Bring Me to Life

Irene

Finally, it’s done. The porcelain’s hard and cold, the paint dried, the clothing sewn to perfection and all that’s needed is the tag. I’ve named her Irene, it’s elegant like she is. I’ve been making porcelain dolls since I was old enough to walk and talk. But this, this is by far my best one; it’s even better than any of my dad’s. No one knows I make them, it’s my little secret from the world, something that only my family knows and that’s what makes it special.

Irene isn’t like other dolls, she’s full porcelain while others are only partially porcelain. Her hair is brown and it cascades down her slim form to her waist, it has a slight wave to it making her seem more human. She’s standing on a dark cherry wood base, her 12 inch slim form in mid-turn, the porcelain forever freezing the elegant movement in place. She has long slender legs; with a slim flat stomach, twisting so her dark brown eyes can look behind her. Her lips are slightly parted, giving her an innocent look about her. Her hands are small and long fingered, delicate, they scream feminine.

Her clothes are deep reds that compliment her bronze skin tone and cherry lips. She’s wearing a long-sleeved deep red shirt that has flaring sleeves and a long black skirt with a slit up to her knee on one side. Her shoes are simple and black but still make her look to be about my age, 17. I didn’t air brush her cheeks as much as I and other people usually do, it didn’t seem right to do that to Irene.

There is only one flaw on her, and it’s on her side, there’s more porcelain there making it un even, I’d sand it down but my father said it’d break; he loves Irene too, but not as much as I do.

I always find it odd how my mom doesn’t make dolls; but, I, her son, do.

I check the clock; and I groan in disdain, I want to spend more time here with Irene. But, I don’t leave her, not until I gently slip her tag onto an arm and make it secure. I want to caress her small fragile cheek with my finger; but, I can’t bring myself to, I don’t want to hurt her. “Irene,” I whisper fondly before turning and leaving the work shop to go to school and away from my Irene.

Finally, the last class of the day, finally I’ll be able to go to my Irene again. I wasn’t able to keep her out of my mind all day, all day she was there, her fragile elegant body forever imprinted upon my mind.

I hear my teacher, he’s talking about a group project. I don’t want to work with anyone, I just want her. He calls out our names, and when he reaches mine the name accompanying it makes my heart stop. My teacher said Irene, and I look around my room for new faces and there, in the back with some other girls is a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. She’s smiling but I still recognize the face as my Irene’s. And she’s wearing the same clothes as my Irene.

The teacher let’s us get into our groups to start planning things, and I can’t help but getting up quickly and making my way to her. “You’re Irene right?” I ask in a normal voice. She flashes me a smile and nods, and I tell her my name.

In the end, we decided to go to my house and work on it there today after school. I drive to school.

We’re in the car, my car, going to my house. Irene is friendly, and innocent. Anticipation creeps into me and I ask, “What’s you’re first memory? I remember all the way back to when I was 5, bits and pieces at least.”

She doesn’t respond right away, but she’s too innocent, she’ll tell the truth I know she will. Quietly, so quietly I have to strain my ears to hear her response, “This morning.” At this my hands tighten on the steering wheel. I’ve come to a decision.

We get to my house, at last after what seems like forever, and as we walk down the hall she stops in front of the work shop. The door’s ajar and she tries to see into it from where she is. I smile at her and ask if she wants to see.

She’s too embarrassed to respond so I just lead the way in, I’d lead her by the arm but I don’t want to do anything I’d regret.

She enters the semi-dark room and her eyes are immediately glued to my Irene. The human Irene looks down at her own clothes and back at the doll then asks, “What’s her name?”

“Irene,” I respond smoothly. I walk over to my Irene, pick her up, and move a strand of a stray piece of her hair out of her face. All of a sudden the human Irene screams in pain and I whirl around to see why.

She’s holding her head, kneeling on the ground and holding part of her face. I look down at the doll in my hand and to my horror there’s a crack in part of the face. Quickly I gently set her down and begin to fix her using a special putty that’s the same color as her skin.

Behind me the human Irene is looking at a mirror to my left, she’s distracting so I look at the reflection of her. My eyes widen and I see a crack the same as my Irene’s on her face. She’s in pain I can see it, and I don’t like my Irene in pain so I quickly fix the crack on my Irene. Once it’s gone I look back at the human Irene’s reflection and the crack there is gone now too.

I stand up, my mind suddenly making a decision, I close the door to the work shop and lock it. She panics then, “What are you doing?”

“You’re too special, I won’t let anything happen to you,” I say evenly standing only a few feet away from her. “You’re going to stay here forever.”

“What?” She shrieks, staring at me in horror.

I stare into her eyes, trying to see how it happened, “You have the same name as her; you look alike; you’re wearing the same clothes; you have the same hair; you got a crack where she did that disappeared on her when I fixed it; your first memory if of this morning when I finished her; and I’m willing to bet that you have a mark on your right side!”

She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She’s at a loss of words and then she gathers herself, “I’m not going to be a prisoner!”

I smile at her sincerely, “Of course not Irene. I would never dream of doing that to you. But, for your own safety, you have to say here.”

Her naturally red lips tighten then acidly Irene says, “I will not stay here!”

I don’t understand why she’s being so difficult, if it weren’t for me she wouldn’t be here at all. I growl out at her, “You will!”

Irene hangs her head, her body shaking, and fists clenched. Then she whirls around, the movement as elegant as her doll counter-self. She puts both hands on the table, bracing herself there. “I’m connected to this doll?”

“You are that doll,” I answer.

She asks another question, “You love this doll?”

I don’t hesitate, “Yes,” I knew I did.

“And you’d do anything to keep her safe?”

“Yes,” I answer again.

“I won’t be a prisoner.” She says suddenly, picking up the original Irene and throwing her against the wall. Irene, both of them shattered into hundreds of pieces right before my eyes, exploded. I stood there in disbelief; why, why did she do that. Why did my greatest masterpiece come to life, only to destroy herself and her creator in the end?

“Irene,” I whisper a few tears falling down my cheeks as I fall down to my knees.

I’d never be able to remake her, there were too many pieces. Now, I’m on all fours my hands bleeding in disbelief. I’ve made a new decision; I’ll make a new doll, one as elegant as Irene, but this time, I won’t let her human self get near the original.

To all of those confused about one-shots, and I know you're out there, a one-shot is an entire story in one chapter.

Moving on, I hope you all enjoyed this. All critique is welcome, except those commenting on grammatical errors I already know I'm bad at grammar.

Thank you for reading my story,

-Eliza Thorn