before it's too late!
Hang in there! It's almost over!
Now is the end, I can go in peace, now is the end I can go in piece, now is the end—
Now is the end—
Now is th—
The terrified screams finally escaped, and they echoed through the night. It was dark, so dark, but 10 felt as if she were on fire, her body simmering with flames. But there were no flames. Only darkness.
She heard voices, a war tearing her thoughts to pieces in her mind, but through that and her screams were more voices. And hands, touching her—she recoiled, shoving herself back from the inpenetratable abyss, until her back slammed into something hard and cold and she felt the hands on her again, gripping her shoulders and arms, and the voices calling her name. Something had latched onto her and she searched madly until her hand grabbed something heavy, and she turned on her attacker, beating it until she was forced back against the wall, helpless.
"What is the meaning of all this racket?"
The room was suddenly illuminated; a very irritated old doll came stumbling into the room, a lit match in his hand. 1 glared directly at 10, knowing it was, of course, her causing the disturbance. Her screams melted to sobs and became the only sound audible, both inside and outside of her. Her tiny frame was shaking, held firmly down by a panting 5. A whimper came from the side.
"What is going on?" 2 followed 1 through the curtain, blinking his optics in the sudden change of light. "I heard screaming. Is everything alright?"
"It's ok. 10 had a bad dream."
"Oh is THAT all?" 1 grumbled and turned to storm away. As he left, 2 took the torch from him and approached the trembling, sobbing stitchpunk. "10, dear, it's alright. Nothing's going to hurt you." He gently placed his hand on her forehead, and she flinched and squirmed but was held tight by 5. Her breaths came in panicked gasps, and 2 sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. She yelped, but slowly calmed down as she listen to the gears slowly click in his chest. "There there…." he crooned. "It's alright. You're safe now. You're safe."
She finally settled, and slowly sat up, looking around bewildered. Where was she? How had she gotten in this room? She looked down at her hands and was surprised to see that they were made of black steel, not white flesh. She wiggled her eight fingers, the silver joint across her palm gleaming in the flickering flame from the torch. She looked up to see 5 knelt down beside 6, who was trying to cover a rip in his head with his hand. Slowly she began to understand what had happened, and where she was, and what she had just seen…
She froze. What had she just seen? She struggled to remember, and to her surprise she could still faintly recall the bizarre vision she had just endured. She scrambled with her zipper, trying to get into her pouch.
"10? What are you—"
"My journal!" she cried, not giving 2 a chance to finish. It was not in her pouch like it always was. "Where is it?"
2 pointed to the table next to the, where, sure enough, lie the black leather-bound book. She grabbed it and flipped it open to a random blank page, fumbling around in her pouch for her pencil.
"10 dear, what is it?"
She didn't respond. She didn't have time. Gripping her pencil tightly in her fist, she scrawled in big bold letters the message she needed to remember:
I AM 10.
TO EXPLAIN US.
Whoa! It's been HOW LONG since I've updated?
That's right, kiddies! Lake Rodary has finally finished chapter 5!
Sorry it took so long. I've been REEEEEALY busy. College is a dick :(
But anyway…so ya. Finally finished Chapter 5, at 10 pages long and over 5,000 words! So proud of myself. You might need to go back and scan some of the older chapters to remember the context; I know I did.
In case you don't get anything in this chapter:
This whole chapter (Well most of it) was a dream 10 was having, but actually took place before she was created.
10 got her name from the word psychology. Count the letters in the word and you'll get it.
The last voice, the singing one, was saying "Now is the end, I may go in peace…." This isn't actually a song or lyrics; I stole it from the narration from a marching band show.
Well that's it for now. Don't know when I'll update again….hopefully soon….
Until next time!