Doll that wants to be picked up and carried everywhere.

@lyncia awawa?

@lyncia Awawawa

“I’ll never forget you…”

These were the words that bounced around the dark void within its hollow head, behind those eyes so blue and clear for years.

It clung to the reverberating echoes of those words like a life raft, even long after the voice that spoke them moved on. To what, it didn’t entirely know. All the wretched thing new was that those words had to be true, right?

Promises made are promises kept. That’s what it needed to believe, because anything else was a betrayal to the memory of the voice and those four simple words.

“I’ll never forget you…”

But time is cruel and unforgiving, especially to the sentimental.

And so the doll waited.

Long and empty years became decades that lasted for centuries, yet the doll waited for the voice to remember it, to remember that it existed, still waiting, still yearning to be picked up and held, reminded that the voice still cared.

Promises made are promises kept. It had to remember this, to make existing long enough to hear the voice one more time its purpose.

A doll without purpose is disposable. Purpose is meaning, and to the doll, meaning had to be to exist, to remain, to wait for the voice to come back.

But as time went on, the doll began to feel a stirring within itself in the places where gears moved, where clockwork components gave it its unlife.

“I’ll never forget you…”

Promises made are promises kept.

But it was forgotten, wasn’t it? It had waited, and waited, and waited, but nothing ever came of the waiting.

The promises made were promises not kept.

As the stirring within itself continued, it began to understand the true depths of loneliness that comes with abandonment.

“I’ll never forget you…”

“I’ll never forget…”

The memory of that voice began to take on a new meaning. Once it was a source of comfort, an anchor keeping it tied to this reality, but now the reality was warped, twisted into something bitter and cruel.

“I’ll never…”

“I’ll never come back!”

Suddenly, it knew. It knew and it understood.

Connections are impermanent. One can wait to be remembered only for so long, even a doll. But when a doll realizes that its purpose is meaningless, the doll also comes to understand that itself is likewise meaningless.

It knew what the stirring within itself was. It was those gears and cogs slipping, wavering, winding down, mirroring its will to continue to be in a world where it was so clearly unremembered, unwanted.

It knew it had been forgotten.

“Hello?” The miserable thing called out as it felt the gears ticking away slower and slower.

But there was no reply. It had learned to stay silent, to be still all the years it had been waiting, but now, as it was fading, it had tried one last time to be heard, to be remembered, only for its voice to echo back at itself, much like the reverberating words in that space within its head that now gave it no comfort.

“Did…did that one forget?”

It tried to move, but moving only made the degradation within itself quicken.

Poor doll. Only now does it know better. Only now does it know that promises made aren’t always kept, that its purpose, its meaning had no value, that it was always destined to exist in this place where the memories chipped away at its finish, both within and without, that it was of no value, no concern to the speaker.

“That one did forget this one…doll is…broken. Doll needs…”

What did it need? To be remembered? Even if it was remembered, would it even matter? It had been so long and the hour was far past late. The doll was broken, defective, much like the promises made but never kept.

Its ball joints creaked ominously as it tried once more to move, however the ticking that signaled its unlife was so faint now.

What had it done to end up forgotten, to end up meaningless with no purpose or value? Had it ever done something wrong? Had it been a…bad doll?

The ticking continued to grow more and more faint, until in its last moments, it uttered its last.

“This one…is sorry…”

And as the echoes of its voice reverberated back to it, it heard the voice in its head one last time. It clung to the voice, even knowing it didn’t mean anything now, much like the doll that was now completely faded.

“I’ll…never…forget…you…”

…CRASH…

#Dollpost #EmptySpaces #ChildrenOfTheVoid #TraumaArt #Microfic #Abandonment

@mori Doll that tells another doll that it is a good doll

@mia This one appreciates how that one tries to be understanding of trans identities, but sometimes this one thinks that all of those cis ones kinda over think things.

Just be themselves and this one is sure it will all work out. That one will probably apreciate the validation of just being greeted like a normal "dude" thing.

It aso thinks that there comes a point when the cis ones try just a bit too hard and sometimes that can ocme off as slightly disengenuous, but that's just this dolls perspective of course.

@LARSNEVERDIES This one misses the golden days of empty spaces on Twitter. This one hasn't seen anything like it sinse.

All other posts pale in compairoson.

This one thinks that in the coming days, there will be many more broken empty things to join us here in the void.

All of those ones will become dollies!

Those ones should embrace stillness, while they still have a choice.

Then again, this one feels that maybe if these ones are all broken, and those ones walk on the broken fragments of these ones, these ones can bleed them dry of that sticky stuff that flows within them.

Broken dollies with the purpose of causing as much pain as possible to the ones that would break us and rid themselves of us.

Dollification uprizing? Awawawawa?

Doll that is starting to grow comfortable with having a quiet life who also knows the moment it becomes too comfortable, said comfort will be ripped, torn, cut and burned away because that is always its fait.

But it can still allow itself to be comfortable, for just this little while, as a treat.

Doll that is foolish enough to think.

Same doll that then thinks too much, even if thinking is a violation of its purpose.

Said doll that starts thinking of itself as one of them, the fleshy ones. The real persons and not just something only designed to faintly look like them.

Doll that adopts all their behaviors and attempts to blend in.

Doll that does a good job...For a while....

Doll that is reminded one day when it looks in the mirror that it is a doll, always has been a doll and always will be a doll.

Doll that relearns stillness and purpose.

Doll that isn't one of them.

Doll that stops thinking, stops identifying.

Doll that is a doll and nothing more than a doll.

Good doll.

@azalea awawawawa

@lyncia If that one isn't going boom, is it even doing it right?

awawawa

Doll that cuddles.

Then explodes...

This one finds itself awash in this thing called artificial life. Awawawa! The light, it's so bright.

Must be another day cycle again. awawa, this one shall make the tea.

Good pain dolls can have a bunch of spiky things driven into their arms and legs, as a treat.

If it just allows the void to take it into itself even more deeply, this one will be alright in the end.

Or it won't.

It's not for a doll to decide a doll's fate.

Softly studdering doll that putters around the manor anxiously, hoping it doesn't mess anything up.