….. Where am I?

Where’s Mama….?

I want my Mama….

Lost and Found
Hieru Youko
January 2005

The policeman stood impatiently inside the emptied classroom, where curious
onlookers tried their best to get a better idea of what was happening through
the small viewing window on the old, smuged-stained wooden door. The girl inside
cried as she stuttered out a vague description of the theft, where witnesses
are non-existent and the man was still pissed off at losing a heavy bet last
night and had no patience for the girl and her pathetic dolls. It was incomprehensible
to him how someone could spend over twenty dollars on a doll, let along bring
it to a public school, and expect it to be safe. It mattered to him not that
there were bruises on the girl’s face, and a bleeding arm and torn clothes.
All he cared was that she said she was not raped, and it was as good to him
as closing the case. He wrote lazily on the note pad, where his mind swirled
around the possibility of winning back the heavy bet from his shrew friends,
and perhaps getting laid tonight.

“We’ll file a report on this. You can get a police report in two days,”
he said, monotonously, as he ripped apart the stub with the file number on the
little sheet of paper, and handed it to the girl, whose tears had not stopped
since nearly thirty minutes ago. Honestly, the bitch need to stop crying. It
annoyed him, and it was simply pathetic. Crying over a toy… What was she,
six? No, six-year-olds would probably be smarter, since a lollipop would pacify
the brats whereas this girl acted as if her pet died.

Ch’. Now he seriously needed a drink.

I can’t see anything… even when my eyes are open all the time…. I tried
though! I tried really hard…

She was always here… Playing peek-a-boo with me… Dressing me…. Kissing
my head and tucking me in…

And now it’s so dark… My back hurts… So do my arms and my legs… I
feel so numb… Mama never really keep me curled up like this for long… She
knew how much I hate this… She always tried to get me out of the bag as soon
as possible, and put comfy blankie and pillows in the bag when I have to be
in there….

Where is she…? Why isn’t she here…?

I want my Mama….


“What do you mean you can’t pawn this?!” the man slapped his hand
on the cheap, plastic counter, making the items jump in response to his violence.
He glared at the owner with his beady little eyes, his unibrow scrunched up,
forming a ridiculous frown, yet a gleam malicious enough to make the man behind
the counter cower a little.

Standing his ground as best as he could, the man fixed his glasses, and looked
at the doll sitting on the counter. “I’ve never seen anything like this.
It looks pretty and all, but it’s a plastic doll. How much can it be worth?
If you bring me a porcelain….”

“Then how the fuck do I get rid of this?!” the man hollered, glaring
both at the doll and at the owner. “It’s ridiculously heavy and it comes

The owner shrugged, and waved his hand as he dismissed the man now that he
had turned desperate and less angry. The doll was beautiful, yes, but the paint
was chipped, the fingers broken in a place or two, and the legs was disembodied
from its torso. Elastic strings flung sadly in the air, and its bald head had
marks of being pried open to no avail. Why would a doll like this be worth anything?

And its eyes were hauntingly blue. Empty, lifeless, and haunting. Too many
movies of dolls seeking revenge made him want less to do with this thing.

With a grunt, the man grabbed the cardboard box, and shoved every piece of
the doll inside, and stormed out of the pawn shop.

I can’t feel my legs…. I think my arm is dislocated too…. It should
hurt, but it doesn’t, really…

It hurts in the middle. Like… the chest? Torso? Whatever it’s called…
It hurts there. A lot.

It’s also very uncomfortable just being here… It smells bad too. The
sun’s so shiney… But I don’t like it now. I used to like it a lot… When
Mama would take me out and take piccies of me in the sun… I used to like sun
a lot….

But I don’t anymore, not when it keeps shining on me like that… Too bright…
It hurts my eyes.

Mama… Where are you? Why haven’t you come here and pick me up? Why haven’t
you come here and fix me? I hurt all over.


“Mom! I want that!!!” the little girl pointed at a corner of the
Salvation Army store, where, amidst the dust and underneath a broken French
Horn with one valve missing, was a bald doll head looking up lifelessly.

The woman frowned in disdain as she crouched down next to her eight-year-old,
“Why? It’s so… Dirty.”

“But it looks so pretty! I like its face!” The girl moved the horn
aside, and took out a small handkerchief, wiping the dust off of the doll’s
face. “It looks so pretty!!!”

The mother’s eyebrow lifted in curiosity, as she pushed the rest of the junk–
textbooks from two decades ago, a broken monitor, and a box of unidentified
objects she’d rather not explore — off of the doll, and scooped up the other
pieces that, somehow, miraculously were collected in a plastic bag. “Well,
now this is interesting…”

“He’s sooo pretty!!!” the girl chirpped, as she held the doll’s separated
head in her hands, examining its paint. “But it looks like it chipped a

Bending down, the woman smiled, “Well, I think that can be fixed… Why
don’t we go and see how much this is? I think we can work something out with
him. But you have to promise to concentrate on your art classes from now on
if you want to keep him!”


