“This is a Japanese doll.”

October 26, 2016

Random sentence prompt #2. Last night was fun enough and I had a few minutes tonight. I don’t love it, but I really need to get back to practicing, and it’s something.

.

.

This is a Japanese doll. The plaque was incredibly self-explanatory, Jen thought dryly as she stood in the Japanese Culture section of the museum. The doll was old, yes, and had probably looked somewhat cleaner when initially created, but it was still quite clearly a doll, and most certainly Japanese in origin.

A toddler running madly through the hall smacked hard into the back of Jen’s leg, making her left knee give way just long enough to stagger her balance. She caught herself unintentionally with one hand touching the glass before her, and as she jerked away with a glare at the child, she also glanced around to be sure no one had seen. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she felt immediately guilty.

Looking back at the doll, she did a quick double take. Had she jarred it? Was the head turned slightly towards her right? It most certainly was, but the doll was otherwise perfectly in its place.

Jen glanced again at the child, who was making inane noises at his inattentive mother. “Why even bring your kid here?” She muttered. “Stick to the kid’s science and drool museum.”

“I like it here,” said a small voice to her left.

Startled, she pulled back a full step as she realized a little girl stood to her left, and had been staring at the Japanese doll. The girl had long black hair in symmetrical pigtails, each hanging well past her shoulder, and large dark eyes. “But… it’s too quiet sometimes.”

“It – it is a museum,” Jen said, awkwardly wondering why she had been talking to herself in the first place. Realizing they were now alone, she frowned and asked, “Where are your parents?”

The girl said, “I don’t have any parents,” and turned slowly back toward the glass display case.

Feeling an inexplicable thrill, voice lowering further, Jen pressed, “Everyone has some parents when they’re little, even if they aren’t always around.”

A small sigh escaped her delicate frame. “I used to have parents, but I don’t anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They died.”

“Oh,” Jen paused momentarily, seeking something appropriate.

“It was a long time ago. It’s okay.”

“Well… who brought you here?”

“An old man,” she said, remaining unmoved and staring ahead. “His name was Smith.”

“Smith?” Jen echoed, looking at the display again. There was a small panel of text displayed unobtrusively behind the items. Various household items, ca. 1875-1890. Collection donated from Dr. Martin Smith, 1992.

Her eyes moved down the glass, and she saw her own hands reflected there, but there was no trace of the girl. The polished floors held a blurred image of Jen, but nothing else.

“What’s your name?” Jen said slowly, head turning back down toward the girl.

She had not moved, and Jen realized the white dress she wore was almost identical to the doll’s. “I don’t have a name anymore,” came her soft reply. “When I lost my mama, I lost my name, and Smith never gave me one.”

“Would you like a name?” Jen asked, morbidly certain of the impossibility before her eyes.

Her head twitched immediately back up toward her. “Oh, yes, very much, I would. Until I have a name, I can do very little. I can’t even leave this place.”

Time felt as if it moved slower than usual; Jen glanced down the passage in both directions, and they were alone. “What would happen to me if I gave you one?”

“Why… then I would stay with you forever.”

“And?”

“And we would be best friends.”

“Nothing else would happen to me?” She looked at the girl’s shining eyes again and wondered what in the world was she doing?

“Mm-mm,” she shook her head, pigtails slipping over across her shoulders and back again. “Unless you wanted it to.”

Hesitating again, she frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Well… Smith never gave me a name, so I was so very bored all the time. But when he brought me here, I decided the next time, I would just do what I was told, so that I wouldn’t be abandoned again.” Her dark eyes lowered, as though ashamed.

“Why… why are you talking to me?”

“Because. You touched. Even though you aren’t supposed to.” She raised her hand and pointed at the sign, DO NOT TOUCH.

“So?”

“And you didn’t like the little boy.” Her brow furrowed into a childish glare. “I didn’t, either.”

“All right, well, at least I can believe that. I don’t usually like little kids. But I don’t think you are like any others, are you?”

She shook her head, swinging the pigtails again. “I’m much smaller than everyone. But I can be loud if I want to.”

An inexplicable adrenaline rush had Jen riding high on the potential of the unknown. “All right. I think I know a good name for you, but you have to promise me not to do anything I tell you not to do.”

“Oh, please do. Jen, I want to be with someone else for a while. Please?”

She nodded, as part of her screamed inside. “I will stay with you if you are a very good girl. Can you do that?”

She nodded more vigorously, eyes wide and very black.

“Then I name you… Lola.”

Her face split to a huge grin. “Oh, thank you Jen! Now I can be with you and you can be with me!” She grabbed Jen’s hand and jumped up and down several times. “Come on!”

“Lola, wait,” she started. “What do you mean?”

“Come on!” She insisted, grabbing her other hand. “Let’s go find that little boy!”

Jen looked down and saw the small doll was there, squeezed within her own fingers. The insistent pull of Lola’s arm strong, and she moved first reluctantly, and then ran, she ran recklessly after. “There he is!” Lola’s voice hissed in a whisper, now, and it felt like she was right in her ear. They stopped abruptly a few yards from the child who was smashing his face against another glass display case. “Can I teach him some manners?”

“Yes, you may,” Jen said.

“Oh, thank you, Jen,” Lola said, smile growing wider and wider. “I just know we will be so happy together.”

When she turned and moved toward the boy, Jen saw the back of her neck glimmering with a texture like smooth scales under the white skin. And she also saw that neither one of them cast a reflection on the glossy tile floors.