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Want to try to make one or see what other people came up with?! Every story will participate in The Doll Palace ratings. Good stories will be awarded with Dollpoints.
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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Matt
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 | Superman [00] |
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 4.2 with 5 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-07-07 01:47:57 |
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- Lyrics by Five for Fighting, taken from the song 'Superman'.
“Wish that I could cry, fall upon my knees.”
“She's awake.”
She had tried so very hard to pretend otherwise, but something had so obviously betrayed her. She had allowed her lips to remain slightly parted, as they had been when she'd first woken, and her eyes were hidden behind the thin veil of flesh that made up her eyelids. Her hands lay at her sides, curled into loose fists against a thick material, of which colour seemed to have deserted. Lashes of thick midnight curled against the snowflake pallor of her flesh, looking obscene in the warm light cascading through the window to splash across her lithe form. She doesn't move a muscle, even though she knows something has betrayed her, given her away to the world in which she was not entirely certain she was ready to enter.
Beneath the heavy sheets and collection of scratchy blankets, her legs tingle, as if growing tired from being unused. She doesn't dare move, though, for fear she might simply fall from her current residence, lingering just beyond reality. It's a nice feeling, allowing the sun to heat her chilled form as she listens to the noise bustling about around her. Faceless, shapeless forms moving around her, touching her, prodding her, checking to make sure she was still breathing. Still alive. It doesn't surprise her, not really, that they would check for her pulse despite the steady beating of a monitor to her left.
Very slowly, she curls her hands a little tighter, wincing slightly at the sudden weak feeling that progressed across her. Her stomach felt full, although she was certain she hadn't eaten in so very long. Every inch of her body felt heavy, heavier than, by right, she knew it should have been. Was something severely wrong with her? The thought prickled in the back of her mind, but she was too tired to really face it. She eased her eyes open, blinking painfully as light flooded across her senses, tingling painfully at her exposed orbs of pale sapphire. It was far to bright, she thought bitterly, for her to wake to.
She didn't want to be here. She really didn't. She wanted to be dreaming again, to be floating so far away from everyone, to be finally free. She wanted to be unreachable again, so they could understand. It wasn't that she didn't want to live. Hell, she did, she really did, but they didn't want her to. He didn't want her to. No one really wanted her, so why should she keep on living? Why couldn't they just let her go, like he'd always promised they would, when the time come? Tears flew unbidden to heat her eyes, to trickle down the corners of her eyes as she continued to lay as perfectly still as ever. She wasn't awake. They were wrong. She was dead, and now they would all understand.
xxxx
“She won't wake up.”
His head lifted, his tired eyes focusing on the young nurse in her starch white uniform. What did she know, anyway? She didn't know his sister, she didn't know how dxmn stubborn the kid could be. Of course she'd wake up. Anything else simply wasn't possible. She was just tired, that was all. Exhausted, and when she was finally rested, she'd wake up and smile warmly at him, ask him why he looked so tired. Yeah, that's exactly what would happen. He knew that was what would happen. He knew his sister, he knew she wouldn't leave him. She was too afraid of being in the dark, of spiders and bugs and all other things, and she wouldn't go anywhere without him.
The nurse sighed wistfully as she looked at him. Pity. Was it really pity he could see in her eyes, sparkling there, never leaving. Did she pity him? Why? He certainly didn't need her pity. He knew she would wake up, she simply had to, for there was no other way. He turned his back on the young woman, his large hand closing around the smaller one, the one that wasn't attatched to nearly as many tubes as the other. Her skin felt cold, clammy. She did look a little grey, he noted, rather miserably. Didn't they have anything to bring colour back into her cheeks? Maybe he would ask the nurse about it later, if he remembered. She would be scared of her reflection if she looked this bad when she woke.
Drawing his bag onto his lap, he sifted through it's messy contents. There was a jumper in there, that one was his, but the small pink dress wasn't. He smiled lightly as he touched it's puffed-out sleeves, stroked the pink beads and shining silver sequins that covered the pixie-style gown. It was a cute little thing, even if it was pink. In fact, he smiled lightly as he remembered, she had been completely outraged that he'd even thought she'd like it. It was pink, she'd whined, but the sequins and the beads and all the pretty pink lace had won her over. She was a little girl, after all, and she really wanted to be a princess, even if she wanted to be like her big brother.
