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The Abandoned Doll [Empty Spaces-inspired]
🕑 Added 2022-11-25 08:31:20 +0000 UTC[Content Warning for abuse, abandonment, and trauma. This is not smut]
Being stuck inside a hard, stuffy crate wasn't all that bad. The living Doll liked small, snug places and the secure feeling they provided. Besides, its body was just a chunk of memory foam carved into a humanoid shape, wrapped in a soft fabric skin, fitted with a flexible mask serving as a face, and topped with a long chestnut wig. The Doll didn't need comfortable accommodations, even if it wished for at least a few articles of soft clothing adorning its artificial body.
What it truly wanted was company. After months locked in its crate, it began to think any company would be nice - even that of its former owner.
—
Back then, it was still dormant: it couldn't move or speak yet, and though it could still think, see, hear, and feel, it was on the cusp of consciousness - as if life were a waking dream. The Doll was fresh out of the factory, was sealed up in its crate, and had shipped off to its new owner. All it had to do was wait for its life to begin.
What would the Doll's new owner be like? Would they cuddle it every day? Would they dress it up and have it model clothes? Would they chat with it as if it were a real person? The Doll desired its owner's approval. The Doll craved to finally have an Owner. The Doll fantasised about being praised as ‘Owner's Good Doll’, and would do whatever it took to earn that title.
And finally, one day, the Doll’s crate was delivered. A few muffled words were exchanged, presumably between its Owner and the delivery person, and then: silence. The doll waited patiently, eager to see its Owner lift the lid off its crate and welcome it to the world.
But the silence ended as a sudden tearing noise filled its crate, a ray of light shone into its eyes, and… pain erupted on its face. But the Doll was going to be Owner’s Good Doll, so it stayed silent and still. More light seeped through the growing crack between the crate and its lid, revealing a blade jutting in as it violently sliced open the crate’s packaging. Finally, after another silent moment, the lid was lifted away.
Standing over the Doll was a burly man holding a machete in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. His face curled into a disgusted sneer at the sight of it. The Doll’s owner took a swig of beer before placing the bottle aside, clipping the machete to his belt, and growling eerily.
“It’s defective!” The man roared.
The Doll’s heart sank. It knew what it was supposed to do. It knew it was to stand up and greet its new owner, but it was frozen in fear.
The man knelt next to his Doll and peeled apart the sliced fabric on its cheek and probed a finger into the cut in its memory foam. The Doll winced as a renewed pain seared its head, but the man didn’t relent.
“Stay still!” He boomed harshly.
The Doll tried its best, honest, it really did! But its best wasn’t enough for its owner. It shivered a little, and finally the man withdrew his hands. But then he pulled out his machete again, and a faint whimper escaped the doll’s quivering lips.
“Shut up!” The man yelled.
Though the Doll was wearing a mere bikini, its owner sliced apart its straps and tore away both top and bottom. He inspected his Doll’s private regions, and despite how much it wished to, it did not shield itself from view.
“Where’s your cunt!?” The man spat.
Unsure if it should reply - and frankly, too terrified to reply anyway - the Doll simply shivered in silence. It knew its crotch was flat and featureless, but it never would have thought that would displease its owner.
“I’m talking to you!”
The doll shakily pointed to a booklet taped inside the crate at its feet. Its owner snatched the instruction manual, and upon seeing the cover, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
“CUDDLE DOLL!? I ordered a love doll!”
The man angrily threw the booklet against a wall, pulled out his phone, and typed something on its screen. He held it to his face, waited a moment, then began shouting again.
“Yeah, I ordered a love doll from you, and you sent the wrong one! Not only that, but it’s a defective product! I want a replacement and a refund!”
He breathed heavily as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call.
“Rrrrgh, FINE! But you cheapskates can’t keep getting away with this sort of thing! I refuse to pay to ship this all the way back just to get a refund!”
Another moment of heavy breathing.
“Well next time you better say you’ll cover shipping to begin with!” The man yelled, hung up, then whipped his phone at his couch.
The Doll’s owner then bent over, picked up the crate’s lid, and slammed it back in place. The Doll’s owner was no longer its owner.
—
‘Any day now,’ it thought. ‘Any day now, they’ll open up my crate, they’ll sew me back together, and they’ll send me out to Owner. My new Owner. And then I’ll have some company again.’
