by C. E. Wilson
“Please…please settle down,” I said, trying to reason with it. “I’m not going to hurt you. Stop moving so much.” I flinched as something clamped down on my finger. I sucked in a gasp but tried not to call out.
“Who are you talking to?” Flynn called.
“No one!” I shouted back, pulling the thing closer. It didn’t seem to be calming down. Maybe it was broken? Why was it able to move like that? Many questions flooded my mind, but the first thing I needed to do was get it inside without Flynn knowing what I had found. I maneuvered my hand over the doll’s head and pressed its face against my shirt, muffling its cries. I tried to play it cool so I could make it back inside my home without Flynn seeing it. Whatever I had found, it was strong and really made me work to be nonchalant.
“What the hell is that?” Flynn asked, stepping as close to my fence as he could. He didn’t want to get shocked, and neither of us wanted Milo to show up. His head jutted this way and that to get a better look, but I managed to keep the thing close as I scrambled up the stairs. “What is it?” he hissed again, growing angry.
“I don’t know… a bird of some sort.” I grunted.
“So it’s not dead?”
“No it’s not dead—ow!” I grunted. Damn thing bit me again. Flynn smirked at my pain.
“Putting up quite a fight, isn’t it? Must have eggs she’s trying to protect.” His face turned lazy as he started to lose interest and glanced over his shoulder. “I should probably get some work done. There’s some research I need to do.”
“That sounds great,” I grumbled, wincing in pain as those terrible, heavy metal wings started to beat against me again as it tried to fly away. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, looking down at my sketchbook on the deck. I couldn’t grab it then. As much as I was dying to get inside, I couldn’t let Flynn think for even one second that I was holding something extraordinary in my hands.
“Tomorrow,” he called, already walking away.
Thank hell. I pinched the thing against me so I could use my other hand to turn the knob and open the door. The thing flailed around even more, sensing its final chance to escape. I pressed harder, and it cried out, but I ignored it. The door flung open, and I practically ran inside, shutting it with my foot.
I was about to let out a sigh of relief when the thing finally escaped, sprang into the air, wings fluttering around like crazy. I backed up against the door in case it decided to attack me. I was, after all, the one who’d captured it and locked it up in my tiny, one-room space. To my mixture of confusion and relief, it wasn’t even paying attention to me. It was flying around erratically, slamming into the reinforced window several times and shooting up toward the ceiling to press against it. It wasn’t trying to hurt me though, so I guess that was a plus.
For several minutes, it completely ignored me, focusing on trying to get out of the room. I watched it move, noticing that even though it was flying, something was wrong with one wing. It must have gotten damaged because it didn’t seem to move and work as smoothly as the other. The thing landed on a high shelf in my room and perched like a gargoyle, and I swallowed.
Its incredibly bright blue eyes finally started to take notice of me, studying me like a hawk. I suppose that was fitting, considering how large its wingspan was. I tried to stare right back, but after a few uncomfortable moments of it not even moving, I felt embarrassed and glanced away. With its bright pink hair and electric blue eyes, I couldn’t help muttering the word “lightning” to myself.
“What does that mean?” a feminine voice called suddenly.
Nearly gasping in surprise, I lifted my chin to look at the winged girl again. Her one hand gripped the edge of the shelf, steadying herself, and her wings tucked against her back. I could finally take a good look at this strange creature. Her attire was strange, much like a doll’s with a light-blue plaid dress with two huge buttons on the front. She was also wearing stockings of some sort and a pair of shoes that reminded me of Mauve’s old ballet slippers. My heart ached for my ex for a moment before the voice called again.
“I asked you a question. What does that mean?”
I shook my head wildly, trying not to sound like a stumbling, bumbling idiot in front of an aggressive talking doll that couldn’t have been much more than a foot tall. “What?”
“You called me Lightning. I am not Lightning. What did you mean by that word?”
