The Clockwork Doll..
In the corner she sat trembling, her boney knees up, protectively hiding her tear-streaked face. Crying with malcontent, these tears made from blood tormented her. She hated to cry, it exposed the truth she always tried to hide from the others. Not a normal girl-childe was she, and for once she let her truth, the deepest darkest part of her heart of hearts, be released without a care of who would see. Sadly, she had come to the realisation that nobody actually cared, and so the tiny, unkempt girl shook and trembled as she sat.
Crying her tears that were the same colour as her blood, the brightest of reds which stained her face. For who was to see, and who was concerned that she would. Not the other performers, and surely not the man that ran this motley tribe of the outcasts from society. The tainted ones, the different ones, the freakish ones as they were called.
Happily the people would come to see the show, pay theyr entry fees and fill the seats and coffers of the ring master of the show.
Once the show ended though and the night was over, these very same people who had previously clapped and cheered, loved and laughed with revelry at the night, during the light of day would point and jeer, and laugh in a much different way. A mocking way, that cut her to her core and chased this lonely girl; she very much despised humans because of that. They tormented her.
Like a clockwork doll she was. Her body encapsulated by the rhythms and movements of the music played, dancing and spinning in time with the master. She hated her master, and now only barely remembered the hardened, dirty faces of her parents who had sold theyr eldest daughter to care for the younger siblings. In truth, she knew they were scared of her. She was much different, a terrible childe they would say. A daemon-borne sent to punish them for theyr sins, or so they thought and said. What hope was theyr for her even, if her own kin despised her so?
Like every other night before, she cried herselfe to sleep, her personal reasoning of this unchosen fate, and succumbed to the blackest depths of her despair. She hoped this time she would not dream. For in her dreams he came, and whence she awoke he was always no longer theyr. He was no memory, he could of been an omen, but to her he was her only friend. Which is what saddened her the most, for he was so terribly beautyfull- and then he was gone.
Dreams have always ruled her mind, she was a dreamer, an omen-bearer, a dealer of unuttered truths and liars. This was her talent besides being a dancer, the Clockwork Doll and witch her master tauted her as, and flaunted his clientele with. Now she has no name besides the Clockwork Doll, and that was her fame. Nameless she walks through life, in her despair she had even forgotten her own name that her emancipated did once call her. If she could have a name, she secretly dreamed Ebony Ivory it would surely be.
Awakening early the next morne, stiff and sore as usual from her huddled up corner of the overcrowded caravan she shared with the other performers, she slowly awoke and rose. Rubbing her sore eyes, for they were tired she could feel from another night of haunted dream. Not looking forward to another day of servicing her master and preparing for this nights show of being paraded about, leered at by drunken men and accosted by the bustling, pushy ladies who wished for this Clockwork Doll to tell theyr fortunes. She was certainly not sure which was worse, or could stand the most. Her abusive and unforgiving master (she knew not his name besides that, master is what everybody called him) always pushing her, demanding her to do this and that, keeping her forever busy fulfilling the menial tasks that nobody else was ever asked. Nor was she sure that she hated the men the most, drunken and leery, grabbing her barely covered body and her small, not yet fully formed breasts. The local women of each new town they visited, were always far too excited for her renowned abilities for fortune tellings, fighting and clamouring amongst themselves hoping to be the first.
She knowhow to deal with these women, eventually she came to the realisation that they never really wanted the truth. From them she had learnt to lie and tell them what they wished to hear. Too many times the girl-childe had been slapped by the hand of an irate woman, anxious to hear anything but the truth. Fantasy ruled these ones she knew, so fantasy is what she gave them.
She could not count the number and amount of times afore, an angry person had confronted the master over her actions. The ladies who did not like what they did hear, or the men who pulled and grabbed at her slighted body. She could not but help defend herselfe, some laughed at this amusement, and some would complain to the master. Eventually she learnt not to fight back, for the master let her know with bruises he did not like that. Soon she discovered, theyr were some who wanted more and what that was.
