The Doll

A silent doll sat atop a lonely shelf, her head raised to the ceiling. Dust gathered at the hems of her dress, while cobwebs found their way from her extremities to the wood below. Her eyes are glassy and green, though their beauty has dulled through the years. She is a beautiful doll, a doll many a child would love to have, and yet she sits atop this lonely shelf, forgotten and lost.

So many years ago, though not as many as she thinks, she used to be the admiration of a young child with bright eyes and a hearty laugh. She was creative and beautiful, and the doll loved her, and loved being held in the delicate arms of her owner. Her only aim was to please the living being, and she found she did this quite well. The child wished to take her everywhere, though, naturally, the mother would not let her. When the child was informed that her doll had to stay behind, she threw great fits. On the occassion the doll was lost beneath the toys in her toybox, she would be forced to lay, helpless and mournful, as she heard the lonely child's sobs deep into the night. Only when she was found again did the child find happiness. The doll was happy, and wished for it to never change. Often, the child promised she would always love the doll and would never leave her for anything. She swore that she would never abandon the loved toy, and that nothing could ever replace her. Oh, if only the poor, fragile doll knew what lies this child of hers spoke. Perhaps then she could have severed her close connection with the girl.

Some time ago, the child fell ill with a strange sickness that made her babble and rant. The doll would be left, untouched, for hours upon the floor, or perhaps half-hidden within the folds of the bed. She came to worry about her poor owner, who seemed to become farther away each day. The child began to throw the doll more often (the doll had been used to an outburst of anger now and again, usually directed towards her parents, but nothing of this magnitude). She began to break here and there. Her face began to crack, and her delicate paint began to chip away. Once, the child, mad with fever, ripped the doll's dress purposefully, simply for the desire of feeling something delicate give way beneath her frenzied hands. The doll began to fear the child, and even hate her, and yet there still lingered the strands and reminders of how close they had been. She could not bring herself to hate the child entirely, and began to hate herself for it, even blame herself for the child's reactions. She came to the conclusion that she was insufficient at comforting the child; that, through the years, her age had lessened her beauty and the child found her to be hideous. She wept silent doll tears for nights on end.

Eventually, the child's parents took the doll away and placed her high out of the grasp of their daughter. The doll imagined she heard the child fussing and crying for her, but it came to pass that she was truly imagining things. The child never stirred in her feverish slumber below, though she muttered strange and hateful things in her sleep. The doll became numb and felt empty without the love of the child, and let herself fall victim to the spiders and vermin that roamed the rafters high above the girl's silent head. She cared not that her dress became dull and faded from the dust and beasts about her, nor that her fractured arm had finally weakened and fallen beside her. She merely stared above, deep into the darkness amongst the beams, her silent tears continuing to slip from her soulless eyes as she sat. She thought she had accepted that she had been forgotten and no longer meant anything to the child she had once loved, but then she would catch the sound of the sickened child's voice upong a breeze, and she would hope that, perhaps, this would be the day that the child comes for her again. But, of course, these were merely fractured hopes raising in her fractured breast, laced with the savagery of pain.

And so here she sits, alone and forgotten, waiting with an empty hope for someone, anyone, to come and find her and love her again, for that is all a doll is good for. But no one comes. That is, until the child has a friend come to play. The doll had heard small parts of the conversations between parents and daughter, sometimes arguments, sometimes pleadings, of a desire for a playmate to come and entertain. The parents felt that their daughter need to be isolated from the world, for they felt her to be far sicker than she was, though in reality the child was terminally ill. They gave in to the child's pleads and demands, and allowed her one friend. But only for the daytime.

The doll hears the two children entering, and recognizes the voice of the other as a girl she'd met long ago, at a similar playdate. The laughter of only one reaches her ears; her child is silent, and she feels the tension of the ill one. She wonders what shall transpire this day, for she had witnessed early that morning that the child was having one of her fits. She hears the voices talking, trying to think of some joyous activity to do, when something catches her attention.

'What is that up there?' she hears the visitor inquire. She feels it is in relation to her, all alone and shrouded in the dark.
'Oh, she's just an old doll.' There is a hint of disgust in the ill one's voice. A twinge of pain stings the doll's hollow breast.
'Why don't we play with her?' The other sounds eager.
'No.' The ill one is harsh, her voice cutting deep. 'She's broken and dusty. I don't like her anymore; just leave her there. She's no good anymore.'
'Nonsense!' The visitor seems determined. 'A doll is always good. She probably just needs to be fixed some and she'll be as good as new.'
'No, leave her there. She's just an old doll. She's no good, and I don't like her. Mum and Dad don't want me playing with her, anyway.'
'No, I want to see her.'

From the corners of her eyes, she sees a pale hand reach up over the edge of the shelf. The warm hand of a human girl wraps around her waist, severing several of the webby chains that incarcerated her. She finds herself being lifted down, and is cradled in the arms of the new child. The ill one looks haggard; not herself at all. She is a stranger to the doll, for she feels hatred emanating from the other's form, and she is frightened. Silently, invisibly, she clings to the other girl for fear of being broken and battered more.

'She is beautiful. How could you put her away like that?' The girl strokes her dusty hair, and begins to clean her with the hem of her skirt.
'She is old and broken. She is no good.'
'You keep saying that, but she looks fine to me. Nothing I can't fix.' The girl pauses, wiping the screen of dust from the doll's eye, and she finds she can see the brilliance of the world again. 'My mother is a dollmaker, you know. I'm sure I can find something to fix her.'
'She is missing an arm. She's no good; she's broken.'
'Well, that just makes her special then.' Another pause. 'What did you do to her to make her like this? She looks like she's been hurt. You didn't do this, did you?'
The ill one doesn't reply. She merely stares off to the side, her eyes pointed to the floor.
'You didn't...how could you? She is so beautiful! She looks like she loved you very much. How could you do something like that to her? You're horrible!'
'I didn't like her anymore and she wouldn't go away.' The ill one's voice was flat.
'That doesn't give you a right to hurt her like this! You're horrible.' The doll finds herself being clutched to the breast of the new girl. 'I don't know you anymore. I'm taking her and mending her, and I never want to see you again. You're horrible.' She begins to walk towards the door, and the doll feels a strange burden being lifted from her frail and battered body. 'I'd hate to see what you do to a human who you don't like anymore.' She walks out of the door, and then pauses yet again to look over her shoulder. 'You're ill. You need rest. Go to bed. And don't come in contact with others; you might infect them.'

The doll feels a strange, relieved smile form within her frozen, fractured face. She has been found by one who loves her and will not leave her. She silently clings to the girl, a strange joy swelling within her broken breast. She bids a final farewell to the ill one, thankful to be gone from her dungeon, and looks forward to a new life, and a new love.