I pulled my back off the door but didn’t move closer. I was honestly afraid of what would happen if I did. Calmness settled over the room, but it was a dangerous calm. One movement might anger it again, and I would be trying to defend myself against those surprisingly heavy wings. I was still puzzled. How was it talking to me? Voice recognition? I blinked stupidly at the doll, and it started to turn red. Right. It asked a question twice, and I still hadn’t answered.
“I used to play a lot of video games,” I said carefully, convinced she would have no idea what I was talking about. “Especially Final Fantasy.”
“Final. Fantasy?” it repeated slowly. I nodded, and it seemed to think this over—no doubt searching its memory bank. As I was about to say something, its tiny lips parted. “I used to play video games.”
I arched a brow. “Did you, now? With your owner?”
Its head shot up, and I felt as though I’d been pierced by its intense gaze. For a doll, it certainly was lifelike. For a moment, I felt as though I was talking to…a person. I tried not to smile. This thing was obviously still dangerous despite its small size, and I didn’t want its wings—or its sharp teeth, for that matter—anywhere near me. However, I didn’t want to let it go, either.
A Catch-22, some might say.
“Owner?” it repeated. “I don’t have an owner. What are you talking about?”
I stared up at it stupidly. “Well…you’re a doll, aren’t you?” I asked.
Its reaction to my humor wasn’t that much different than Flynn’s. It continued to stare at me, its pale cheeks starting to flare with anger. I braced myself in case it decided to fly at me.
“A doll?” it snapped angrily. It stood up suddenly on the shelf and glared down at me. It certainly had a way of making me feel out of place in my own home. I felt big under its scrutiny. “Do I look like a doll to you?”
“Uhh…yes?” I answered. “Aren’t you?”
“Let me out of here,” it said in a grave voice. I could sense a change immediately, and its attention shifted, taking in the small shelter with new eyes. “I am not a doll. Release me.”
“N-now…hold on,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “If you’re not a doll, then—”
“I said release me!” it hissed, puffing out its chest like an angry mother hen. Its anger was honestly kind of cute…if it hadn’t been so dangerous. It started to pump its wings again as though getting ready to fly but glanced back with irritation because the one was barely working. It flinched with irritation and what might have been pain.
“You…you should stay,” I offered, hoping to appease it. “Your wing…it’s obviously hurt.”
“I’ll deal with it later. I won’t ask again. Let. Me. Go.”
I dared to stand my ground, crossing my arms over my chest. The tension was making me nervous, but I wasn’t about to back down from a twelve-inch doll with wings. I needed to maintain some dignity in that outrageous situation. “You’re not going anywhere.” I tried to make my voice sound firm and final, but it came out nervous. I cleared my throat again. “It must be dangerous since you uh…can’t fly.”
My eyes trailed up to the doll on the shelf; it still hadn’t moved.
Then I blinked, and it flashed into the air despite its damaged wing. Its flying was sloppy, and it didn’t take care to not damage anything. It slammed into the window several times, trying to break it, but to no avail. Its pink hair flew around wildly, and I was transfixed. I hardly cared that it bumped into some of my work, but when it started to get dangerously close to a watercolor painting of Mauve, I stepped forward.
“Be careful,” I snapped, moving toward the painting. Enough was enough. Half of my place was in ruins because of the pink haired, blue eyed monster. Maybe it was more trouble than it was worth. I started to reach for the painting, but something suddenly appeared directly in front of my face, and I blinked, almost going cross-eyed. I acted on instinct and, not knowing how I was able to do it, I reached out, and I’d seized it again.
I secured it tightly in one hand, pressing its wings up against my palm so they were barely able to move. Its eyes widened with fear; it probably wondered how the hell I had caught her. I honestly wanted to know the same thing. Maybe I had been desperate for it not to ruin my best project, my lifelike painting of the woman I had lost two years before. Nothing—not even a pink-haired robot fairy doll was going to ruin it.