Slipping away quietly, stepping between the still sleeping bodies that covered the floor of the cluttered caravan, she quietly stole outside. Her only saving grace in her wretched life was she loved the outdoors, it's freedom and scent was much nicer than the stank of sweat and fermented, stale beer that usually clamours her nose.
Breathing deeply enjoying the solitude and fresh air, desperate for just one good day, she heard footsteps crunching the dry, autumn brown leaves that scattered the earths floor. She dared not turn around, racing through her mind trying to recall an instant where she had maybe upset the master. Stiffening her body in anticipation of a blow from his rough, hardened fist that always knocked her from her feet and onto the ground. She was so tiny in his comparison, but he did not care. For the master relished upon power, her weakness made him happy. But this time, the strike never came. So she waited until she could no longer bear the unknowing, finally turning around to face whoever was behind her, expecting now not the master but another performer. Oh, how she was sorely wrong.
"Clockwork." It was the master after all, and strangely he was smiling. It was an odd, scary smile; leaving her with thoughts that she did prefer him not too. A cold shiver ran down her spine, and a deep dread now filled her belly. This cannot be good she thought.
"Clockwork." He repeated, this was the moment she realised that his smile did not match his smile. They were calculating and shifty, perched above his bulbous, red nose
and capillary exposed cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot from another nights heavy drinking. She knew this was so for she could smell the old, stale beer wafting from his clothes he wore the same night before. How his obese body stank of old sweat, causing her to gag.
"Yes master?" She whispered, hoping he would soon go away and leave her alone, knowing this shall never be the case.
"I have something for you." He said, reaching down, patting her hair. Because she did not move, she was frightened too, he removed his hands from her hair and his large,
calloused fingers traced a line down her face to her lips.
With unsurety she looked up, fervently wishing that she was now to be released, no longer bound to the travelling, performing freak show circus that was made to be her home, without a choice. The master drawled in a low voice, "You know, the men are right. You are indeed a beautyfull and ravishing strange one. Do you know what they ask of me?"
"No master, no I do not." Was her reply, always she had to answer with master, for if not she would be hit. Something she avoided at all costs.
Now his fingers traced a line from her mouth and all the way down her quivering girl-childe body.
"This!" He said, grabbing her childish breasts, tearing her clothes, leaving her naked and shivering with fright. "I shall be the first to take from you, what they wish to pay me for." Saying this, he pushed her down to the ground and clamoured on top, crushing both her and any chance of escape.
Succumbed with her fright and the shock of, adrenaline she could now feel coursed through her veins, making her very aware. She knew exactly what was now to be. She had seen the other performers, both male and female, pleasuring the master. She knew a few enjoyed it, vying for theyr masters attention, to gain his favours and to become a favourite. These were never beaten as was her; although the fights amongst the favourites were known to be frequent and nasty, this only made the master very happy, satisfied laughter as he watched them rabble.
This was not always the case, those who were not inclined to satisfy him were beaten. One had even died, quietly buried before they stole away to another town before day break, never to return again.
"Once I have broken you in and show you what to do, you shall fetch me a very great price; more so than the other whores here. You, are not a whore. You, are an innocent and not like the rest. The bids for your wares, I shall set at the highest price."
No! She thought, but dared not say. Trying to push him off, but to no avail, she struggled beneath to get out from his heavy weight. She could not, she was losing her battle, this adrenaline she had felt previously had all but disappeared with the effort. Bloody tears fell from her eyes, as she felt his hand reach reach her most private parts. Hurtfully he pinched her, hard.
Her fright only excited her more, it always did with these ones. The whores did nothing for him, only the innocents did. Keeping control of his perverted desires, for he did not lose this one like he had the boy before. It frenzied him when they were all the more scared, this lust had caused him to inadvertably kill the last one. Such a beautyfull boy he now thought, truly he was fucked to death. Even the thought of it now, turned him on even more.
"Poor Clockwork, I am not going to hurt you." The master laughed, excited at her fear and bloodied teared face. "Do you even know I love you like a child of my own?"
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