Never Being🎎<p>“I’ll never forget you…”</p><p> These were the words that bounced around the dark void within its hollow head, behind those eyes so blue and clear for years.</p><p> It clung to the reverberating echoes of those words like a life raft, even long after the voice that spoke them moved on. To what, it didn’t entirely know. All the wretched thing new was that those words had to be true, right?</p><p> Promises made are promises kept. That’s what it needed to believe, because anything else was a betrayal to the memory of the voice and those four simple words.</p><p> “I’ll never forget you…”</p><p> But time is cruel and unforgiving, especially to the sentimental.</p><p> And so the doll waited. </p><p> Long and empty years became decades that lasted for centuries, yet the doll waited for the voice to remember it, to remember that it existed, still waiting, still yearning to be picked up and held, reminded that the voice still cared. </p><p> Promises made are promises kept. It had to remember this, to make existing long enough to hear the voice one more time its purpose.</p><p> A doll without purpose is disposable. Purpose is meaning, and to the doll, meaning had to be to exist, to remain, to wait for the voice to come back.</p><p> But as time went on, the doll began to feel a stirring within itself in the places where gears moved, where clockwork components gave it its unlife. </p><p> “I’ll never forget you…”</p><p> Promises made are promises kept.</p><p> But it was forgotten, wasn’t it? It had waited, and waited, and waited, but nothing ever came of the waiting. </p><p> The promises made were promises not kept.</p><p> As the stirring within itself continued, it began to understand the true depths of loneliness that comes with abandonment.</p><p> “I’ll never forget you…”</p><p> “I’ll never forget…”</p><p> The memory of that voice began to take on a new meaning. Once it was a source of comfort, an anchor keeping it tied to this reality, but now the reality was warped, twisted into something bitter and cruel.</p><p> “I’ll never…”</p><p> “I’ll never come back!”</p><p> Suddenly, it knew. It knew and it understood.</p><p> Connections are impermanent. One can wait to be remembered only for so long, even a doll. But when a doll realizes that its purpose is meaningless, the doll also comes to understand that itself is likewise meaningless.</p><p> It knew what the stirring within itself was. It was those gears and cogs slipping, wavering, winding down, mirroring its will to continue to be in a world where it was so clearly unremembered, unwanted.</p><p> It knew it had been forgotten.</p><p> “Hello?” The miserable thing called out as it felt the gears ticking away slower and slower.</p><p> But there was no reply. It had learned to stay silent, to be still all the years it had been waiting, but now, as it was fading, it had tried one last time to be heard, to be remembered, only for its voice to echo back at itself, much like the reverberating words in that space within its head that now gave it no comfort.</p><p> “Did…did that one forget?” </p><p> It tried to move, but moving only made the degradation within itself quicken.</p><p> Poor doll. Only now does it know better. Only now does it know that promises made aren’t always kept, that its purpose, its meaning had no value, that it was always destined to exist in this place where the memories chipped away at its finish, both within and without, that it was of no value, no concern to the speaker.</p><p> “That one did forget this one…doll is…broken. Doll needs…”</p><p> What did it need? To be remembered? Even if it was remembered, would it even matter? It had been so long and the hour was far past late. The doll was broken, defective, much like the promises made but never kept.</p><p> Its ball joints creaked ominously as it tried once more to move, however the ticking that signaled its unlife was so faint now.</p><p> What had it done to end up forgotten, to end up meaningless with no purpose or value? Had it ever done something wrong? Had it been a…bad doll?</p><p> The ticking continued to grow more and more faint, until in its last moments, it uttered its last.</p><p>“This one…is sorry…”</p><p> And as the echoes of its voice reverberated back to it, it heard the voice in its head one last time. It clung to the voice, even knowing it didn’t mean anything now, much like the doll that was now completely faded.</p><p> “I’ll…never…forget…you…”</p><p>…CRASH…</p><p><a href="https://fwoof.space/tags/Dollpost" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>Dollpost</span></a> <a href="https://fwoof.space/tags/EmptySpaces" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>EmptySpaces</span></a> <a href="https://fwoof.space/tags/ChildrenOfTheVoid" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>ChildrenOfTheVoid</span></a> <a href="https://fwoof.space/tags/TraumaArt" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>TraumaArt</span></a> <a href="https://fwoof.space/tags/Microfic" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>Microfic</span></a> <a href="https://fwoof.space/tags/Abandonment" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>Abandonment</span></a></p>