Alive

I think I've imagined what living dolls would walk like.
Not the high-tech robotic ones who are made to walk on command,
but an inanimate object who was handed consciousness,
maybe a soul,
and told to become a living thing,
with no other guidance or direction.

I imagine they'd fall over a lot in the beginning.
After all, we did the same when we learned to walk.
But once they figured out the mechanics of moving by their own power,
I imagine it would look jerky and stiff,
with each movement separate and concentrated.
Forced, where ours are effortlessly coordinated.
The sound of joints popping in and out of place would accompany them,
along with the scuff of their feet upon the ground.

Without fleshy muscles or tendons,
the mechanics would be rough and painful,
as balls and sockets are wrenched apart and jammed back together in sequence,
grinding plastic or wooden limbs together for the sake of movement.

I think observing it in real life would be awful.
It would either make my own body ache in sympathy,
or set off a cruel beating through my chest,
as its painted-on face comes staggering towards me,
its formerly dead eyes locked upon my own.
Moving forward with the single purpose
of asking me the question that is consuming its new mind.
Asking me, what the purpose is to being alive.