To describe Tommy was to say the beginning of a riddle. What could see but couldn't speak? What could sense but couldn't feel? What could think but couldn't act? The answer, of course, was Tommy. His glassy eyes could observe the world around him, but not even a whisper could escape his painted lips. He had a vague understanding of the world around him, but emotions came and went without a name or adjective to describe them clearly. A level of sentience pulsates within the wood that his body was carved from, but not a single hint of motor skills that would allow him to show people that he was aware. He was very aware.

His first owner had been the man that carved him. Tommy was made into the likeness of a child who had died as an infant. Tommy supposed that he must have been the soul of that child, but he didn't have anything to base that assumption on. All Tommy knew was that once the last detail was etched into wood, he saw the world through marble eyes. His first owner wasn't good or bad. The woodcarver had given Tommy away within a day of his conception.

His second owner had been nice for a little while. He had brown curls and bright eyes. Though he was much larger than Tommy, the doll could tell that his second owner was nothing more than a child. And Tommy was that child's best friend. He was given his name by that child. Though the child's brother insisted on the name Theseus, the child stubbornly clung onto calling his doll 'Tommy' or 'Toms'. The doll didn't mind. He was a toy meant for his child's amusement. Whenever his child was happy, Tommy was positive that he reflected that emotion in what could have been his heart if he had one.

Tommy watched as his child went from a lyricist with a guitar to nearly empty young teenager. Tommy ached when his child (no longer a child in age) would stare with empty eyes as his fingers bleed from guitar string cuts instead of bandaging them. Tommy was washed in his child's tears, a smile permanently carved onto his face even when he felt like doing anything but smiling. Tommy watched helplessly, wishing on every star he could see from the window for the ability to speak, even for a night, to let his child know that it was okay. It would all be okay. Even though it wouldn't. Even though the stars ignored Tommy until he gave up. Until his child went from depressed to psychotic.

Tommy was the punching bag. He was thrown across the room when his child was angry. He was the only ears permitted to hear the screaming of a madman. Tommy was there, just watching, as his child crumbled into a young man that laughed at everything. Tommy was trapped in that house as his former child set it on fire. The last Tommy saw of his child was a man who looked remarkably like him being dragged away to an asylum, getting stuffed into a strait jacket.

Tommy wished he would have been given to the boy with fox ears that his former child had been fond of. Instead, he was handed over to a boy wearing a green shirt whose father had horns and a bottle of whiskey. Tommy didn't dislike his third owner, but it made him feel the same way his second owner did when he was sad. His new child would play quiet games with Tommy, and the two of them would hide under the child's bed whenever his father went on a drunken rampage. Tommy wanted desperately to do something, but no amount of willpower would make his limbs work. If they could considering the state his second owner had left them in.

After a mere two weeks of having his new child, Tommy was being given away again. His new child had caused an accident with his human friend, and the both of them were being sent to boarding school. Tommy could have waited for his child, no matter how lonesome it would be, but his child's father threw Tommy away the hour his child was gone. Tommy was left in a trashcan to rot away.

He probably would have rotted had his fourth owner not come along. Unlike his second and third, the fourth owner was a young adult. Tommy wasn't taken because the fourth owner wanted something to play with but because his recognized the craftsmanship. Tommy was made by a man named Phil, the last of the dolls Phil ever made. He was valuable his new owner had mentioned to his friends as Tommy was brought to his new home. Tommy was placed in a wooden box with a glass lid, left to collect dust in an office room. Tommy wasn't a toy. He was a collector's item. At least, Tommy thought warily, he was now useful. Unlike with his second and third owner, Tommy's fourth found Tommy to be enough as a decoration of wealth. Tommy didn't have the urge to calm emotions. He didn't feel so helpless.

Tommy had a front row seat to the cruelty of his fourth owner. From brutal killings to blatant manipulation, Tommy saw his fourth owner destroy lives in every sense of the expression. Tommy felt a new kind of urge awaken in him. He wanted his owner gone- maybe even killed. It was a new emotion that Tommy wasn't familiar with. Why did he care about human life? He was a doll. That was all he ever would be. His fourth owner wasn't a bad person. He had given Tommy a purpose. Tommy had been saved by his owner from feeling worthless. Someone like that couldn't have been Tommy's enemy. He was Tommy's friend.

While his owner was out, Tommy's box was teetering with a gust of wind. That would have been fine, but Tommy's box ended up falling backwards, out the window and the house. The box hit several things as it went down, the latch being pushed open. Tommy fell out. While Tommy landed on the ground, his box was carted away when it landed in a man's carriage. Nobody seemed to care about the face-down doll in the dirt until Tommy heard a horse approaching him.

Tommy was lifted up from the ground by a strong and graceful man with long pink hair. A set of reddish brown eyes gazed at Tommy with an unimpressed snarl of his lips. Tommy knew he was going to be left again, but the man's eyes illuminated with recognition. Seeing the brightened expression, Tommy had his moment of remembrance. This was his second owner's brother. That theory was confirmed when the man called Tommy 'Theseus'. Tommy was taken by the man, probably as a token of his lost brother.

Tommy was left to sit in the pack on the man's horse. Tommy learned that his new owner was a warrior. He went to many battlefields. Tommy's painted smile was the last thing some soldiers saw as they were cut down. Tommy watched the horror as his new owner whispered about something called 'chat'. His fifth owner would slaughter dozens of people with a few swings of his sword. Tommy couldn't make his body turn away. He couldn't cry for the deaths. He couldn't scream in outrage or even have a real panic attack even though he knew that his human version would probably do that. Tommy stayed with this owner for a few months before he was left at his fifth owner's house.

