Her name was Lolita La''ra, and she was a magical porcelain doll boy made by King Lea. And she was about to fall down from a cliff.
"I hate being alive. I hate my life and all the nonsense surrounding it. Therefore, I don''t want to live. I don''t want to live anymore. I despise the authorities and their nonsense ''rules'' imposed on us. I crave eating donuts!" she said, shouting at the clouds, hoping they would react.
She then thought to herself, "I always crave donuts when I find myself in a difficult situation. Besides, I hope no one heard me saying those things out loud. That would have been very rude. I know I am rebellious due to the fact that King Lea was assassinated... I feel the sorrow in me... But I must still act like a proper maid for the Kingdom of La''ra. The children need hope... the hope that I don''t even possess..."
Lolita''s confusion grew more and more as she thought about the potential assassins, who were from the king''s own kinship. She continued thinking to herself as she approached the cliff, with the ocean''s salty air and breeze hitting her pale face. "Aleharna La''ra might be the assassin. I heard her and King Lea arguing over conquering the new kingdom called France. They hated the idea of humans naming their - I mean, our - territories the Bourbon region on their map. It was ''we'' who have been living in those places for years. Maybe the arguments grew more heated and ended up killing my beloved king. That''s a speculation of mine."
As her slender legs trembled at the possibility, she wanted to stop thinking about her King Lea La''ra. She had to go to her work and rearrange meetings and things for the upcoming king, who would be in the legacy of La''ra. In a snap of seconds, she hated the idea of being a La''ra, who had distinct eye colors - having one green and one pinkish eye were the distinguishing traits of them.
She thought to herself, "I should stop... killing myself. I should be more responsible and mature... I am a doll, but I should be more... like a mature being. I am a porcelain doll... for the sake of my creator, and I did not even learn to use my Magicka yet! King Lea had to teach me how to open my Magicka. She said ''au revoir'' and was killed. Why did she leave me alone by myself!?"
She looked up at the clouds again and tried to see the covering Sun, but she couldn''t. She comb her dark purple hair with her hands and tried not to cry, even though as a doll, she had no capacity to cry. She knew that was the feeling when people lose the people they loved. Grief, guilt, shame and anxiety were swimming in her slim, slender, and pale feminine body. As she decided to go back to the throne side and started doing her daily chores to control the chaotic atmosphere of the kingdom, she stopped, turned back at the castle, and somehow, raised her index finger. That meant ''screw you'' in the La''ra kingdom. She had always been taught how to behave like a feminine doll, and that was what she was supposed to do in this political situation.
"I made a finger and am proud of it! You were the father figure to me, because you created me," Lolita said, trembling her lip. "Why did you leave if you knew you would not even protect yourself from an assassin! You are a disgrace to me, but I need you anyway. I know I won''t get rid of the dependence because I loved you as a father figure. But I can''t live in that kingdom without your aura in it. I hate being with the La''ras and I hope the new kingdom called France conquers them and their incestuous ways! Rape in disguise as civilized manners be gone!"
She found the courage in those nasty feelings of shame, guilt, anxiety, and anger as she let go of herself from the cliff. She knew that hitting the rocky ground from this place would surely lead to her turning into a bunch of dust, as happens when people die. She wanted to smile, but due to the pressure of the air, she couldn''t; she only hoped that in the afterlife, she would wish to be anything but a La''ra.
---
"Darkness comes, darkness goes. My soul is nothing but a doll. I feel I am chasing an infinite roll. With nowhere to go, and I am always a doll." ~ Lolita Lara.
Oatmeal read the passage with confidence and smiled while reading the back cover. She liked the poem. She shouted, trying to make a rhythm out of it, but couldn''t bring herself to create a song. Everyone in the bookstore had to endure her weird rhythm, and eventually, a bookstore worker came and said, "Uhm, can you, please... stop rhyming." The bookstore worker said that in a shy and cute manner. "People... they are reading..."
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Oatmeal blinked her black dot eyes and simply wanted to know if she really meant it. Oatmeal was a male and she was a tall, slender, male who looked intimidating at first, and she had a secret: she could read people''s emotions and everything about them, if she decided to, of course. Why couldn''t she? Since she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Now, she wanted to know the bookstore worker''s real emotions and everything about her.
