It's been two moments. A day, a year, a minute, a second, each one of those are moments. It has been two moments. You are an idea, an image in someone's mind. You probably have a name. Right now you are Child, a shapeless form of wool stuffing, waiting to be put inside a body, a mind. It's early enough in the process that all you have seen are the good things in life, and all you have felt is joy and anticipation. You are waiting to become something.
The moments go by. Someone takes your shapeless lump of stuffing and looks at you. So many things can be done with thoughts this pure, a mind this tender. The fingers caress you, impressing you gently with permanent marks. You start to take form.
The moments continue to go by. You have something that resembles an arm coming out of the side of your chest. For the first time, you see a whole Doll on the workbench. Her arms are not raw wool; they are covered in soft, pale cloth. In fact, her whole body is covered in linen. She is tall and slim and her red mouth smiles stiffly. She is Complete.
You now have someone to aspire to be. One day, perhaps, if you work hard, you too can be held together by soft fabric, revealing who you are and what you do.
Your mind is changed now. There is more to life than being shapeless and happy. The moments go by, and you soon realize your raw wool face is covered with something warm and soft. Your face has been covered. You have a certain unique look to you now. Expressions of your very own.
The moments go by, and as you continue to explore the other Dolls you come across, you gain fabric on your limbs. You have a shape now. It is lumpy and imperfect, but it is who you are. You are ridiculously pleased with yourself. You have become someone.
You use your new powers in the moments to come. You find something long and black; it leaves a dark mark where you press it to the table. Carefully, you draw a smile across your lower face. Eyes. A nose. Suddenly your face has life to it — you can smile, blink, smell! Never mind that your eyes are uneven and your mouth is crooked. It is who you are.
Moments pass. You are happy with who you are. You are a Doll now. You are the Doll with the lumpy body and the crooked smile. You are happy.
You come across other Dolls. These Dolls are all Complete, just like you. You are Conplete because you are someone; you have eyes to see and a nose to smell and a mouth to smile. You have a mind to learn and discover. You are a Completed Doll. You find Society, and you join in.
You explore, eager to learn, eager to grow. Everything fascinates you. You are the Doll with the lumpy body and crooked smile, but that is you and no one else looks just like you. You are unique.
You rediscover the tall Doll from many moments ago. She is even more beautiful than you had remembered. She has sparkling blue eyes, so unlike your black ones. They are spaced evenly, while yours dot your face like a misguided case of two measles. Her mouth, her red mouth, is curved in a perfect smile. Suddenly, you feel small and flawed beside her. You cover your crooked smile with a lumpy hand and back away. She looks at you with her perfect blue eyes and stunning red smile, and you hide from her. You aren't fit to come before her.
You go home. You take a wet cloth and you wash your black eyes from your face. Your mouth comes next. You are blank except for your nose. You lose some of your individuality.
You find an old Doll who is willing to draw you new eyes and a new mouth, for only the price of your old black marker. You give it without a thought.
Not three moments later, you have blue eyes and a red, red mouth. You peer at yourself in a pane of glass and are pleased with your new beauty. You are different now. You are not as unique as you once were, but you do not think on that. You return to society and join the Dolls.
Moments go by. You are sitting outside, feeling the sun on your red mouth and your blue eyes. A Complete Dollstrolls by. He smiles at you, and goes on. Something was different about him, you know for sure. His eyes were blue, and his mouth was red, but you are used to that now. It no longer appears so beautiful. He had shimmering golden hair on his head. You have never seen anything so spectacular.
Your own head is bare. You are not perfect. You rush home and find a brown marker. Desperately, you attempt to give yourself makeshift hair. You look in a pane of glass, at you scribbled brown hair. You smile and think to yourself that you are much better now. You think that maybe, that Doll's hair wasn't as amazing as it had first seemed. The sun was on it.
You are just as beautiful now.
