The reflection glistened in the dim light. It flickered in intervals as if it was a life sputtering to an end. And when the smoke blew into the smoky atmosphere of the room, only grey whisps danced through the stifling air.
It was desolate, damp, and on the far corner of the wall, the mold consumed the decaying plaster. Throughout the room, the deteriorating plaster peeled and webs of spiders spun hidden traps in the patches of rotten wood.
The blind would not miss much from this room, for sight was resolute. The slight creak of wood, battered by the wind, and the drip of rain through the splintered ceiling, and the smell of moss, and the feel of the dry but slimy coating on the walls was enough to evoke enough a vision of the room.
Nothing much remained. A small plain desk, limped in the corner, next to the sagging door, who had almost lost grip on its faithful frame. A chair lay on its side, like a wounded soldier on the other side of the room, and a small, abandoned nest of some sort lay nestled between its hind legs.
Only the cabinet retained a hint of color, dulled out with misuse and age. But one could almost imagine the crimson red lining the sides, and a deep forest green surrounding the smudged and cracked glass panes. Swirls and drops of blue, yellow, and orange were faintly observed, however, outlined now in a grey and beige. And the royal purple was now only a dull dead shade.
It was mostly empty. The room, the desk, the cabinet, the chair, the door, the window. But as the sun rose from its resting spot and peeked through the ragged shades covering the panes of mud-caked glass, shimmers of light bounced on the particles of dust. Once a revered room, without a doubt. A small, slight sheen of color reflected the weak beams. Reflecting the dulled shimmer into the cabinet.
And there sat a figure. Midst the decomposing planks of shelving, with acremonium, alternaria, and aspergillus mold for company, only to list a few. A porcelain doll. Wide-set, deep, cerulean blue eyes dotted the untarnished, white face of the doll. Pin sized eyelashes did not bristle once, and not a single blink rustled her face. Even as the dust danced around her, there was only silence. She wore a beige dress. Quite common for her time, and rich green and pink satin coated the outside in small frills and ruffles. They were speckled with grey particles, but brilliant altogether. Her dainty feet were encased in a soft pink fabric, aged with use. Perhaps once well used. Her rose lips, impersonating a smile, only cringed gloomily into the darkness. And when the sun had almost risen, she could see her reflection on the glass pane on the cabinet.
It seemed that every day, her smile lost a little spark, her eyes lost their ability to shine, and the reflection in the glass lost a bit of its glow. It almost seemed best to close her eyes once and for all and become the room like all the others. Nothing would change. Only, the dust would pile higher, and her cabinet would sag just a little lower, and the door would finally lose its grip on Its frame, and the chair's leg would cease to be a leg, and the desk would merge with the creasing floor. And the doll would be a mound of cracking clay, and her eyes would no longer be open, and her sigh would fill the room. Just another light that had gone out.
Moths flitted in through the shards of the window at times, endlessly crashing into the plaster until fatigued. It would then sink to the floor and become what the earth was made of.
The floor was littered with moths.
The inhabitants were even lucky to one time have seen a butterfly as well. A monarch, to be precise. It mindlessly floated into the room, only to sink to the ground like all the other winged creatures.
The sun rose. The sun set. It rose. It set. It rose. It set.
The sun rose, and the air was still. Silence so thick, that it rang, a crescendo in volume..
'Whir'.
The stillness was on its toes.
'Clap'.
It ran about the room, it was unsure what to do. No, stillness hadn't heard this sound in many years.
'Clap.'
It stood still.
'Whir'.
It dared not to move.
The strange sound approached in limping steps.
'Whir, clap'.
A shadow stretched through the seams of the door, reaching the far wall, and looming above the darkness already inhabiting the area.
The darkness hissed.
'Whir, clap'.
Cymbals clanged together as grey, automated legs marched through the splintering feet of the door. Stepping over the frame, it marched forwards. Though the size of a small mouse, it ventured through the gloom. No light lit its way, and the stillness still watched from it's heightened perch on the desk.