I have a bed again… And pillows…. And a new teddy bear. I have new
clothes… My arms were put back, and so were my legs… I think my fingers
are broken anyway… I have new wigs… And even a new face.

She talks to me, this girl… Everyday. About her school, her classes,
and how much she loves me. Her mom was nice too… Always cleaning me and making
me clothes… She’s an artist? I can’t be sure.

But…. They’re not right. They’re not who I want. They’re not Mama…

Mama…. Where are you?


“He’s not happy,” the little girl declared as she sat on her bed
with the doll cradled in her hands, defeated. It had been two years, and since
then she had adopted many other dolls just like this one, in various sizes.
Her mother and she had learned many things about this kind of doll from a friend
that was more than shocked to know they got this doll for less than ten dollars.
The Internet is a big help too.

The Internet was a wonderful creation by whomever thought of it.

Carrying a girl doll of her own, the mother sat down on the pink, frilly bed
as she looked at the doll. “You’re right….”

“Why~~~?” the girl whined loudly, turning the doll in her hand several
times, hoping to find any other expression other than a dull, distant, unmoving
face. Their other dolls always smiled, and looked so happy whenever they played
with them. But not this one. Never this one. In every picture they took, this
one never seemed like he was happy, or wanted to join in. He was always the
odd ball out, and sometimes she was just so frustrated about that.

“Maybe a trip outdoors would do him some good? We can bring him with us
to the picnic today.”


She gasped as she stopped, dead in her tracks, as she stared at the doll that
sat on the picnic blanket. Its hands folded neatly in its lap, it stared off
into a different dimension as the mother was laughing and taking as many photos
as her digital camera allowed while the daughter posed the numerous dolls they

“What’s wrong?” her beloved asked, sensing her shock and her unresponsiveness.

She ignored him, breaking away from their entwined hands, as she walked, no,
staggered, to the picnic blanket, not hearing the call of her lover and the
cautious, almost warning “excuse mes” from the quickly approaching
mother and daughter.

“I found you…..” she whispered, as she knelt down on the blanket,
unaware of the trail of tears that was rolling down her cheek. She picked up
the doll, and held him close to her. “I found you….”

The man and the mother and the daughter reached her almost at the same time.
He studied her for a while, before turning and smiling apologetically at the
stunned family. “I’m terribly sorry…. But would it be possible for you
to sell us this precious doll?”

“NO!” the daughter cried loudly, but the mother put a hand onto her
shoulder. She studied the young woman kneeling on their picnic basket, sobbing
as her body trembled and held the doll so tightly to her, almost as if she wanted
to rub it completely into her body, and stuttering apologies could be heard,
repeated over and over again.

And she saw something she never expected. Turning to the young man, she nodded.
“It’s all right. Take him.”


“Thank you.”

Slowly, he managed to guide her to stand up, where the young woman bowed deeply
at the mother, before being guided away by her beloved, her hands clung tightly
over the doll.

And the doll smiled.



Author’s note: I am committing suicide by editing and writing
this fic at 1am, when I can barely keep my eyes open here… So bear with me
if there are any typo or horrible grammatical mistakes in this note, ’cause
I ain’t thinking with the complete capacity my brain allows. ^^;;

This fic is dedicated to my little baby, Yue, who inspired the fic in its entirety.
I have been in a writing-lazy-slump for the past two months, eager to get back
to my WK fic and my NaNo, but found no motivation to do it. ^^;;; My time was
spent completely on Yue and anything related to him, and the evil institution
that is called school. ^^;;;;; So thankfully Yue had inspired this ficcie, and
now I feel like I have the strength to write again. Whee~~~ Expect Tarnished
Rhapsody coming this month. ^_^ Of course, Yue will never, EVER get stolen,
because I will be very very careful with him and I’ll cry really hard if he
ever gets stolen. T_T

You can find more about Yue here: http://www.silverillusions.net/dollfie ^_^
He’s the cyuuuuuutest boy I’ve ever seen. *snuggles*

Oh, and I decided to find a day where I can actually tell left from right to
toss Tarnished Rhapsody onto LJ and just keep it there, since it works quite
marvelously with some authors I’ve known and me is lazy in creating a webpage
for it. ^^;;; Hopefully that will also give me more motivation in continuing
the fic. ^_^

Anyway… Thanks for reading this non-yaoi (OMG!) ficcie that is inspired by
my baby. *giggles* Leave a message for him when you visit his cyber home!!!

~ Love,
Hieru Youko
January 31, 2005

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