Once again, you enter society. You realize that many Completed Dolls have gorgeous hair like you saw before. Their wonderful, yarn hair makes you feel small and ugly with your scribbled marker hair. You go home, and you wash your brown hair off your head.
You find an old Doll who is willing to sew you some long, golden hair. He asks only for your brown marker. You give it gladly, and do not think twice about it.
You sit still through the delicate, painful procedure. When it is completed, you stare at yourself in the pane of glass. You are beautiful now. You are less special, you do not stand out as much from the crowds. You decide that is a good thing, and you go back into society.
Moments pass. You are pleased with yourself. You look wonderful. You have golden hair, blue eyes, and a red mouth. You are perfect.
One moment, you follow a group of Completed Dolls down to a beach. You watch from a distance as they remove their towels and reveal their smooth, even arms and legs. There is not a bump on their bodies where it does not belong. You slowly realize that your lumpy legs and arms look nothing like these amazing, slender ones.
You run home and give yourself a massage, trying fractically to even out the lumps of wool beneath your cloth skin. You cannot do it.
You find an obliging Doll who will kindly replace your lumpy arms and legs with pre-made, slender, smooth ones. She asks only for your old legs and arms for pay. You promise her that, eager to be rid of them.
This process is even more painful than the one before. Tears leak from your blue eyes as the needle pierces your cloth flesh again and again.
The horrible pain is finally over. You view yourself with glee in the glass pane. You look like the other Dolls, with no lumps or black eyes or brown scribble hair or crooked mouths. You see yourself as perfect once again.
Societly welcomes you more sweetly than ever. You revel in your newfound glory, feeling like pure beauty.
As you are coming home one moment, you stop and think. Three times you have found something wrong with yourself, and three times you improved. Perhaps your eyes are not open to your own flaws? Perhaps you are too blind to see what was mistakenly done to you during your crafting? This idea latches hold, and you become insecure and sensitive.
The next moment, you go to find a "Specialist Doll". That is what the sign above her door says. You ask her to tell you if you have any flaws.
She explains with a voice like honey. You discover you are too short. Your stomach pokes out where it should be flat. Your face is too round; it should be more teardrop shaped. You have no eyebrows. Your nose is too big. Your feet are too flat. Your hands are nothing but ovals on the end of your arms. Your hair is all one color. And your cloth skin color is just not the fashion.
You hear all this and you start to cry and curse the person who crafted you. Whoever they were, they made so many mistakes that it was hardly worth keeping your life. You tell this to the Specialist Doll.
"I can fix you," she says sweetly. "I only ask for a few things in return..."
You agree, in near hysterics. Anything to become perfect.
Too many excruciating moments later, you are finished. You are taller, more slender. Your stomach doesn't poke out any longer. Your face is a perfect teardrop. You have thin, delicate eyebrows and your nose is neat and tiny. You have four fingers and a thumb. Three red strands hang down your head, in place of three discarded golden ones. And every thread of your skin has been replaced with a warmer, browner, more incredible cloth.
The Specialist Doll takes your discarded hair, your old skin, your lump hands, the filling from your stomach and face that she removed. She leaves with a smile and you do not see her again.
You are delighted with yourself. Everywhere you look, you see beauty equal to yours. You have become what society wanted, and there is no where else to ascend to. You look around and are happy.
The moments go by. No one smiles at you anymore. No one sees you at the corner of two streets. No one speaks to you. You are part of society now. They don't see anything different than everyone else. They hold no respect for who you are, because you are just like everybody. You do not know what to make of this.
One moment, you sit on the beach and watch the waves roll in. You are thinking. You think that perhaps, if you could find one more flaw in yourself and fix it, you would become noticed again.
A young Doll comes by. She is very young. Her eyes are black dots, her mouth is drastically bent. Yet she is smiling. You notice her because her body is short and lumpy.
She looks up at you, and she looks amazed. You look at her little black eyes with your blue ones. She looks in awe, then in uncertainty, then in shame.
"Child," you say softly.
She stops, looking up at you, embarrassed to be seen, unfit as she is.
