X/1999 Fan Fiction ❯ Hollow Doll ❯ Hollow Doll ( Chapter 1 )

Hollow Doll

“What does life mean when you eat out of the garbage?”

A long time ago, I asked that of the woman that eventually adopted me, but it was really a question for myself. Then, I learned about fate. I learned about Destiny. I was a Dragon of Heaven. I was tied to the future of the world. For anyone else, even Kamui, the burden would have been crushing. But somehow, I was happy that these cruel red strings that strangle the chosen bound me. Somehow, even as I felt the fear and the pain, I was happy…because I had purpose. Because I was loved. 

A Priestess.

My new mother had given me that title.

“Arashi, let me brush your hair.”

It had been so long since I felt a gentle touch. Under my mother’s hands, the knots began to untangle into black threads that spread down from my head like a china doll’s. 

“Arashi.”

My mother’s voice broke. She knew the apocalypse was approaching.

“I’m sorry I could only give you this life.”

Why are you crying mother? You gave me purpose. You gave me love. To be a doll of destiny is a paltry price to pay. Even used, I’ll be pale, beautiful, and perfect for you, for the world. You saved me from death.

Kamui was a frail boy with violet eyes. When I confronted him, with my soft confident voice that hid no lies, he almost crumbled. He had so much anger. But you can’t get angry at a doll. You can scream at it, and it will not listen. You can throw it, and break its porcelain arm, but its glassy-eyed stare will remain the same. Impassive. Berating.

“You have to chose. Hinoto-sama wants to see you. When you are ready, we will meet again.”

“What does it mean if you eat out of the garbage?”

It means you are nothing. I don’t want to be nothing anymore.

Yuzuriha was a cheerful girl, young and vibrant. I wondered if I could have grown up to be like her if I had not learned things far beyond what a three year old should know, wandering the streets, dirty and soaked by the rain.

“How do you become more than nothing?”

By having purpose.

“Nee-chan!”

I jerked, surprised by the title. Before, I had only been known as Arashi Kishu, Priestess-sama, or daughter. But to have a new name…you only give names to things that are important. Do you find me important enough to have a nickname, Sorata? Or is that the same smile and greeting that you give to any pretty girl that wanders by your eye. Don’t smile at me, because dolls can’t smile back.

“I’ve decided! You’re the one!”

You keep talking to me, even though I can only stare at you wide-eyed. Dolls don’t talk, they observe. I know you have a goofy grin, a swagger, and a laid back Osaka accent. I know you like to eat, perhaps a little too much. I know that you’re different from the other dreary teenagers in Tokyo in their blue jean jackets trying to drown themselves in self-absorbed sorrows. Do they know the end of the world is near? Yellow seems to be your favorite color. You wear it even when it rains or snows, and shine like the sun trying to break through the cloudy sky. You keep smiling, even in your sorrow. Don’t smile at me…because I don’t know how to smile back.

“Hello, Nee-chan. Admiring the view?” You twist the cap on your head in that adorable way of yours and smirk. I remain silent, watching as Kamui hangs in the shadows of the gym, observing his friend Fuuma who suddenly attacks the basketball in a burst of energy upon spotting Kamui’s dark figure, nearly obscured by the stands. He plays better because you are there, do you know that Kamui?

You whistle as Fuuma makes a spectacular dunk and Kamui draws in a breath.

I almost gasp too.

Why does your surprise make mine so much more appealing to voice? Dolls can’t show their emotions, not when their eyes and mouths are stitched so tightly into the fabric. But somehow, watching how the minute change of joyous shock in your eyes ripples through your whole body, transforming your whole countenance until it glows, I want to. When you are by me, I want to.

“That was awesome!” You pump a fist into the air, and I can’t laugh at your childish gesture. Because I wish I was free enough to do it too.

Purpose.

I live and breathe it everyday, and despite your carefree attitude, how you cajole me into making a salad, you do too. Our fates are intertwined, Sorata. We both watch over Kamui, hoping he will find the savior within himself, hoping he will find the heart that still cares in his chest. To be angry is foolish. To deny is stupidity. So, when you brush your hands over mine to help me cut some onions, I let you leave it there for those silent moments after the task has long been completed.

You can live on purpose. But it will only be a half-filled life.

“What does it mean if you eat out of the garbage?”

It means you are desperately hungry. It means you are empty inside.

“It’s you, Nee-chan. One day, I’ll die for you.” You squeeze my hand and smile that infectious grin of yours. Something that was hollow for far too long inside me is filled with warmth, and for a moment, I almost smile too. The next moment, I want to slap the expression off your face.

You’re too blind, Sorata.

“It’s okay if you don’t love me, I know. But I’ve decided.”

You’re not seeing me, Sorata!

“As long as I can be true to my own feelings, it’s enough.”

No, it’s not. Can’t you see?! I’m not a puppet anymore!

“Nee-chan…you’re crying. Why?” You shift nearer to me on the bed, and trace a callous palm gingerly over my right cheek.

“Baka…don’t you know what I’m feeling? Can’t you understand? If you died…” I smile bitterly around my tears, and hug him tightly. Sorata starts. The doll speaks, and it cries.

His hand smoothes over my hair, and his voice is full of soft awe.

“Arashi.”

It is a doll no longer, because I loved.

  Owari.