One Last Dream

People always say doll eyes are dead; I think they, unlike people’s, are full of life. I am not sure how I got here or where ‘here’ even is. All I know is I’m in a house that I’ve never seen before. The last thing I remember is going to bed and waking up in an elaborate gown, like one from the Renaissance. It is a deep crimson that goes to my feet conforming to my body and flaring out at my hips. It has a gold lace up the bodice that is repeated at the sides of the skirt. The sleeves attach to my middle finger on the back of my hand and I’m wearing red heeled shoes.

So now, I am wandering around, for who knows how long. All the rooms are a pastel color. The den is pink, the kitchen yellow, the bedrooms lavender, pink, and blue, and the library ivory. Each room is as spacious and elegantly furnished as the last. The style reminds me of Victorian architecture. But, there is white instead of the dark woods that should be there. Lavish fabrics, such as satin and silk, fill the bedrooms. The bathrooms consist of silver fixtures and white marble flooring and counters. Lastly, the Library is filled with hundreds upon hundreds of books lining each wall to capacity. What is this, a six year-old girl’s dream house?

I haven’t seen a sign that anyone lives here, at first the endless silence unnerved me and now I’m beginning to grow accustomed to it. So, naturally, when I hear the faint cry, “Help,” I’m startled and frantically look for its origin whirling around and around.

Finally, I see a girl, reaching out to me, dressed similarly except she’s in lavender and has matching glazed eyes. I extend my hand to hers and recoil away when our hands touch, my hand met by the cool surface of porcelain.

I back-away with wide eyes. I collide with a looming figure ‘who’s’ unfamiliar arms surround my waist holding me in place. “Careful,” a male voice says from behind me, I feel the rumble of his deep voice through his chest against my back. I struggle out of the hold quickly, in terror. When I do, our hands brush against each other and I notice how cold his hands are. I cower from him. He’s wearing a male version of my outfit; the sides of his pants laced with the same gold ribbon and his sleeves as well, the entire outfit is hemmed with gold. He has dark brown hair that falls to his earlobes. He frowns distastefully at my skittishness and says, “Calm down ‘Little One’.”

My voice cracks as I manage to say, “Wh—Who are you?” He is treating me like a scared animal.

Jokingly, he bows and gives a bright smile, “Michael Boomer, or ‘Mike’ if you please. I live in this fine ‘house’. And you?” As he says ‘house’ he adds air quotes.

I try to calm my hectic breathing and I manage to coherently say, “Aileena. And what do you mean, ‘house’?” I mimic his hand gesture.

His smile’s friendly but he gives no inclination as to what he meant, “Such a pretty name, you were a good choice after all.”

Now I’m really terrified, I utter, “Wh—What?” I freeze, or more like my arm does. I look down at it and I see porcelain, horrified, I look back at Mike; and I see his smile has not wavered.

I run out of the room, my other arm quickly changing like its twin. My torso already has changed. I have been down this hallway before, but now there is a new door. I clamber towards it, my whole body almost porcelain. I finally reach the door and fling it open, then…

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Foot steps echo as they come down the hallway and a figure heads towards a door. He closes it and turn towards a still ‘girl’. “See Little One? You were right all along, doll’s eyes are alive, Aileena.”

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“She’s gone, what happened?” A doctor asks two hysterical parents.

The husband, calmer than his wife, answers, “She went to bed and wouldn’t wake up.”

The mother,sobbing uncontrollably holds onto something that had been of great value to their daughter. It, a porcelain doll, had been made to look like their daughter. The doll matches every quality down from the ebony hair to the gray eyes. The mother was holding it so tightly that it had cracked without her realizing it, just a moment before her daughter died.

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Yay, I've edited it....a lot. So, as you read there's a lot more detail then the original. Anyway this is now the final copy, and it's due Friday, October 21. Anyone who wants to beta read, or tell me if it's suspense just know that I encourage that want whole heartedly. I'll write Chapter 8 to Take Me Red as soon as I think of what to write...

-Eliza Thorn