Creative Piece #2: Fusings

Fusings

 In a world where a bomb hasn’t ravaged the world Pressia’s hand would be freak-ish. Instead of a hand, there is a doll head. It looks like the head has consumed her hand. Pressia could have been born with the doll head, like she came out of the womb with a baby doll head in place of a hand. The plastic was once a pale pigment similar to Pressia’s skintone, but after years it has accumulated a dark sheen comprised of ash and dust. Dust piles up in crevices of the doll’s head, behind the ears or in the corners of the eyes. The hard plastic transitions into Pressia’s wrist seemlessly. It goes from smooth, cool plastic to the warm, vibrant alive feeling of Pressia’s wrist. There’s a small scar where the plastic meets her wrist, Pressia’s own doing, the result of a razor. She just wanted to know if she could get rid of it. The doll’s eyelashes are caked with dirt and ash as they stick together in clumps. The eyelids click every time Pressia moves her arm. They close over the baby’s eyes as if it’s about to sleep, then click back open as soon as they close. There is a small hole at the center of the baby’s mouth, a bottle probably came with the baby to mimic feeding it. Now that hole is just clogged with dirt. If you were to touch the doll head you would still be able to feel Pressia’s hand. The slight rise of her knuckles, and the tendons lie just under the plastic. It’s almost as if you tried peeled back the plastic, Pressia’s hand would still be there. Even in a world where fusings are common and Pressia’s isn’t as bad or conspicuous as most, she is still ashamed of it. The baby doll head is as much a part of Pressia has her other hand.