The eclipsed sun
At a windy midday, Eleanora clutched the wrinkled paper against her chest, lest the wind steal her last hope for a comfortable life. For the past few months, she had eaten nothing but instant white rice for dinner and drunk nothing but water and instant coffee for breakfast; lunches were unnecessary. As she walked towards the company's towering building, she wondered why her luck always seemed so "instant" and fleeting—just like her plain white rice and lukewarm coffee. She hoped that once she was hired, she could finally cook "slower" and tastier meals—ones that would fill her stomach longer. But what if I don't get hired? Anxiety surrounded her heart. She tilted her head to gaze up at the dim, eclipsed sun and thought of how peaceful the idea of death sounded to her. Eleanora then shook her head and expelled the thought. She exhaled deeply. I shouldn't think of anything bad during an eclipse—they say it comes true! She then wore a soft, sanguine smile as she neared the company's gate, already picturing herself sitting comfortably in a moving chair, her eyes glued to a computer screen and her fingers dancing across the keyboard. I need this job—I'm tired of everything. Eleanora didn't entirely hate not having her personal vehicle, for she enjoyed going places on foot. The only time she wished she could afford a car was when she needed to cross two busy streets unscathed, but even that wasn't too terrible for Eleanora; somehow the kind cars always stopped for her to walk safely—always. She stood on the pavement, waiting patiently for the traffic to clear so she could hurry to the other side, where her dreams of better meals were waiting for her—inside that company's building. When the cars slowed down, Eleanora held her wrinkled CV tighter, causing some of the paper to tear. She inhaled, her legs moving with haste to finally cross the street; she knew it wouldn't remain safe for pedestrians forever. But when she was just halfway across, she heard someone calling her name. "Eleanora! Eleanora!" She turned her head, searching for the source, but all she saw were moving cars and hustling people who were not looking at her. The voice called again from a different direction, this time louder, "Eleanora! Here! Here!" Unsettled, her heart pounded in fear as she scanned every shadowy corner of the street with wide, frantic eyes, trying to find the mysterious caller but to no avail. Eleanora wondered if malnutrition was making her hallucinate, but the voice sounded too real—it called her name like it knew her personally, like it wanted her attention—not anyone else's. When Eleanora turned her distracted gaze back to the road, a moving light, brighter than the eclipsed sun above her, was fast approaching, eating up the distance between her and the moving truck like an unyielding fate coming to collect her soul. At that moment Eleanora just stood there, frozen, staring at the blinding lights as they held her feet pinned to the ground. As the light continued to grow brighter, enveloping her frame, the shapes and colors in her world all blurred into something pale and white; even the blaring sounds of horns and chatter turned into a single, high-pitched ringing in Eleanora's ears. She felt every bone in her fragile body being shattered under the truck's immense weight, her spine and ribcage collapsing into dust, and her internal organs bursting inside her. Eleanora had never known this level of agonizing nightmare in her life. The pain of being ground like meat was worse than anything she had ever experienced. Yet, that torment only lasted for fleeting seconds before it was completely gone—like it was never there, like she had never broken a single bone or torn an organ—no, it felt as though she had no bones or organs anymore. Eleanora's body suddenly felt lighter and airier, and even the mental weight she carried was strangely absent. Relief washed over her. Is this what it feels like to be buried? It's so dark in here. That was what Eleanora thought, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps drawing near told her she wasn't underground and that she wasn't dead. She tried lifting her arms, bending her knees, and kicking her legs, but it was as if her body refused to obey her brain. At that moment, the joined rhythm of a woman's high heels and the stride of a man in sports shoes halted at the door before it opened, letting some light seep into the dark room filled with dolls. Dr. Ralph turned on the lights, gesturing for his customer to walk in.
Cecilia's gaze swept the array of naked, feminine dolls with wide, sparkling eyes. "Wow! Dr. Ralph, they're all fucking beautiful and look very realistic as well—like some real, cute girls!"
Dr. Ralph smirked, his pride swelling at hearing her admire his creations. "Thank you, Miss Cecilia. I'm sure your husband will think the same. You made the right choice coming here."
Eleanora scanned her strange surroundings; she knew she had been hit by a truck on her way to a job interview. She remembered how busy the street was, the sound of horns, her hunger and exhaustion, and even what the sun looked like that day. It wasn't a fake memory; however, Eleanora didn't know why she woke up in a room filled with very lewd mannequins instead of a hospital. Is this a dream? If I survived, then I should be in some hospital, no? So what is this place? All she could move was her eyes, but everything in her airy body was immobilized. Feeling unsettled, anxiety gripped her heart, and she could hear something ticking in loud, clear beats inside her chest, as if her heart were made of plastic. Eleanora's gaze then dropped to her bare and foreign frame. She could feel how the air tickled her stiff nipples and caressed her rounded breasts. Her vagina also looked bigger and fleshier than she remembered, and she could see a faint red light flickering in her clitoris. It dawned on her that she didn't die, but she was no longer possessing her own body. Her consciousness was occupying something that wasn't hers and wasn't natural or human.
