~Rossi~
02-12-2013, 03:56 AM
A bright light and strange feeling swept across him - and then- there he was, forced into a dark world he knew nothing about. Where was he? What was he? Who was he? And most importantly of all, who was that strange figure who had been holding him so very closely just a moment ago? A quick glance around at his surroundings revealed a dimly lit room. In this room there was a small table in the corner, on it, some cloth, cotton reels, scissors, paper and some other various art supplies. The only other item in the whole room that struck him as peculiar was an old hour glass on the wall, with its golden sands slowly trickling away. He had a strange sense of urgency from that point on a sense that soon, he would be gone.
This is just a strange story I wrote
His appearance resembled that of a hand-made child’s doll. He had big blue buttons for eyes, a badly miss-shaped head and had also appeared to be made completely out of hastily stitched patchwork. He was nothing of extravagance though he had never known extravagance. Only a few differing shades of brown cloth created the overall look of his body. He struggled to his feet and managed to make it to the table with a few unsteady steps. He noticed an old scroll on the table that was tucked in under some cloth; he then unravelled it to reveal a diagram of a child’s rag doll, at that moment a strange desire swept over him. He felt that he needed to hold the figure in the diagram; to feel an others presence; he did not know what had caused this uncertain longing for a friend. He had just discovered a meaning for his otherwise unconfirmed existence. He had to work for this though. It would not come easy, and so without a single word or thought, he began. Flipping through the pages, gaining an understanding of what was required. He gathered up the materials he had in front of himself hurriedly, organising them into neat piles ready to begin. With unskilled hands he began to create his master piece, the outline of her.
He began with the body sewing as evenly as he could with his crudely made hands. His desire to complete what he had set out to kicked in and with a flurry of needles; a blur of cloth; and just the slightest bit of precision in-between, his tireless effort had finally payed off, he was soon finished. After all of this he had ended up with a dirty pile of motionless rags that roughly resembled a rag-doll. Though he viewed this doll as a major accomplishment and was extremely proud of his achievement. He thought that she was the most beautiful thing that he could have created in this dim unexplained reality he was living in. He held his creation close awaiting motion, though this was to no avail.
Once more he glanced over at the hour glass on the wall, sand still trickling from the top, though this time it was nearly empty. When his new found companion neither moved nor held him in his growing despair and loneliness, he began to become increasingly upset. He shivered in disgust at his own existence and looked down in anger at what he had created, something he had created in the hope of having a companion, a friend to spend his time with. He still clutched his creation, in fear despair and anguish; a single tear welled up beneath his blue button eye and fell onto her lifeless body. He then noticed the rag-doll on the ground stir and a burst of warmth flowed through him once more. He held her tight and looked up just in time to see the last grain of sand fall to the bottom of the hour glass. With a small smile of stitched cotton he was disintegrated into oblivion. The hour glass then rotated upon itself and began to trickle its warm golden sand once more.
This is just a strange story I wrote
His appearance resembled that of a hand-made child’s doll. He had big blue buttons for eyes, a badly miss-shaped head and had also appeared to be made completely out of hastily stitched patchwork. He was nothing of extravagance though he had never known extravagance. Only a few differing shades of brown cloth created the overall look of his body. He struggled to his feet and managed to make it to the table with a few unsteady steps. He noticed an old scroll on the table that was tucked in under some cloth; he then unravelled it to reveal a diagram of a child’s rag doll, at that moment a strange desire swept over him. He felt that he needed to hold the figure in the diagram; to feel an others presence; he did not know what had caused this uncertain longing for a friend. He had just discovered a meaning for his otherwise unconfirmed existence. He had to work for this though. It would not come easy, and so without a single word or thought, he began. Flipping through the pages, gaining an understanding of what was required. He gathered up the materials he had in front of himself hurriedly, organising them into neat piles ready to begin. With unskilled hands he began to create his master piece, the outline of her.
He began with the body sewing as evenly as he could with his crudely made hands. His desire to complete what he had set out to kicked in and with a flurry of needles; a blur of cloth; and just the slightest bit of precision in-between, his tireless effort had finally payed off, he was soon finished. After all of this he had ended up with a dirty pile of motionless rags that roughly resembled a rag-doll. Though he viewed this doll as a major accomplishment and was extremely proud of his achievement. He thought that she was the most beautiful thing that he could have created in this dim unexplained reality he was living in. He held his creation close awaiting motion, though this was to no avail.
Once more he glanced over at the hour glass on the wall, sand still trickling from the top, though this time it was nearly empty. When his new found companion neither moved nor held him in his growing despair and loneliness, he began to become increasingly upset. He shivered in disgust at his own existence and looked down in anger at what he had created, something he had created in the hope of having a companion, a friend to spend his time with. He still clutched his creation, in fear despair and anguish; a single tear welled up beneath his blue button eye and fell onto her lifeless body. He then noticed the rag-doll on the ground stir and a burst of warmth flowed through him once more. He held her tight and looked up just in time to see the last grain of sand fall to the bottom of the hour glass. With a small smile of stitched cotton he was disintegrated into oblivion. The hour glass then rotated upon itself and began to trickle its warm golden sand once more.