A sketchbook jutted out from beneath the dress. It was a plain covered thing, with loose spiralbound pages that turned easily. It was reasonably nice, if he bothered to admit, but he didn't really like it. Slowly, he withdrew the book from beneath her dress, fishing around in the very bottom for a greyled. As soon as he'd retrieved the pencil from the very bottom, he allowed the bag to sink to the floor, resting against his feet. He turned slowly through the pages, pausing for the longest of moments on the very front cover. It was a colourful picture, and one that wasn't his own. She had drawn it, in brilliant coloured crayons. Reds and blues, yellows, greens and even a couple of pinks. He smiled.
xxxx
“She won't eat.”
Didn't these people have anything better to do? She twisted slightly, peering toward the window as a nurse removed the untouched tray from the beside table. It had to be a hospital thing, she mused, staring blindly at the thin pane of glass hiding her from the world beyond. Didn't anyone wonder what was going on behind the glass? Didn't anyone, at all, ever think that maybe, just maybe, they could give up some of their spare time to visit the sick and needy? She sighed, sinking further into the thick pillows, adjusting the blankets. She supposed not, because she hadn't ever thought of it.
Maybe she could paint. Would they mind if she did that, or if she worked with her chalks? Probably, they didn't even want her out of bed, so how could she possibly do either? She could always work with her sketchbook and chalks on the bed, but the nurse would murder her if she got any of the chalk-dust on the sheets. After all, chalk was horrible to try and get out of material. Especially white. She still had a white jumper that had been coated in chalk-dust. The colours had faded and swirled together, but it had stained. They wouldn't be able to use her sheets again, would they?
A sigh fled her lips as she sunk further into the pillows, trying to shift beneath the heavy blankets. Did she really need so many dxmn blankets? She was roasting, and they saw fit to pile on even more. She hated them. Okay, not really, she hated the blankets, not the nurses. It was the doctors who deserved her anger. They saved her, after all, and so this was all there fault. Didn't they understand anything? Probably not. She would never be a doctor, she decided, she would never be a doctor because she'd never be able to save a girl like herself. But then, how did she know if that kid was like her? She wouldn't be able to tell if that kid was happy, or sad, not if the kid couldn't talk.
So maybe she didn't hate the doctors, either. And she didn't really hate the blankets, not really. It was just because she was so hot, and so tired, and her head was throbbing. She'd had her limit of morphine already, she knew, but it seemed to have done nothing. Or was that her fault, too? Shivering, she rolled over, closing her eyes, trying to drown out the steady bleeping emitting from the various machines around her. Did they really need so many, really? It seemed such a waste. Her heart was beating, and she didn't think she was likely to drop dead anytime soon. They could stop pumping fluids into her, too, because she was busting to pee. Again. She might as well have been pregnant, she mused.
xxxx
“She won't be able eat.”
He ignored the nurse. He was busy, and she'd already been in a dozen times already, telling him the same thing over and over. Did she really think he didn't already know? If the kid wasn't awake, how the heck was she supposed to eat a dxmn apple? He sighed warily as he shifted the tiny girl's fingers around the apple, tilted his head, sucked a little harder on the end of his pencil, and nodded. There, that was perfect. He touched the tip of the pencil to the paper, moving it quickly back and forth, outlining the shape of her hand. She really was small, he thought. From her hand to the shape of the apple, from the apple to her arm, from her arm to her shoulder.
This was going to take forever. A cloud passed across the sun, blanking it from view and changing the shadows that played over her body. He looked up, glancing at the thin pane of glass hiding him from the outside world. He shifted in his seat, leaning forehead to rearranged a lock of her oily blonde hair. She needed a bath. Perhaps he could convince the nurse, later, that she did really need one. The woman had suggested he wait, until he was ready, but she would hate that. It had been years since she'd needed help bathing, and she'd rather, if she really needed help, that it was anyone but him who helped. She'd really hate that, knowing her brother had to bathe her.