The bookstore worker was thinking to herself, "Please accept, please accept. Please do not kill me or abuse me, you look intimidating and scary, and I know I have to silence you somehow, but I''m scared that making you angry will have consequences. I have to silence you because if I don''t, people will get annoyed, and if the customers complain, my boss might fire me. She has reasons to fire me anyway. I don''t want to be fired for not being able to silence you! I have a mother and a dog to take care of, and their lives are dependent on me. So, please!"
Knowing all her emotions and thoughts, Oatmeal shrugged her shoulders and put the fictional history book, "Legacy of La''ra", back on the shelf. She looked at the annoyed crowd and smiled back at them with her black lips.
"I get it. You don''t want to listen to great poems from me," Oatmeal said with an ingenuous smile. "I just wanted to enlighten your day with my presence."
"But you are annoying," one from the crowd said with anger. "You have been coming here and reading all the books out loud. You have no rhythm and nothing interesting to say. You are just a green, bald monster."
"No, it''s not true. I am not a monster. I am Oatmeal."
"Your name is also a weird thing!" Another one with a strong voice said. "I am here to escape from my wife''s constant chatter, and here I am... I can''t even find the pleasure to sit and read in silence. You are an annoying fuck."
"Language... sir..." The shy bookstore worker tried to calm the situation.
"Damn your ''language, sir,''" the one who cursed said. "I am leaving this place, and I will never come back unless that bastard is gone." The one who cursed simply got up and left the place.
Oatmeal looked at the shy bookstore worker and wanted to know her name. Her name was Lu''WoWood. Oatmeal wanted to know more about her inner psyche, as she was leaning towards the bookshelves. She decided to do that because she had nothing else to do but wait for the laundry to finish at the laundry mat on ''Rose Street''. Oatmeal thought to herself: "I think I should act more civilized, even though I find those manners boring and synthetic. I wonder why humans act the way they do now? Especially in Toronto. I know people seem kind and caring, but I am ninety percent sure that they hate the way they act, or maybe I am just a bad observer. Now, I wonder Lu''s inner emotions."
Lu was cleaning the desks because the one who shouted at Oatmeal had spilled coffee on the desk. While doing that, Lu was thinking, "I hope the boss is playing smartphone games as usual at lunchtime. Otherwise, I will be fired. I don''t want to do this job anymore, but I have to, otherwise I will be a bad kid who doesn''t even take care of her mother and our lovely dog, Anny. I wish I had the courage and skills to stand up to those bullies like Oatmeal in front of me. Look at her, she is tall, slender, green, and bald. There is a feminine masculine charm in her. She seems charismatic in a weird way and acts however she wants, and I don''t see her intimidated by anyone around. Responsibilities don''t seem to be on her mind, I guess. I think she is an alien. I wish she were my friend and protect me from my mother''s daily abuses. I love her, but I wish she would just die and let me go my own."
Oatmeal always found conflicts in humans. It was as if two souls were clashing in a body. It seemed that one was more selfish and the other was more selfless. She did not understand, though, since she was not a human or anything related to these complex primates. Oatmeal, mumbling some poems, approached Lu and bent over the table she was cleaning now. Lu had an average, cute-looking face. Oatmeal assumed she was a girl since she was wearing a skirt. She couldn''t be sure, though, because there were males, boys, and men who wore skirts where she came from before Toronto. She did not know about Toronto''s culture, since Oatmeal had been living there for no more than six weeks.
"Hello Lu." Oatmeal said. She put her hands in her pockets. She was wearing black, loose harem pants and a black, loose top. She was wearing no footwear whatsoever.
Lu trembled with anxiety. She was thinking to herself, "Did I make her angry, oh no! Does she know my name? How? Why does she look at me like that!? I need to act more mature and should not be scared of her."
"Oh, hello," Lu said.
"I wonder why you don''t leave your job," Oatmeal said. "I have been coming to this bookstore and looking at you. I am not specifficaly looking at you of course. But, I wonder, why aren''t you leaving your job if you don''t find it fun?"
"Responsibilities," Lu replied.
"What responsibilities?" Oatmeal asked.
Thinking about Lu''s mother brought tears to her eyes, and she always hated that. "Why do I always become a whiny girl when I think about my mother," she thought to herself. And she opened her mouth to say something confident:
"Because I must work, that''s all."
"Do you? Really?" Oatmeal asked.
"Yes..." Lu said.
"And I must wait for a laundry machine to finish my clothing. Do you know people don''t have those kinds of machines where I come from?"
"Where do you come from?" Lu said, putting the cups in order. She thought, "I am sure you are coming from Mars."
"Rome, 127," Oatmeal replied.
"You sure?"