Loss Doll Artinya Novels & Stories

Not hers. My hands started shaking. 'Are they selling off coma patients' bodies?' All those stories from school came flooding back. My skin crawled. I fought the nausea and fear, forced myself to finish cleaning her up. I was about to leave when I saw it—the music box on her nightstand. Ms. Deinert had told me not to mess with it. But my hand moved anyway. I popped it open. No music. Just velvet at the bottom. Then I saw it—tiny crumbs near the edge. Crackers, maybe?

And then I found the word, bold and clear, right there in the title. Doll. I looked up at him. He was watching me, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something that looked like satisfaction. “I want you to be my Doll,” he said. Mia made a sound behind me, a sharp intake of breath, but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. I was standing in my doorway, holding a contract that said I was his, and the man who’d been following me for two weeks was waiting for me to sign it.

Only a haunting sense of loss. Damian stepped forward, his chest tight. That doll... Camila once had a similar doll she had kept from her childhood. Was this a message? Or just another agonizing coincidence? "Why the doll, Ms. Blake?" an art critic asked. Sheina glanced at Damian, then at Lady Beatrice, who looked slightly tense. "The doll symbolizes a shattered childhood. Or perhaps, something precious left behind on the road because its owner was too blind to see its value." Damian approached Sheina as the crowd began to disperse. "You did this on purpose," he hissed lowly. "You’re using my memories to attack me. If you aren't her, how could you paint things only Camila and I knew?"

He'd given her a necklace that cost a few hundred dollars, money he'd saved for a long time. She'd held that simple piece of jewelry and cried like a fool who'd never seen anything so beautiful. He had been so proud then, thinking he was the prince saving Cinderella. A joke. It was all a fucking joke. She was the Thorne Principessa. She'd probably seen more diamonds than he'd seen rocks. Rocco remembered the tattoo, a tangle of black thorns and a blood-red rose between her shoulder blades, wild and dangerous. He used to kiss it every time they made love.

“Oh, hi Eddie, have you seen Donny? We need lunch for the guests. It had to be served.” “No, I haven’t seen him since this morning. Do you know what this word means?” Billy squinted at the tiny note. “Well, that doesn’t sound good. Where did you get it?” “The pantry boggart just dropped it for me.” “Really? Well, that word is the effigy. It’s an object that represents someone or something. Voodoo and magic often use dolls to represent people in magic ceremonies and stuff. Discovery Channel had something on effigies last Halloween.”

I never find any occasion to wear it. I got down from my bed and took the gown from her hand and went to washroom for changing. I changed my dress and wore the gown. It has a small V cut neckline with half sleeves. The gown is really beautiful. I came out from washroom and seeing me Ruhi's mouth is now wide opened. She clapped her hands a few times and said," oh my God di!! You are looking like a Barbie Doll! I just rolled my eyes and said sarcastically, " stop pampering me. Just tell me I am looking ok or not"

I tried to console him, “Hey, hey. Calm down, okay? It’s alright. We can always go back to the temple and get you another one.” “No! The doll and I are connected! I can feel what happens to it!” “Connected?” I cleared my throat, “Just because you’re handsome doesn’t mean I’ll believe everything that comes out of your mouth, dude.” “No! You don’t get it! I can actually feel everything that’s done to the doll!” I smiled and calmed myself before replying, “I told you the doll was weird, didn’t I? So, what happened to it?” “I gave it away. I gave it to one of the more handsome ones when we were at the park yesterday.”

So much more important than thread and stuffing and glass eyes, wrapped in a half-torn dress. I still feel bad about that doll. The one I saved from a hooker name. A doll I carried around with me for years, and now remember only in flashes. Bare, bright impressions, like seeing something through burned retinas. Seared over everything in a glowing silhouette. The same as Loki. I barely met Loki, but when I remember him it’s with a sick stirring so deep and violent it’s like there’s a clawed hand rammed down my throat. Churning my guts around. Turning my insides into so much fine flesh confetti.