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Hi! It’s Wingiby Iggiby (a.k.a. Brooke)! I have been absent from the forum for a long while, ever since life decided to go from a trot to a gallop. But I am never gone forever! *cue majestic trumpets and drum-roll*

Anyway . . . . I have a short story (700 words long) that I’d like some honest critique on. I’m planning to enter it in the monthly Kingdom Pen Picture Prompt Short Story contest (my first contest, XD)!

I mostly want to know how well the story flows; if there are any consistency errors; or if its just downright cheesy (bc who wants to enter a cheesy story in a contest?), etc. And, of course, anything else you can think of, including grammatical stuff, bc we all know that language arts is holding a grudge against me. Don’t be at all afraid of offending me, bc I will only be eternally grateful for your honesty 😉

Anyhow, enough with the jabber. Here it is:

Wooden Dolls

I rested my feet on the pedals and coasted down the hill toward the wharf on my squeaky, derelict bike. The dirt road was smooth, packed down by the passing of many feet now eerily silent. The rickety buildings on either side looked like they might’ve been crying, and in the distance a tower and two windmills rose like twisted fingers against a watery sky.

My shirt clung to my back and my tongue was thick — I really regretted speeding past that well of shimmering water. I could, at least, picture the water’s rippling pattern in my head and refresh my weary mind.

But in the saggy pockets of my brown trousers, I heard wood rattle against wood — tiny dolls no taller than the length of your hand; dolls with dull black eyes.

My heart lurched at the thought of them, and I turned and braked in front of an antiqued shop beside the grey sea.

I pushed open the door and a tiny bell tingled. I emptied the dolls onto a table and sniffled as dust tickled my nostrils. All along the walls were shelves; shelves full of more unnerving dolls. There were old men and women, young boys and girls — even tiny babies. And there were also all sorts of animals. Sunlight sifted through a window, filling the room and glinting off of hundreds of dark black eyes.

In a far corner, a man bent over a table, gently flicking flakes of wood off a chunk of aspen. I cleared my throat — gruffly. His hair was brown, peppered with gray, and it curled out from under a slouching cap. When he turned toward me, the curls flounced.

“There ya are, Isaac,” he hummed, picking up one of the dolls I had brought and tracing his fingers over its eyes. “Ah, very good, very good. There are more fer ya by the door.”

I gulped warm water from a ragged flask, gagged, and then sighed. “Can’t I be done?”

The carpenter looked up. The stubble on his chin quivered and his blue eyes flashed. “No.”

I stuck out my lower lip and despised the man even while submissively collecting more dolls.

But these were eyeless dolls.

Goosebumps prickled my skin as I held them.

When I stepped outside into the searing sun, I decided to venture down a cooler side street. After a few minutes, I stopped in front of a tall, shaky building full of musty windows. I stared at it for several moments, feeling my muscles tense. Then I opened the door and let light tumble into a molding kitchen. In the sun’s glow I could see two bodies lying on the floor, the rise and fall of their chests almost imperceptible.

A tall man with flaxen hair; a woman with emerald eyes; and then, in a crib, was a tiny baby with hair so fine it was nearly invisible. The cradle was carved with a shaky but loving hand: Lora.

I walked over to the man and pushed the hair back from his face; I kissed the woman on the cheek; and I coddled the baby’s tiny fingers in my hand. I glanced about the mournful room and noticed a mouse limp on the floor by the wall.

I tiptoed over, and placed a teeny mouse doll next to it. Then I squinted my eyes shut, took a deep breath, and pushed down on the mouse’s body. A small burst of air puffed out of its mouth, and two black eyes appeared on the doll’s face.

It’s life was “dolled” for the carpenter.

I stared at the small body while stinging remorse filled my heart until it throbbed. Then I bit my lip as warm tears slid down my cheeks and I clenched my fists, inhaling sharply.

No longer. I couldn’t do this any longer. No more would I be his servant! I refused to steal the souls of the people I loved. 

Even if that meant he dolled me too.

I walked over to the cradle and picked up the baby. She was light in my arms. Then I stepped toward the door.

The sun’s light was golden.

Golden like my sister’s eyes.

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I didn’t mention this above bc I didn’t want to influence you before you read it, but do you think I ought to show more of Isaac’s thoughts, and therefore less of the descriptions? 😀