You lean closer. You want to say a thousand words, warning her, telling her that she is perfect just the way she is. You open your red mouth. Three words. You say three words.
The moments go by. Someone takes your shapeless lump of stuffing and looks at you. So many things can be done with thoughts this pure, a mind this tender. The fingers caress you, impressing you gently with permanent marks. You start to take form.
The moments continue to go by. You have something that resembles an arm coming out of the side of your chest. For the first time, you see a whole Doll on the workbench. Her arms are not raw wool; they are covered in soft, pale cloth. In fact, her whole body is covered in linen. She is tall and slim and her red mouth smiles stiffly. She is Complete.
You now have someone to aspire to be. One day, perhaps, if you work hard, you too can be held together by soft fabric, revealing who you are and what you do.
Your mind is changed now. There is more to life than being shapeless and happy. The moments go by, and you soon realize your raw wool face is covered with something warm and soft. Your face has been covered. You have a certain unique look to you now. Expressions of your very own.
The moments go by, and as you continue to explore the other Dolls you come across, you gain fabric on your limbs. You have a shape now. It is lumpy and imperfect, but it is who you are. You are ridiculously pleased with yourself. You have become someone.
You use your new powers in the moments to come. You find something long and black; it leaves a dark mark where you press it to the table. Carefully, you draw a smile across your lower face. Eyes. A nose. Suddenly your face has life to it — you can smile, blink, smell! Never mind that your eyes are uneven and your mouth is crooked. It is who you are.
Moments pass. You are happy with who you are. You are a Doll now. You are the Doll with the lumpy body and the crooked smile. You are happy.
You come across other Dolls. These Dolls are all Complete, just like you. You are Conplete because you are someone; you have eyes to see and a nose to smell and a mouth to smile. You have a mind to learn and discover. You are a Completed Doll. You find Society, and you join in.
You explore, eager to learn, eager to grow. Everything fascinates you. You are the Doll with the lumpy body and crooked smile, but that is you and no one else looks just like you. You are unique.
You rediscover the tall Doll from many moments ago. She is even more beautiful than you had remembered. She has sparkling blue eyes, so unlike your black ones. They are spaced evenly, while yours dot your face like a misguided case of two measles. Her mouth, her red mouth, is curved in a perfect smile. Suddenly, you feel small and flawed beside her. You cover your crooked smile with a lumpy hand and back away. She looks at you with her perfect blue eyes and stunning red smile, and you hide from her. You aren't fit to come before her.
You go home. You take a wet cloth and you wash your black eyes from your face. Your mouth comes next. You are blank except for your nose. You lose some of your individuality.
You find an old Doll who is willing to draw you new eyes and a new mouth, for only the price of your old black marker. You give it without a thought.
Not three moments later, you have blue eyes and a red, red mouth. You peer at yourself in a pane of glass and are pleased with your new beauty. You are different now. You are not as unique as you once were, but you do not think on that. You return to society and join the Dolls.
Moments go by. You are sitting outside, feeling the sun on your red mouth and your blue eyes. A Complete Dollstrolls by. He smiles at you, and goes on. Something was different about him, you know for sure. His eyes were blue, and his mouth was red, but you are used to that now. It no longer appears so beautiful. He had shimmering golden hair on his head. You have never seen anything so spectacular.
Your own head is bare. You are not perfect. You rush home and find a brown marker. Desperately, you attempt to give yourself makeshift hair. You look in a pane of glass, at you scribbled brown hair. You smile and think to yourself that you are much better now. You think that maybe, that Doll's hair wasn't as amazing as it had first seemed. The sun was on it.
You are just as beautiful now.
Once again, you enter society. You realize that many Completed Dolls have gorgeous hair like you saw before. Their wonderful, yarn hair makes you feel small and ugly with your scribbled marker hair. You go home, and you wash your brown hair off your head.
You find an old Doll who is willing to sew you some long, golden hair. He asks only for your brown marker. You give it gladly, and do not think twice about it.