The Doll remained in complete darkness inside its crate since that day without a single person opening its crate even once. Thankfully, it only took a couple weeks for the pain on its face to fade away completely. The imperfection remained, but at least it didn’t hurt anymore.
It only had one way of gauging how long it had been shut away - every working day, employees would return to the factory and make enough noise to be heard through the thick crate, then go home for the night. Knowing this, the Doll could count the days that elapsed.
However, it lost count after about 26 months.
One day, what felt like no more than a week ago to the Doll, employees began to scream bloody murder as a series of loud bangs erupted from somewhere in the building. After that, the normal sounds of employees going about their day were replaced by new, unfamiliar ones. The machinery had powered down completely, and their usual humming was replaced by irregular scrapes and clangs of metal on metal. The only voices it could hear were a few murmurs here and there, only audible in the slightest.
The Doll began to think it had somehow been shipped to a new location, though it hadn’t felt any movement in ages. Until, finally, its crate began to gently shift about!
“Another one here, Commander.” A concerned voice, seemingly originating from right next to the crate, was audible for the first time in ages! “‘January 20th, XXXX’…” The voice muttered the date so faintly that the Doll couldn’t hear which year was read aloud. “Fucking hell, that was over six years ago… Please let this one be empty too…”
A few gentle sounds were heard, presumably as whoever was outside removed the tape and other packaging surrounding the crate. This time, there was no pain, no machete tearing through its crate, and no loud noises.
And then, light.
The Doll heard a visceral gasp to its left. It took a second for the world to be brought into focus, but when it did, the Doll saw that the person beside it was wearing a helmet with a tinted visor obstructing her eyes and a gloved hand covering her open mouth.
“A doll…” The person said breathily. She pressed a small box of some sort on her shoulder and tilted her head to the side. “Commander, there’s another doll here.”
A voice responded through the person’s headset that was indistinct, yet still audible to the Doll.
“Owner?” The doll spoke for the first time in its existence. “Are you my new Owner?”
The figure stumbled back a step. The Doll slowly sat upright and got a better look at the person next to it. She was wearing what the Doll assumed to be some sort of military gear - a black and grey uniform with what it inferred to be bulletproof padding, a toolbelt and satchel wrapped around her waist, and a rifle of some kind strapped to her back.
“O-Owner…? Wh-what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong again? Am… Am I still not good enough? D-d-do you not want to b-be my Owner either?”
The Doll squeezed its own arm as its eyes darted from the person, to the floor, then back to the person again. The crate creaked under it as it jittered slightly.
“I- W-well…” The person began, but paused.
The Doll winced. It squeezed its eyes shut, returning itself to the familiar darkness that accompanied it inside the crate all those years.
“Puh-please don’t leave me! Please don’t throw me away! Please don’t abandon me! Please don’t let them take me away from you! Please don’t leave me all alone again! I promise I’ll be good, I promise! Please give me another chance!”
“It’s alright, soft one. I’m you’re Owner now.” The person reassured, taking a step forward.
The Doll slowly opened its eyes, digesting what it heard. Then its face lit up.
“R-really? Really!? You want to be my Owner!?” The Doll asked desperately.
“Of course. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay…”
With that, the person lifted her visor to reveal a pair of glassy eyes sitting in a chipped, worn porcelain face. She was a doll too!
“Owner, y-you’re a doll too?” The Doll wondered aloud.
“Yes, soft one. I’m a doll too. I promise I’ll take care of you, alright? I’ll protect you. You’re safe now. You’ll never be alone ever again, I promise.”
The person extended her gloved hand to her new Doll. Slowly moving its own hand, the doll grasped its new owner’s hand and squeezed as tight as it could.
“Please don’t let go, Owner.” The Doll whispered.
“I won’t let go. Come with me, there are still clothes around here somewhere. We’ll find you some that you like together, alright?”
The Doll nodded happily.
“I’m Lynne, by the way. What’s your name, soft one?”
“I don’t have one. Please name me, Owner! I-if that’s what you want. I don’t need a name.”
“You can choose whatever name you’d like. It’s your name, after all.”
The Doll thought for a moment.
“Soft One!”
“Soft One?” Lynne asked.
“I like it when you call me that! Can that be my name?”
Lynne laughed softly. “Of course, Soft One.”