Shifting once more, he turned his attention back to the sketch. It looked entirely wrong from this angle. The shapes were off, the apple was too round, there wasn't enough shading in yet. A long groan escaped his lips as he twisted his head, looking at the picture from a different angle. There, yes, that was it. It looked a little better now. He laughed. A hollow and empty sound that fled his lips, escaping through the empty doorway. He set the book on the bedside table, along with the pencil, and rested his head on the bars surrounding her bed. If she wasn't going to wake, he mused, why did they insist on the bars? Surely, she was incapable of rolling around and dislodging herself from the bed.
Maybe the thought they were wrong. Maybe they really, secretly, thought she might wake up, and when she did, she'd toss and turn and maybe fall out. He shivered at the thought. Could she really knock herself out of the bed? The more about it, the more he realised she could. She was like that, kind of, and if she was scared enough to toss in her sleep, she'd more than likely fall out. The bed really was too small. Maybe he could ask the nurse to find a bigger bed, just to be sure. Then, she trusted the doctors opinions, and they said she wouldn't wake, she why would she need a bigger bed? He shrugged to himself, retrieveing the apple and dropping it into his bag. It was pointless.
xxxx
“She's missing.”
No, I'm not, you fools! She wanted to scream, but she didn't dare. How could she ever get any peace if she lingered long enough to shout at them? She was tempted to make a sound, to draw them toward the closet and convince them to look inside. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be curled up enough to be perfectly invisisble to them, but she doubted it. She waited, listening, and when she was sure there was no noise at all, she rose from the cupboard and hurried into the room in which the large hunk of wood stood. She should really consider thanking it, if she ever took up talking to inanimate objects, she mused thoughtfully as she hurried out the door.
She could hear them calling out to her, singing out her name as they peeked into various rooms. She wasn't in any of them, she was tempted to tell the scurrying nurses, but she didn't bother. She hurried down the corridor, peering in the rooms the nurses had already looked over. Sick children stared at her, eyes wide and glassy, looking for hope she couldn't give them. Maybe they would get better, too, she thought as she took another couple of steps. The next room was empty except for one bed. A little girl lay on it, her eyes closed.
The poor kid, she looked terrible. Her skin was pale and looked as if it had been carved from wax. She wondered, slowly, if the girl was ever going to wake up. She took a step into the room, ducking behind the door as she heard footsteps shuffling back down the corridor. She waited several moments before easing the door shut and twisting to stare around the room. The door to the bathroom was shut, a thin line of gold slotting out from under it. She wondered who was in there, what they looked like, what relation they were to the sick child. She eyed the girl for a moment, touched her cheek softly, and then her gaze was drawn to the notebook.
Her fingers skimmed across the cover, stroking the smooth surface before she turned away, approaching the window. She wondered how long the person was going to be in the bathroom. She was intrigued to wait and find out, to see who it was, to see what they looked like and how they knew the girl, but she was certain that if she lingered too long, she'd be caught. She didn't really mind. She was going to get caught sooner or later, but she didn't want to, not yet. She wanted to sit with the little girl for a while, talk to her. Although, she wasn't even sure her own voicebox worked, and she guessed the kid was too out of it to reply. But still, it might be nice.
xxxx
“What's her name?”
He stared at the girl, wondering if he was imagining her. She looked real enough, but then, so did a lot of things, and apparently he was quick to imagine things. Like, when he'd seen his sister's eyelids flicker, or when he thought he saw her clench the blankets. She waited patiently, her arms crossed about her tiny body as she refused to look at him. He wasn't sure why, but she kept herself perfectly positioned so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. He watched her a moment longer before glancing down to where her hand rested over his sister's. “Her names Maddie.”
She didn't reply. Her eyes flickered from the child as she turned, coming to rest on him for a moment. For the fleetingest of seconds, he thought she might actually say something to him, but she didn't. Instead, she turned to face the door fully, her eyes lifting to drink in the sight of the nurse who was now standing there, looking furious. The nurse's face softened a moment as she shuffled into the room, her fingers hooking around the girl's tiny elbow. The girl glanced back, her eyes meeting with his again. She has pretty eyes, he thought blankly as he met her gaze. A smile tainted her lips for a second, no longer, as the nurse began guiding her out of the room.
“Come on, Elouise.”
So, then, her name was Elouise. |
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