You sit still through the delicate, painful procedure. When it is completed, you stare at yourself in the pane of glass. You are beautiful now. You are less special, you do not stand out as much from the crowds. You decide that is a good thing, and you go back into society.
Moments pass. You are pleased with yourself. You look wonderful. You have golden hair, blue eyes, and a red mouth. You are perfect.
One moment, you follow a group of Completed Dolls down to a beach. You watch from a distance as they remove their towels and reveal their smooth, even arms and legs. There is not a bump on their bodies where it does not belong. You slowly realize that your lumpy legs and arms look nothing like these amazing, slender ones.
You run home and give yourself a massage, trying fractically to even out the lumps of wool beneath your cloth skin. You cannot do it.
You find an obliging Doll who will kindly replace your lumpy arms and legs with pre-made, slender, smooth ones. She asks only for your old legs and arms for pay. You promise her that, eager to be rid of them.
This process is even more painful than the one before. Tears leak from your blue eyes as the needle pierces your cloth flesh again and again.
The horrible pain is finally over. You view yourself with glee in the glass pane. You look like the other Dolls, with no lumps or black eyes or brown scribble hair or crooked mouths. You see yourself as perfect once again.
Societly welcomes you more sweetly than ever. You revel in your newfound glory, feeling like pure beauty.
As you are coming home one moment, you stop and think. Three times you have found something wrong with yourself, and three times you improved. Perhaps your eyes are not open to your own flaws? Perhaps you are too blind to see what was mistakenly done to you during your crafting? This idea latches hold, and you become insecure and sensitive.
The next moment, you go to find a "Specialist Doll". That is what the sign above her door says. You ask her to tell you if you have any flaws.
She explains with a voice like honey. You discover you are too short. Your stomach pokes out where it should be flat. Your face is too round; it should be more teardrop shaped. You have no eyebrows. Your nose is too big. Your feet are too flat. Your hands are nothing but ovals on the end of your arms. Your hair is all one color. And your cloth skin color is just not the fashion.
You hear all this and you start to cry and curse the person who crafted you. Whoever they were, they made so many mistakes that it was hardly worth keeping your life. You tell this to the Specialist Doll.
"I can fix you," she says sweetly. "I only ask for a few things in return..."
You agree, in near hysterics. Anything to become perfect.
Too many excruciating moments later, you are finished. You are taller, more slender. Your stomach doesn't poke out any longer. Your face is a perfect teardrop. You have thin, delicate eyebrows and your nose is neat and tiny. You have four fingers and a thumb. Three red strands hang down your head, in place of three discarded golden ones. And every thread of your skin has been replaced with a warmer, browner, more incredible cloth.
The Specialist Doll takes your discarded hair, your old skin, your lump hands, the filling from your stomach and face that she removed. She leaves with a smile and you do not see her again.
You are delighted with yourself. Everywhere you look, you see beauty equal to yours. You have become what society wanted, and there is no where else to ascend to. You look around and are happy.
The moments go by. No one smiles at you anymore. No one sees you at the corner of two streets. No one speaks to you. You are part of society now. They don't see anything different than everyone else. They hold no respect for who you are, because you are just like everybody. You do not know what to make of this.
One moment, you sit on the beach and watch the waves roll in. You are thinking. You think that perhaps, if you could find one more flaw in yourself and fix it, you would become noticed again.
A young Doll comes by. She is very young. Her eyes are black dots, her mouth is drastically bent. Yet she is smiling. You notice her because her body is short and lumpy.
She looks up at you, and she looks amazed. You look at her little black eyes with your blue ones. She looks in awe, then in uncertainty, then in shame.
"Child," you say softly.
She stops, looking up at you, embarrassed to be seen, unfit as she is.
You lean closer. You want to say a thousand words, warning her, telling her that she is perfect just the way she is. You open your red mouth. Three words. You say three words.
"You are beautiful."
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