they were right
it stares down at you, with an ambiguous intensity whose intentions you can't quite make out. you instinctively turn your gaze to the ground, and you're once again confronted with the reality of your situation: your sticklike legs folded on the floor, melding with the grit of the alleyway, the rough brickwork grating against your back. the amber streetlights hit your side so dimly that it's hard to tell where the grime ends and where the bruises begin. you close your eyes, hoping to somehow make it all go away.
well, that's not going to work, is it?
a pair of bony fingers grip your chin gently yet firmly, and pull it upwards. your eyes flicker open again. despite now kneeling down, it still towers above you, your neck being stretched out completely, the discomfort barely noticable amidst all the other sensations.
don't you ever wonder why you keep finding yourself in places like these?
you try to look away but its grasp keeps your head firmly where it belongs.
the people who did this to you were right about more than you'd think. you were never quite meant to be human. you're, frankly, really bad at it. completely unable to look after yourself, left to the mercy of whatever rabid dogs decide to have their way with you, chew you up and throw you aside. and still you call yourself human?
you try to clear your throat, to offer any sort of retort, but all that comes out is a barely audible whimper. its gaze is still firmly affixed to you, feeling overwhelming yet kind, the sounds of traffic and people on nights out fading away into the distance.
it's cute how you try, though. like a little clockwork toy unaware it's walking straight into a wall, going through its motions without getting anywhere.
it giggles at the thought, finally letting go of its grasp on you.
toy is just the word, come to think of it. that's clearly what you are, what you're meant to be. something to be owned, to be played with. doesn't that sound nice?
you try to resist it, but you can't help the thought of it sending a warm tingle down your spine. you try to argue, to say anything, but once again all you can produce are pathetic little whimpers.
naturally, some beings are much better at looking after their things than others. if you're finally ready to give up on this silly little charade, i'd quite like to take this one home. i can assure you my property is always well cared for...
you try to reach for something to say, to think about what's going on, but more and more you struggle to piece together even a single thought. you take a few seconds to steady yourself, clear your throat, and manage to stammer out a response:
p- please... take this one with you...
it immediately smiles, tilting its head to the side slightly, seeming very pleased with itself.
well, that didn't take long. i'm more right than even i knew, aren't i? what a good doll you are~~