The Doll

Look at this dark street and people who live here and have no names. You can see now their silhouettes against the sky, and in the evening, they move inside their small rooms and curse the hand that created them. My hand.

Follow me down the street, where the string of yellow lights goes up to the moon.

Do you see the house with a yellow roof? Its windows are hollow like the eyes of a dying man. Years ago, I had drawn a face there but erased it soon after. It was a hideous face, contorted in anger, hostile toward me and my other creations. Even though I gave it no voice, I could almost hear a deep growl coming from the house.

Please come in and have a look around.

It’s quite safe if you don’t mind an odd cockroach or a shadow that wanders all by itself. But then you are not a stranger to these kinds of places, are you?

Here we have a living room, which is tiny compared to the bedroom upstairs. Proportions are hard to get right, and in my early existence, I struggled to fill those papier mâché heads with any thoughts because I often made them too small. But I labored for centuries, and now my dolls are perfect. I will show you in a minute.

Can you feel this ineffable panic as you cross the room? Can you smell the rotting flesh of all the people who will never be born?

Be careful. The stairway is in poor condition, and it has been like this for years. I’m afraid I ignored many of my responsibilities. They call me a deranged god after all, and there is some truth in it.

Here is your room: brown wallpaper, stained rug, candles (you refused to use an electric light). You had books on medieval mysticism, but I don’t remember where I put them after you … left. They might have made their way to the attic, but it’s possible I burned them. I will draw new books for you, better than the old ones.

To your right, there is a familiar window. You looked out of this window before, and you shall do it again until the end of my life. It’s just one element of my perfect nightmare and of your nightmare, too. Should you want to escape, there is nowhere to run. This street is all there is, or ever will be.

Settle in. Think back to your dreams of reality if you want, but the people you once knew won’t help you. In fact, they are my complacent dolls. They are turning to dust as we speak.

If there is anything you need, you can find me in one of those black houses. But I promise you, you won’t need anything. One day you will understand what a blessing it is to be a part of my moldering world, to be my doll.