((*casually enters competition*))
Sugarbee
xxxxxThe baker’s doll kneaded the dough, and with a final burst of flour retreated from the prepared bread and pastries. They were ready for tomorrow, waiting on the main counter for the oven to heat up and turn them from uncooked lumps of ingredients into desirable desserts and loaves for customers. The doll rattled her arms, knocking flour dust from her joints. It left a small shower in the moonlight from the bakery’s main window.
xxxxxCaution made the doll’s movements slow as it approached the front door. Owner had locked it on his way out, but maybe tonight the handle would work. The wooden hand that reached for the door stopped suddenly short and lurched away with the doll. The command to stay seated until sunrise had worn away, but the command to “Stay in the store” still held strong.
xxxxxThe doll’s shoulders fell slightly lower as it took a light step back. Moonlight fell on the wooden structure as it stepped up to the window. The same street that had always been there glimmered in the pale light. Movement in the shoe store across the way cast a small shadow against the neighboring storefront. That doll would stay in motion for a bit more, then quietly retire to a chair in the back of the store. The only dolls that were supposed to be active at this point were the patrols.
xxxxxThe doll retreated from the window, waiting for the patrol to pass. Dolls made for patrols had sharper eyes, and even mouths and noses. Each was a distinct face, unlike common dolls who worked in stores all around the city. Protecting the rules during the night and welcoming visitors during the day, having more personalized patrols indicated more wealth to everyone who saw them. They would recognize the nondescript wooden doll covered in flour, and their masters would report it, and then someone would come to dismantle such a defective thing.
xxxxxA defective doll. Was it really so bad to remember things after the soul’s moved to another body? In the bakery, the doll jittered over to the back room and its stored ingredients. Memories occasionally intruded here, but at least the patrols couldn’t see. Last night, the doll had remembered a dress. Tonight, she remembered her name. Sugarbee, as named by her mother, had died young. For a time, she’d become just another mindless doll following commands. The first memory after her first death was of a familiar face coated in stubble and whispering farewells.
xxxxxSugarbee the doll found her station in the back and absently trailed a finger through the remaining flour and sugar dust. The dress had been white. It was soft as clouds and light as air. From the open bag at her elbow, Sugarbee grabbed a fist of the flour and spun, letting it fall through her fingers. The dress flared like that when she danced. She danced? Another memory tonight, it seems.
xxxxxSugarbee spun again, trying to feel the dance as it used to be. There were twirls and dips, jumps and a strange, skittering step that took her from one end to another beginning. As the doll spun, more of the dust from the bakery stirred at her passing and gently followed her. From table to counter to door to wall, Sugarbee gained a trail of softly floating grains.
xxxxxDance and dust and doll flowed into the front of the bakery. Grace remembered from a previous life and the strange feel of a different body left some moves slow and stunted some of the others. Sugarbee was a butterfly slowly testing her wings after emerging from the transforming slumber. Come morning, everyone would expect her to be the diligent caterpillar once more, but tonight, she could be Sugarbee the butterfly.
xxxxxAs she danced, Sugarbee traced circles around the bakery. She could not sleep, but she reveled in the dreamlike dance. The dress would have flared beautifully with this twirl, and this dip would have made it drape along the floor. This skittering step would make the skirt swish around her partner. So deep in this dream was she that Sugarbee didn’t notice the other doll until it tapped on the glass.
xxxxxWhen Sugarbee heard the tapping, her skittering froze, letting the dust fall slowly to the ground around her like a fog. The other doll wasn’t a patrol; the clothes were too ragged; the wood had too many scratches and chips; the face had only a set of marble eyes like every other working doll.
xxxxxThe stranger tapped the glass again with a careful hand, head tilted in question. There was a peculiar sense that the stranger had a name, a name that no owner would have given, but that the doll had called itself. Sugarbee needed to do something here, but whatever it was, she couldn’t remember. Slowly, the stranger held up their hand and shook it side to side. It was a strange gesture.
xxxxxThe stranger’s hand dropped, and its shoulders scrunched in as if against a cold wind. Hesitantly, Sugarbee raised her hand and imitated the motion. The other doll suddenly perked up, eyes attentively watching her movements. Both pairs of marble eyes stared unblinking through the bakery glass. Now that it was done, what should come next eluded both of them.
xxxxxSugarbee took one slow, graceful step back and gave the stranger a deep curtsy. After a moment, he bowed in response. The two would have smiled grandly if they had mouths to do so, but all they had were the memories of what a smile was. To replace the smiles neither could make, Sugarbee drew a flour covered hand across the smooth plane of her face in the upturned shape of her smile. He repeated the motion, drawing both hands over his scratched face.
xxxxxWhatever pantomime of conversation the two dolls were about to attempt was stopped by Sugarbee’s sudden alarm. How long had she danced? How long had they talked? How close was the next patrol?
xxxxxSugarbee fluttered her hands quickly in her panic, looking as far down the street as the bakery window would allow. The stranger glanced down as well, but he didn’t move. Frantically, Sugarby tapped the window, then backed away. Left hand fisted up where the patrol’s hat brim would be, right hand extended forward like their weapon arms. The stranger glanced down the street again and bounced in place. He had to know!
xxxxxSugarbee rushed to the window and wildly gestured the stranger away. He bounced some more, but only put his hand on the window glass. She placed hers atop his and slowly drew a line from the corner of her eye to her jaw. The man in her memory had been leaking water like that, so maybe it was a kind of parting gesture.
xxxxxThe stranger mirrored her gesture, and they both glanced back down the street. The patrol could show up any moment now. Sugarbee fled to the back of the bakery, not waiting for the stranger to leave first. The doll sat in her chair and covered her eyes. She didn’t want to see the bags of flour or the cartons of eggs. The bin of yeast and the jars of sugar could all disappear. Sugarbee wanted nothing more than to stay with the strange doll at the window, for him to be there when she looked again. It was so much easier to imagine with eyes that could close. Hopefully, he would be there tomorrow night, too, and they could continue their strange conversation.
((A/N: So, school has been sucking away all my creative juices. However, at the last moment, I discovered this cool competition with an interesting prompt. I really wanted to give her wings of sugar, like those spun sugar decorations, but I couldn't make it flow, so I named her Sugarbee instead. Now, it's been a while, and I'd really appreciate it if any of my readers could let me know how I'm doing. I feel really rusty, and even if I've sat on this for a while, I'm not sure where else I need to use the WD40 >^.^<))
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