The soldier marched towards the cabinet wreaking havoc among the settling particles of dust. They fluttered out of his way, but unfortunately, the wings of perished moths and the butterfly were all but crushed under the march of the soldier.
He reached the bottom of the cabinet, and the porcelain stared down at him. He lifted his unbending arms, and began to walk up the creaking beams. And when the sun rose, and the light hit the glass in front of the doll, she could not see her own tiresome reflection, but the grinning face of a soldier.
Diving, cymbal first, through the break in the glass, he rattled to a stop some ways at the back of the closet. And had to struggle, churning his limbs through the air, until he was able to jump back up and shuffle towards the doll. He did not quite compare to the height of the doll, but he grinned up at her still face. And as the key at his back began to slow, his march became a drag, which became a stop.
Stillness peeked from its position on the desk, and inched off, testing the broken state the soldier had left his room in. It wasn't much different than before though. So stillness shrugged his airy shoulders and settled down once more.
The dust descended comfortably, and stillness watched over its small dominion. The only addition was the small figure that reached half of the porcelain's height. And when the sun rose the next day, beaming down into the cabinet, there were two reflections on the glass. Porcelain and metal rested on the sagging shelves as stillness hibernated from the sun.
Explanation:
This is a short story that I wrote which describes some of the effects of social distancing on humans. The porcelain doll is seen to battle silence, stillness, and darkness, as portrayed as living, tangible things, as she lives in a gloomy and abandoned room by herself.
The dark atmosphere in the story relates to the darkness that people can fall into while straying from the company of others, and the small traces of light from the barred up window describes the longing and want for some company plus the bitter realization that it cannot be obtained. If the doll had closed its eyes, the battle would have been lost, but as she perseveres through endless days that are always the same, she soon finds some solace in a visiting cymbal clapping soldier. It shows that if you have someone to talk to or have something unusual occur in your life, it relieves some of the burdens of loneliness and discomfort. Even though the porcelain doll and the soldier are very different, from appearance to structure, just being together is more wholesome and tranquil than before. Although life still goes on, it is much more bearable and tolerable, through any circumstance, with a friend.
Now I will explain other parts of the story. The story takes place in a room that is quite old, decaying, and needing some love. I took care to describe the limited and simple furniture and aspects of the room, applying personification and making them seem as if they were abandoned beings, left to rot away from society. And the only thing that seems ‘alive’ is the porcelain doll, which could be described as the ‘protagonist’ of the story. And the antagonist could be attributed to silence, stillness, or darkness, three things that are portrayed as living beings. Additionally, the porcelain doll seems to be living quite a tranquil but not-quite-right life, because her surroundings and her appearance doesn’t seem to evoke pleasure or happiness. She is not experiencing the nice type of calmness, but the overbearing stillness of lacking company and life. The walls are decaying, her little shelf is sagging, and everything about the room seems to be fading away.
Furthermore, dead moth’s wings litter the floor in the story, which depicts the piling grief and misery that forms from small flickers of hope being crushed. The moths symbolize pieces of hope, as they flutter about in the room, to only crash against the decaying plaster and fall to the ground, lifeless pieces of wings and matter. The butterfly also represents this gruesome fate, but it evokes a deeper, more resonating failure, as butterflies usually represent hope, change, and a better future. But in this case, the butterfly has fallen to the ground, foreshadowing a certain doom for a miserable fate without much change.
However, near the end of the story, a toy soldier with cymbals marches in through the door, disturbing the resting dust particles that would have piled high and perhaps suffocated the doll. And silence, stillness, and darkness are stirred from their rest as the soldier infiltrates their dominion. He crushes many of the moth's wings, which may seem even worse than before, but is quite the contrary (as two negatives form a positive). He marches in to crush the deflated hopes and dreams, and to destroy the negativity and death in the room. He comes because everyone, no matter how independent or introverted they are, needs another being to socialize with, in whatever way possible. He is the friend that brings about a small change, which is not much (as the days go one as usual) but has a greater overall effect. Two is stronger than one, and when one is down, the other may always help to crush the broken moth wings resting on the floor of the other and help bring them back into the swing of life, no matter how desolate it may seem to be.
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