Terrified whimpers escaped her silicon throat.
Hearing the strange sound emanating from the doll, Dr. Ralph took cautious steps towards the naked figure. Confused, he muttered under his breath, "Didn't I switch off her speech last night? Hmm, strange." He adjusted his glasses, studying the capricious doll.
Cecilia's gaze raked over her, and she exclaimed, "Dr. Ralph! Isn't she the doll I really liked on your sex doll website? She was the one that caught my eye the most!"
Dr. Ralph nodded, pride illuminating his features. "Yeah, Cecilia. This is my girl, Printesa, the finest of my creations. Countless hours of labor went into her design, so you could say she is her creator's favorite girl. However, she comes with an expensive price tag for most of my shoppers; so far you have been the only who could afford Printesa."
Cecilia took curious steps towards the displayed sex doll; her hands gripped the doll's hips, as if trying to leave her fingertips on the porcelain skin, and the ghost of a wince etched on the doll's otherwise still expression.
Cecilia bit her lower lip. "Fuck, she seems responsive even when she's turned off, Dr. Ralph. I can't wait until my husband's birthday next week so I can watch him play with his new doll."
Dr. Ralph offered a polite smile, but his eyes remained distracted. "Your husband is lucky to have such a generous wife, Cecilia." His tone was neutral and controlled as his focus was solely on the doll, sensing something amiss. I'm sure she is turned off; even her clitoris's light is flickering and not stable, which means her system is updating. So why is Printesa moving her eyes like she's awake? What if that scares my customer away? Dr. Ralph furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the doll's eyes with rapt attention. He then raised his eyebrows in controlled shock as the doll blinked back at him. Shit, I think Printesa's system is bugged.
He cleared his throat. "Are you sure about buying this expensive doll, Cecilia? I mean, she costs an arm and a leg. Maybe take a look at the cheaper—."
Cecilia cut him off. "Dr. Ralph, I'm as sure about buying this doll as I am that my name is Cecilia! Printesa is a masterpiece! And most importantly, she looks like my husband's favorite porn star!"
A low chuckle rumbled in Dr. Ralph's chest. "His favorite porn star? Well, I suppose you should buy this doll then."
Cecilia let out a heavy sigh, her head downcast. "Yeah, I work long hours, so my husband often finds himself bored and lonely, turning to porn to jerk off. I heard that men who indulge in that end up cheating, and I don't want that. But luckily, Printesa will keep him company. Isn't that right, Printesa?" Cecilia pressed her lips on the doll's cheek, as if she were marking her and sealing her fate as her husband's plaything.
Dr. Ralph nodded, a closed smile touched his lips but didn't reach his eyes. I hate the thought of my best creations ending up with Cecilia's loser husband. But whatever, if I sold Printesa, a costly doll, then I would be able to upgrade my whole laboratory and workshop.
Dr. Ralph then drew a deep breath and suggested. "Then, Cecilia, should we turn her on so you can see how she will be when your husband uses her?"
Cecilia's smile widened. "Yes, please! She already looks fun to play with dormant. I can't wait to see what she's like awake!" Dr. Ralph then walked closer to the doll, and his hand traveled to rub her flickering clitoris with the pad of his middle finger.
He explained to Cecilia as his finger gently circled the doll's clitoris. "This is how you turn her on, Cecilia—by rubbing the doll's engorged clitoris until the red light turns green; that means she's awake." Cecilia watched with rapt attention, picturing herself fucking the doll with her fingers in his place.
The doll's eyelids fluttered open, his touch undoing the spell that had ensnared her body and rendered her immobilized, as if she were trapped inside a vase. She felt the invisible ropes that tied her limbs uncurling, allowing her to breathe deeper.
A raw moan spilled from her doll's lips before she stuttered, "Don't—don't touch me, you disgusting pervert."
Dr. Ralph raised his eyebrows and seized the doll's jaw, his confused, fierce gaze piercing her shiny eyeballs. "Hello, Printesa. Feeling bratty, are we?"
Cecilia chuckled, her tone laced with amusement. "Her voice is so cute, Dr. Ralph. It looks like our Printesa has a bold personality."
The doll squirmed and shook her head, struggling to free herself from the doctor's grasp. "I'm not a doll! Please don't do this to me! Please." Tears began to well up in her doe eyes, trickling down her flushed, porcelain cheeks.
He tightend his grip on her soft jaw, his lips grazed the doll's ear shell. "You are a sex doll made for pleasuring perverts, Printesa. What has gotten into you? Did you forget why I made you?"
