By Kath

Once upon a time, there was a cottage aloof, far away from the world. Its inhabitants were a loving husband and wife with their child. They lived happily. When people passed by on the street, they would look up at the mountain and say, “What a happy place that must be!” It looked beautiful and flowery. 

The husband worked as a carpenter. He made tables, chairs, closets, even doors. He never looked at it as a job, but as an art form. His best artworks were his daughter’s dolls. 

The wife worked at a patisserie in town. Her cakes were so delicious! Everyone loved them. I heard once an old lady say, “Eating these cakes feels like eating wonderful colors.” I wished I could agree, but I never tasted them. 

The child breathed theatre! Every week, she made a play with her dolls. She wanted to do operas, but unfortunately, dolls can’t sing. I loved those plays. They were fantastic! It’s not because I played the lead role or anything. The parents agreed-and Aunt Gabriella too (she worked at the patisserie with Lovett). 

Then Lovett grew sick. Ovre brought too many doctors, even foreigners, yet they couldn’t cure her. Each one of them gave a different diagnosis, but all agreed she had only a few months left to live. Ovre insisted that she stop working at the patisserie. She agreed with difficulty. 

Little Juliana saw her mother’s sadness. She prepared pancakes for her and gave her special shows. Juliana was scared of losing her mother. She read somewhere that laughing prolongs life, thus she made her mother laugh at every given moment. Ovre got another job that he hated and worked double shifts to provide for his family. He rarely came home. 

Since Lovett got sick, the cottage grew dim. People noticed our sadness and came to visit. Aunt Gabriella brought Lovett’s favorite cakes. They were so delicious that Lovett cried, “Thank you, Gabriella. I hope my last days are as sweet as this.” 

The guests were disappointed. They expected the house to be more beautiful. “Enough of this,” said Aunt Gabriella. “The poor people are grieving.” 

Days after the visit, Lovett died. A black cloud appeared above the cottage. Ovre hid his sorrow in front of his daughter and kept telling her that everything would be okay. When Juliana slept, he went to his room, closed the door, and cried his eyes out. 

Juliana became silent and stopped making plays. She spent her days with her dolls. It broke Ovre’s heart. One day he asked why she didn’t talk to him anymore. She said: “I have no interest in language nor company. But I love you, and that will suffice because it’s the only thing that matters.” 

Ovre didn’t know how to react. A decision was made: both of them would grieve individually. Juliana got into the habit of staying under the rain for hours. Ovre prohibited her, but she kept doing it. She got very sick like her mother. Ovre brought doctors, but they didn’t help. They all said in unity, “She only has a few days to live.” 

Ovre stopped working and stayed at home with his daughter. She was still not interested in language. I thought they weren’t talking, but I was sure that they were communicating somehow. Strange. 

Juliana died. The rain never stopped above the house. It also lost its light. People became repelled by our place-the cottage that used to be the happiest of all. 

Ovre locked himself in. He never spoke to a soul. He even closed his windows. Ovre never stopped crying. He grew weak and thin because he didn’t eat since Juliana died. 

One glorious evening, he opened his window and called out all his miseries. He was crying out loud, asking for help and patience from all things, starting from the Almighty Power. 

It was so sad I couldn’t help it. “Everything will be okay,” I told him as I hugged him. I had always seen them do that; it might help. 

It didn’t. He got frightened and pushed me away. I heard a crashing glass sound when I fell. 

“What might it be?” He came closer to see who it was. His eyes widened. 

“It can’t be!” he said. 

“Hello! Oh my God! I can speak! I can speak with sounds, not just in my head! Her wish came true. I can speak!” 

I wanted to jump and jump-well, I did. “What is this feeling called? What? I have feelings too! Master, Master, Juliana’s wish came true. Look at me! I think the dead have power over the living!” 

Ovre wasn’t pleased. 

“What the heck is going on? Is God mocking me?” 

“God is not mocking you,” I said. “It’s a miracle.” 

“There is no such thing as miracles,” he said angrily. 

“Yes, there are miracles. They are everywhere. You just have to look good enough. You said so yourself to Juliana.” 

“Listen, young man-or whatever you are- sometimes adults lie to kids to make life bearable.” 

“Oh, that was a lie?” I frowned. I hated lies. I heard that cracking sound again. 

“Listen, listen,” he said. He stopped talking loudly and started humming. “What am I doing talking to my daughter’s doll?” I heard the cracking sound again. 

“Listen, listen,” he said. He stopped talking loudly and started humming. “What am I doing talking to my daughter’s doll? I’ve become insane. Her favorite and only ceramic doll… she loved it more than the wooden ones. I wish I made her more dolls like this one. I did a good job with it.” 

“This is probably a nightmare and I will wake up soon,” he said loudly. 

“You’re wrong. There are miracles. See? 

This is a dream-all things come true!” 

“Really, sir? I’m glad,” I said. 

“I’ll wake up soon,” Ovre said. 

“You’re so funny, Master. You’re not even asleep to wake up.” 

“You know what’s even funnier?” he said. “Believing you’re real.” 

We were laughing. 

“I am real,” I said. 

“Sure, prove it,” he told me. 

I pushed him. I was afraid, but I pushed him so hard-because he was crying. 

“You are real,” he murmured. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Stay away from me,” he said. 

“I swear I didn’t mean to!” 

I heard that cracking sound again, but this time, I felt weak, like falling apart. 

“Come along and I’ll fix you,” Ovre said to me. 

I followed him to his cabinet. I saw others, smaller than me. Hello, they were so arrogant they didn’t even respond. We spent hours there. He stopped fixing me. I saw a perfect picture of me hanging on the wall. 

“When will I be complete?” I asked. 