I was breathing heavily, and so was the doll—though that should have been impossible because dolls don’t breathe!—as I brought it closer to my face, but its struggles were different from before. It knew it was caught. It knew I had its wings pinned. Only then could I finally, openly take in the strange creature, and just as I had been embarrassed under its gaze, I felt it was the same under mine.
“So, what are you?” I asked it. I narrowed my eyes carefully, hoping not to scare it, but trying to let it know that, as long as it was in my grasp, I was in charge. I didn’t like the idea of using my size against it, but nothing else had worked. Also, my shelter was practically ruined because of its temper tantrum. When it didn’t answer, I brought it up closer to my face, watching it struggle harder. That had to be humiliating, but I also felt strange holding it in my hands! “How are you able to move? To talk? To hold a conversation? What kind of doll are you?”
“I’m not a doll,” it said simply, still struggling.
“Then what? A fairy? A robot?” I asked, letting the words spill out. I didn’t even know what else the thing could be.
“There’s no such thing as fairies!” it hissed. “Let me go!”
“So you must be a doll or a robot,” I concluded, tilting my head slightly to take it in. I stuck out my tongue in concentration, looking at all the small details, and everything was there, even things I wasn’t expecting: a tiny splattering of freckles across its nose; tiny fingernails; even long, dark eyelashes. “Unreal,” I whispered. “You look like a real person.”
It stopped struggling momentarily. “I am a real person.”
Our eyes met, and for once, it looked away before I did. It was finally backing down from me. I didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed. Its blue eyes started to get glassy, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to cry. Could dolls do that? Robots?
“You can’t be real.” I kept my voice low. “It isn’t possible.”
“I’m a person,” it said again.
I dared to arch an eyebrow. “No way.”
I brought it even closer to my face. I wanted to see more. I wanted to see all the amazing details. I couldn’t believe it. Of all the things to crash and land in my lawn…I had managed to find the most life-like doll I had ever seen. Cautiously, I brought up my other hand and extended a finger. I wanted to touch its hair and feel what the texture was like. It wriggled and squirmed but eventually realized again that it couldn’t escape, slumping in my grasp. Several chunks of that bubble-gum hair fell across its face, hiding its features and expression. With my index finger, I flicked it away and brought my hand close again. The hair was amazing. It didn’t feel like a doll’s; it felt soft, like a real woman’s hair, only thinner and shorter. It wasn’t possible.
Then a tiny sound like a hiccup pulled away my attention from its hair.
Water—or something like it—was starting to come down its cheeks. My eyes searched desperately for the source, only to find that it was coming from…its eyes. I jerked my hand away and let it rest at my side. I clenched my jaw. It…it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t cry. It couldn’t be crying.
“You…what are you doing?” I tried to smile. “You must be a really well-made doll if you’re able to do that.”
It was so lifelike, so impossibly real—a tiny, perfect doll in my hand.
I probably shouldn’t have been held it so close to my face, but I was so interested in seeing all its little features. I had never seen anything like it before. And though it was crying, I still couldn’t bring myself to take it seriously. The tears were a feature. They must have been part of her programming. They had to be.
Then, something pulled out from under my hand and shot toward my face.
“Shit!” I hissed when it made contact with my face. Minuscule nails scraped under my eye and across my nose. The delicate skin under my eye throbbed from the attack, and I lowered the doll away from my face, using my free hand to cover it. “Dammit,” I groaned, touching the area with my fingertips. It felt as if I’d been scratched by a cat. I willed myself to remain calm. “What the hell? What’d you do that for?” I resisted the urge to shake it. I couldn’t bring myself to be that cruel.
“I told you I’m not a doll!” it cried out.
I expected it to be angry, but as my pain subsided, hurt showed in those tiny blue eyes. It was frightened of my reaction, no doubt, but it wasn’t defeated.
“Stop calling me that,” it said, its voice cracking. More water started to come from its eyes and down its pale cheeks.
“But…you have to be,” I reasoned aloud. “People aren’t small like you. And you have wings. How do you explain that?”
