III

10.9K 90 2
                                    

When I wake up the next morning I find myself still on the floor in yesterday's clothes. My stomach growls loudly and pain strikes like a lightning bolt through my abdomen. I realize I haven't eaten in two days.

I slowly stand up to see if there's another package of clothes for me to change into. I assume last night I had a nightmare because my clothes are sweated through. I'm a sticky mess. To my dismay, no clothes await me at the foot of the metal chute. I decide to get undressed anyways. I strip down to my undergarments and I feel a sudden sense of relief. This doesn't last long though. Within seconds it's quickly replaced with an eerie feeling that I'm being watched. I check and there aren't any cameras in the room. Yet I still climb into the bed so I can pull the covers over myself.

As hard as I try, I am still not able to fall asleep. I am in constant fear of someone watching me. I am all alone and my heart is broken. If not for myself, then for my helpless probably dead cat.

A week passes after the Doll Master let me out of my room. He left me in there for two days without any food or water. It was torture. My one love in life was taken away from me: food. Also Mr. Cuddles, but that's a whole nother story.

Despite being here for a week, the Doll Master's intentions are still unclear. I fall into a daily schedule. I wake up, eat breakfast with the monster, roam around the house, eat lunch, roam around the house, eat dinner, then go back to sleep. It's a monotonous process and I find myself constantly dying of boredom.
Contrary to popular belief, life in plastic is, in fact, not fantastic. I became so bored I decide to read. Yeah, I am that bored. I grab a rather short looking novel off the shelf in the study before sitting down on the couch to get comfy. To my surprise, when I open the book, the pages are completely blank. I pull another book off the shelf to find the same result. In a panicked frenzy, I start pulling books off the shelf checking each of them to no avail.

Eventually, I've created a giant pile of books on the floor. Tears stream down my cheeks. These days, anything and everything upsets me. Maybe it's from stress or the fact that I haven't had much human contact this past week making me overly emotional. This place is toying with my mind. Isolation is the worst kind of punishment.

A wave of relief washes over me when I find a book with words inside. Only they weren't printed, they were written.

I carefully open to the first page of the brown hardcover book, hungry to hear someone else's words besides the creepy one of the Doll Master. Sloppy cursive writing graces each of the pages. I assume this book was like the others but someone decided to write in it like a journal. I eagerly decipher the sloppy handwriting. It's somehow comforting to see someone else's words. It's a reminder that other people do exist and I'm not alone in this world. One phrase is repeated hundreds of times throughout the first few pages.

My name is Anne Lynch and I am not a doll.

Pages of this one sentence repeated fill up several pages. When the journaling part begins I am left breathless with its content.

It's hard to keep track of yourself in these oppressive walls.The Doll Master's constant attempts at convincing me that I am someone who I'm not have started to get to me lately. I almost started believing it. Almost. Thank god I found this empty journal I found in a bookcase. I would have surely believed the Doll Master's words.

My name is not Barbie. My name is Anne Lynch and I am not a doll. I will hold on to my identity no matter what. It's the only thing I have left. It's the only thing keeping me going. I will use this book to remind myself that I am not a doll. I am a person. I will not be brainwashed by anyone.

I stop reading for a second, my heart rate increasing with each word. Eerie is a good word to describe this. It never occurred to me that there could be other captives before me. I assume she somehow got her hands on a pen and wrote in here to escape the insanity that consumed her. I don't blame her.

I flip through the pages upon pages of content, stopping occasionally to read a section or two. They only increase in weirdness the deeper I get into the book.

She talks about her family and their family traditions. She talks about her work as an Architect and how she was in the middle of designing a giant skyscraper. She essentially details her entire life before the abduction.

There are moments when I miss my family. I think of them every day. The Doll Master's constant romantic advances on me are not what love looks like. My husband and I share a strong bond of love like no other. The Doll Master's heart is forged out of coal and is protected by a layer of thick ice.

...

Time is an illusion. I don't know how much time has past since I've been here. It could be weeks, months, maybe even years. I don't know. Everything has sort of blended together in one big blurb of events.

...

I begin to wonder, are the images of life beforehand even real? I can't remember what it's like to wake up in a warm bed surrounded by my husband, to sip on warm hot chocolate by a blazing fire, or what it's like to lay under the blazing sun. All I've felt since I've awoken in this place is emptiness and fear. Are other emotions even capable of being felt? Are they figments of my imagination?

I thumb through the different passages before coming along something quite interesting: a detailed outline of the Doll Master's daily schedule. She outlined his whereabouts from dawn till dusk. This, I assume, is how she found times where he wasn't around so she could write without his knowledge.

Wake-up to breakfast: he's in the house with me. After breakfast, he leaves me to roam around the house on my own accord. Only I know he's watching through the glass windows. They seem harmless at first but I know that they are made of glass that allows him to see in, but not me to see out. After lunch, he leaves the house. I know this because I've seen him slip out the door he forbid me from ever entering. I assume he has a life outside the facade of the Doll House. In these few hours, I am left alone in the house with only his two goons to watch over me, but they seem to keep to themselves nowadays. They believe I've been brainwashed and they doubt they need to babysit me all day. Then the Doll Master returns for dinner and stays the rest of the night. The two goons leave for the night and I am locked in my room after dinner to prevent me from escaping. Then the cycle repeats.

This leaves my only opportunity to escape during these few hours where he is outside the Doll House. I've examined the door thoroughly. The lock needs a key and the Doll Master keeps the key in his pocket. I have a plan and I need to write it down quickly so I won't forget it. Step 1...

"Barbie," a voice demands, "What are you doing?" I look up to find the Doll Master watching me from the door, his lanky figure leaning on the door frame lazily. He wears an amused expression on his face.

"I... uh..." I stutter, closing the book immediately and shoving it into the pile of blank books on the floor.

"Reading a novel I see?" He cocks an eyebrow as he draws nearer. Obviously, he thinks I'm playing pretend. I need to just play along.
I nod, smiling. "Yes, sir. I-I w-was reading about ponies and rainbows." I muse.

"How delightful," A smile plays onto his lips as he comes to sit beside me. To my greatest fear, he kisses my forehead. His cold chapped lips feel slimy on my forehead. I fight the urge to wipe away the trace of saliva he left behind. His stick-like arms snake around my body as he begins to lean in.

Now I know what Anne meant by his "romantic advances" and I don't like it at all. I jump off of the couch and head towards the door, not turning around to look at the Doll Master's expression. I already know it's not going to be good.

I run as fast as I can to my room, slamming it behind me. I wait for the sound of his angry footsteps following me but there aren't any. This can only mean one thing: he's up to something.

Life SizeWhere stories live. Discover now