“You are complete.” 

“No, I’m not. Look at this hole in me.” 

“That’s for you to fix,” he told me. 

“I can’t fix it. I’m not a carpenter and I don’t know how to make dolls.” 

Ovre stood silent for a moment, then said, “Now you miraculously have a soul to fill that hole. You have to feed the soul and discover who you are. Then you become offered a man, like in Juliana’s play-the puppet that became a human.” 

I was going to ask him how, but I stopped when I saw tears running down his face. At that moment, something stirred within me. I felt that I had to soothe him and comfort him. But words wouldn’t suffice; gestures might. 

I patted him on the shoulder and hugged him. It was weird-magically, a part of that hole was fulfilled with colored glass. I was stunned. 

“I see you understand your quest,” he said. “You showed compassion and tenderness. By the small act of yours, it shapes who you are.” 

“I’m tender and compassionate,” I said. 

“The more you live, the more you know yourself. Go live your life, kid.” 

I left the cottage. As I got closer to the village, the sun showed up. It was lovely weather. I saw kids running happily. They were holding some kind of thread attached to weirdly shaped papers. They were flying. 

I asked a kid, “What is this?” 

“It’s called a kite. Want to try?” 

I agreed. The ginger kid asked me to follow him to a high hill. He told me to hold the thread-not too tightly, not too lightly. He asked me to run as fast as I could, and I did. It felt wonderful. I felt like a bird. I was flying with the kite. 

“I love kites,” I said. 

The kid approached me. 

“Adults usually don’t love kites this much. You’re special.” 

“Am I?” I asked. 

“Yes, sir. You love kites!” 

I was finding myself. I felt satisfied. It was a good feeling-fulfillment. 

I had a long way to go, but it was fun. The kids left. I sat on the hill watching the sunset. It was stunning and peaceful. 

“I love nature. I love life. Thank you, God!” I screamed out loud. 

I rolled my way down the hill-unexpected and fun. I needed to find a place to spend the night. 

I stumbled upon a lovely inn run by a sweetheart lady. She let me in. We ate dinner together, and then she showed me my room. There was a mirror. I saw my reflection. I was almost there. 

Compassion, tenderness, love, and gratitude. 

I spent time with the old lady. I helped her with all my might. I learned a lot from her kind words. “A smile can change a person’s day for the better,” she once told me. 

Kindness, patience, and tolerance. 

I also learned that we should be nice to people and never touch them harshly because we don’t know what they are going through. 

Once, I was serving coffee to the customers. Some teenager kept teasing me and making fun of me. I didn’t care at first, but when he kept going, I got angry. I took a cup of coffee. When I stepped out of the inn, a rushed young boy crashed into me. He spilled my coffee. I was already mad enough. I took it out on him and, unintentionally, I pushed him hard. He bled on his knee. 

I was horrible. 

I heard the crashing sound once again. 

I rushed to my room, crushed with self- loathing. 

It was unfair to the little kid. 

I was crying into my pillow when the old lady came to the room. 

“Quit destroying and blaming yourself. It was a mistake driven by anger. With time, you’ll learn how to control it. It’s a good thing that you feel guilty. Acknowledging mistakes is a good trait. It strengthens your principles. Go apologize to the kid. Maybe it will make you feel better.” 

“I can’t. He’s gone.” 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I invited him in. I knew when you calmed down, you would want to apologize.” 

Wisdom, honesty, and forbearance. 

Apologizing to that kid made me feel better. 

I decided to leave the old lady because I felt I had to depend on myself. She was so nice to me. There was nothing I could do to pay her back. 

I traveled to various parts of the world. It was surreal. I learned a lot. The core of man’s spirit comes from new experiences. I had a lot of those. 

It was a pleasant journey. 

I still have a small part left to fill that hole. I wanted Master to know that one day, I decided to come back and visit him. The cottage was darker than I last saw it. I knocked on the door no one answered. The door wasn’t closed tightly. I pushed it slightly, and it opened. I hoped I wasn’t trespassing. 

The cabinet was messy; everything was covered in plastic was he moving? I noticed a note on the table: 

> Dear Arthur, 

If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m dead – whether I did it myself or by another cause, that I’m not sure. 

Since you’re here, I congratulate you for fulfilling your quest. It takes courage to become human, and it requires even more courage to stay human. 

You have to cope with suffering and get along with life. 

Don’t do as I did. I’m a fool. 

Suffering makes us who we are. It’s a part of the life cycle. 

We can’t escape it – we don’t have to escape it. 

There’s beauty in it; once you learn that, you’ll grow a lot. 

I wish you luck in life – never stop feeding your soul. 

Without it, you’re nothing. 

Love, 

Ovre 

Ovre was dead… Ovre was dead! 

No one taught me how to cope with this! They taught me valuable things, but no one mentioned this. 

The pain was so unbearable. 

I was prepared to celebrate with him, to make him happy, to spend a lovely evening. I wasn’t prepared for this. 

The loss of a loved one is an unavoidable part of the life cycle – but why does it hurt so much? 

It hurts because we care, because we love. Suffering makes us who we are. 

Strangely enough, my quest was fulfilled. But I wasn’t happy. 

Well, I was satisfied – but the sorrow of loss was overtaking me. 

I felt a sort of in-between sensation. 

There was something inside of me that I didn’t understand. 

I went to look at the Arthur design. 

He still looked different and better – but we were both complete. 

I was human, and he wasn’t. 

I looked into his eyes and said, “I am Arthur.” 

Copyright Kath, May 2025. All rights reserved; this intellectual property belongs solely to Kath.

About Kath

Kath is 18 years old. Read more of Kath’s stories, sign up here https://www.wattpad.com/user/bookstofilms