His second owner came once. He didn't remember Tommy even though they had spent years together. Tommy blamed it on the man's mental fracturing. His childhood memories of being lonely and depressed along with that year of insanity was probably repressed so much that Tommy was forever forgotten. Tommy wished that he couldn't feel anything at all. Even though there was a perfectly natural reason that Tommy was forgotten, it stung to know that he was so easily tossed into oblivion. Did his second owner care about him at all? Was Tommy nothing but a passing joke?

Tommy didn't get to dwell. He had another flash from the past when a man with half-white half-black skin took him to a snowy cabin. Tommy knew his third owner even though his appearance had changed drastically in the years they had been apart. His third owner was still something of a child but he had his own child. Tommy hoped that he would become the child's toy, but his fifth owner took him back to his house even though Tommy wanted to protest. He was glad that he had at least gotten to see his third owner all grown-up. Tommy was always curious what had become of the kid with an abusive father who would clutch Tommy tight enough that Tommy could hear his heartbeat.

Good things didn't last. Tommy was thrown-out once again. Similar to how he left his fourth owner, it was an accident. Tommy had been dropped from his fifth owner's pack. Tommy landed in a puddle on the ground. Tommy was sure that he had seen his first, fourth, and fifth owners together in a battle. His third owner was cradling his son in the trenches with that half-and-half man hovering around them. Tommy had been left there long after the battle was over and everyone left.

Tommy was alone for weeks. The puddle he was in would dry, get refilled with rain, and dry all over again in a near endless cycle. Nobody had come back for Tommy. He was alone with a smile on his face that he wished he could break off. He had been forgotten again, and it hurt worse than his second owner forgetting him. Memories of everything Tommy had seen but never been able to affect flashed in his mind until he felt like he had lived too many lives.

Tommy was found once more. The man who picked him up had an almost kind smile with hands that felt like they were cradling glass. The man with green hair and sulphuric yellow eyes. The man cradled Tommy all the way to his mountain home. Tommy was shown to the man's son and daughter. Tommy would have been happy to have children a long time ago, but Tommy couldn't force himself to feel anything despite his stupid smile.

Tommy's sixth owner was an inventor, Tommy learned. He showed his children (and inadvertently Tommy) two walkie talkies. The daughter clapped her hands with a wide smile while the son pretended to be uninterested. Tommy felt extreme pain when his chest was opened. He couldn't scream or cry or wail when the fucking walkie talkie was placed in his chest. Tommy was closed back up, but the pain persisted like a predator chasing after prey. The man turned the walkie talkie on. He tried saying something into his, but only static came out of Tommy's mouth. The man frowned. When he reached for Tommy, something came out of the static.

"Kill..." Tommy was able to manipulate the walkie talkie inside him. The daughter squealed at the word. The son jumped back, his duck wings fluttering in fear. The sixth owner hesitated around Tommy's torso. Tommy took this opportunity to continue. He wasn't threatening his new owners. He was begging. "... me... please... I can't... do this... anymore."

The sixth owner's eyes widened. The daughter peered around her brother's shoulder to stare at Tommy. The son blinked warily. Tommy kept begging. He used every ounce of willpower that was left thrumming in his chest to beg for a release. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't keep witnessing atrocities and being thrown away afterwards. Tommy was done with being alive enough to care about others but not enough for people to care about him. With a smile on his face that he couldn't get rid of no matter how terrible he felt, Tommy begged and begged for them to just smash him into little pieces to be burned later. Tommy didn't know of they did it, but he was suddenly, blissfully, unaware of the world. If he was human, one could say he went unconscious.

———

"Hello?" A voice filled the silence that had been taking residence in Tommy's mind. A darkness was over his eyes, but he found that he could control that darkness. Within a moment, light filled Tommy's vision. He could see colors molding together to create images. His sixth owner stood in front of him with red dust sparkling along his cheek and screwdriver in hand. His sixth owner took a step back to look at Tommy. His owner trotted to the left and to the right to get a complete glimpse of Tommy. To his surprise, Tommy was able to follow the movement. Not with his eyes but with...

Tommy looked down. Hands made of grayish silver metal shimmered in front of him with pipes and wires peering through the cracks of where where the joints met. Tommy flexed his new fingers with something like childish glee. A slight ache blossomed around his face, and Tommy saw his vision get soaked in something watery, like when his second owner's tears landed in his eyes. Tommy realized with a start that he was crying. Not clear tears like everyone else but with red tinted droplets like blood mixed into water. Tommy felt his face to find that he wasn't smiling. His lips were set in a firm line. The lips twitched into different emotions: a grimace, a frown, a snarl. Tommy could mimic every emotion with his face.

"I'm glad you like it. I was able to extract parts of your doll to make an automaton shell for you," His sixth owner said with that same kind smile that he had worn when he first found Tommy. He started to remove his gloves while talking. "It was difficult to make the proper body. I wanted to allow for human functions like crying and laughing. In the end, I was able to put everything into place. I don't doubt that some of the reason why it turned out so well is because of a god's help. If not, I must be a better mechanic than I thought."

Tommy stumbled to his feet, throwing his new arms around his sixth owner's shoulders. His moves were lanky and jerky, but he was able to bring his new owner into a hug. Tommy continued to sob until he felt he couldn't anymore. He didn't know if it was because his new body ran out of tears or if that was the level of human in him. Tommy pulled away from his sixth owner, holding him at arm's length. For the first time in his short life, Tommy smiled by choice. It wasn't a painted smile. It was a grin of happiness that he had never been allowed to have. "Thank you!"