Deciding Who Lives

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: December 15, 2007

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Submitted: December 15, 2007

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"I have difficulty seeing myself as an automaton." The figure stepped forward, his hand gliding along the table, fingers floating over the model people in the little village. His hand jerked to a halt and lifted one particular little man up. Unlike the other dolls in the scene, this one's left arm had fallen off at the shoulder. The porcelain was chipped and the paint worn. "I am flawed, just like my little friend." He put the man down, it's base on the flat table. It wobbled, kicking some of the ground about. There was a cracking noise. "He cannot harm others, only itself." He paced around it. "It stands there, ever smiling, but flawed. It can turn and hide the arm, but it does not change how broken it is." He stopped. "The only choice to make is whether to put him in the village, hiding the other doll's weakness from others, or to throw him away, leaving the town perfect." He turned. "Is he worth the imperfection?" He started at the man looking back at him; a man at the verge of tears, a ma with line under his eyes, a man covered in cuts and bruises. The other made no response. It stood there and shook with it's ragged breathing. Sweat dropped off it's face and down it's neck, curling across scar tissue. The original figured howled in rage as he put his fist through the mirror.


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