People always say doll eyes are dead, I find them, unlike people, to be full of life. Dolls are perfect, in everything. The only times they aren’t, is by human fault, disgustingly a doll’s perfection is also brought out by a human. Dolls are perfect where as humans are no where near it.

Humans are so unnatural, soft and fragile like their minds. Why do people release red wine when cut? It’s so weird how there are grooves in should-be-smooth fingers. It’s always like they’re freshly coming out of a kiln because they’re so warm. People’s faces are all so different, and many overall are unattractive. Their complexions can be so revolting sometimes. No matter what, they all look like poorly made dolls, imperfect in abilities, appearance, and mind. But of course their judgmental nature, indubitably, makes them think that about perfection like me.

Little girls play make-believe, and confide in me. They take my ‘silence’ as understanding and solace, when in reality all I’m doing is laughing. My visage is always perfect, hair neatly kept and my crimson dress is always flowing. When no one’s there I’ll close my amber eyes and spin enjoying the feel of satin following my movements and brushing against my legs. I’ve never seen myself before, but I know what a ‘mirror’ is. Besides what good would it do, I already know how I look, perfect, after all I’m a doll.

A human’s come, and he’s taking me to a new room. The other human’s here are disgusting, dressed in white, disheveled hair, and mad. There’s a lot of metal ahead, it should cast a ‘reflection,’ perhaps that is a ‘mirror’.

The human is taking me to them, as we pass I look to the side since I saw someone. Her black hair is disheveled and her brown eyes are blood shot, she is also adorned in the same white outfit as the other mad humans here. The man next to her, holding her upper arm, caught my eye. It’s the same one holding me but I am not in the ‘mirror.’

The man takes me to the wall and raises my hand; the mad girl reaches towards me in sync. We touch but all I feel is the cool metal of the ‘mirror’. Where is the abnormal warmth, why isn’t she soft like the others? No matter what, the girl, essentially, is insignificant like the other humans here and in a fantasy world. We’re opposites, the perfection of a doll, like myself, versus the imperfection of a mad human girl.

Okay, this is my first one-shot, not much happens I realize this. I'm going to post another oneshot with the same starter sentence. This was originally for my English class but it didn't fit the requirments so I'm posting it here. Tell me what you think. The other one-shot I'm going to post is short as well but more happens in it. I'll try to not be so lazy and actually update Take Me Red.

-Eliza Thorn