It sniffled loudly, and I felt myself crumbling. What if it…she…was telling the truth? What if it really was a young woman in my hands? And I was…and I was holding her like that and scolding her? I shook my head. No. Two years of solitary confinement was getting to me. It had to be a doll.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” she croaked.
“Try me.”
“I’m…I’m an experiment,” she said softly, sniffling again. When I started to ask her what she meant, she held up her hand. I locked my lips together and watched with slight fascination as she wiped her nose on her free sleeve. Its color darkened as water…or tears dampened the fabric.
It couldn’t be possible…a person? I didn’t want to believe it.
She was so lifelike. “I’m a person. I mean, I was a person. I know I was…but I don’t know if I can trust my memories.”
“Trust your memories?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.” She crumpled in my grasp again.
“Now… come on. I didn’t say that.” Not yet, at least.
“It’s all over your face,” she muttered.
“What were you saying about your memories? About how you can’t…trust them?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know…I don’t really remember.”
“You don’t remember? But you can’t—”
“I’m a person,” she said firmly. “So please…will you put me down? I swear I won’t do anything else…I’m really scared…” She trailed off as the tears started to return. She was no longer sniffling and whimpering but was starting to really cry.
I’d always hated when girls cried.
“Hey now.” I loosened my grip on her body. “I’m sorry…just don’t…don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked between soft sobs.
“Don’t cry. I can’t stand it when girls cry, okay?” I looked away as I tried not to think about Mauve crying. “I can’t handle it.”
She sniffed and finally looked up at me. Her eyes looked different. She didn’t look frightened or angry, pissed off or scared. She looked curious. “So…does that mean you think I’m a girl?” she asked, wiping her nose again as I released her completely and shifted my hand around so she could rest on my palm.
I couldn’t deny what I was seeing—what I felt and what was in front of me—despite how impossible it was. It was either true or I was losing my mind. Why not both?
“I don’t know what you are,” I said honestly.
Her face crumbled again.
“But I do know when you cry like that, I can’t stand it. So please…stop.” I lowered my hand and walked over to a small table and set her down on it. She scrambled away but didn’t try to fly again. Her wing really didn’t look good.
“See?” I hoped I wasn’t too late in trying to convince her I wasn’t a bad person. “I let you go. So please…stop crying.”
Chapter Six
I ran my hand under the faucet for a few minutes, occasionally glancing over my shoulder to see if the girl with wings was still there or if she had disappeared and I could blame the whole thing on being stir crazy. I almost wished she wasn’t there, but every time I turned, there she was, watching me curiously with damp eyes and sniffling only slightly. Thank hell she had stopped crying for the most part. I don’t think I would have been able to stand it if she really broke down.
She said she was an experiment, but also that she didn’t trust her memories. How could she not trust her memories? Most of the time memories are the only thing I’ve got—the only thing I can rely on to keep pushing toward the future. She said she couldn’t trust hers. I would have to ask her more about that later, but then I wanted to take care of those stupid little bite marks on my hands. Thanks to those little half crescents, Flynn would never believe that I had found a bird. I would have to cover them up and clean them – I didn’t want an infection from whatever that thing was.
“You seem calmer,” I said with my back to her when I could no longer take the silence. “Are you…” I turned around and started to dry off my hand with a towel, “are you okay?”
She nodded slowly. If I hadn’t been looking for a response, I wondered if I would have even noticed it. Everything about her was so small. I couldn’t even fathom it. How? How could this thing be a human? My eyes trailed to her wings, tucked behind her. Were they nothing more than a toy attached to her? And if not, how was she able to fly?
“I’m sorry, by the way,” she said in a low voice. Her electric-blue eyes traced down to my hand as I dabbed it with some rubbing alcohol and a rag. “For biting you?” she clarified. As if I couldn’t remember. “I…panicked. I thought you were going to…” her voice trailed off, and she looked away.