The Doll

November 11, 2010 at 4:10 pm (From beyond reality)

When I was a little girl, a doll pleaded with me to buy her. It was the greatest doll I’d ever seen and consequently I fell in love with her from the very first moment I held her in my arms. I never felt the necessity to change her in any way, like to create new clothes for her, modify the clothes that she already had or to make her a new haircut. Nothing to be added, nothing to be removed. She was simply perfect.

I spent my childhood playing only with that doll, and even though I used to have a few playmates back then, I was always coming back to the doll to confide all of my secrets, my passions and my doubts to her. This friendship was a bit reinforced by my introvert behaviour, I have to admit it.

One day, by accident or by design, the doll went up in flames and turned into ashes. Those ashes… they eventually spread somewhere or took other form, but seeing them on the floor was the most depressing thing a child could see. And it was not the fact that I had lost my doll that made me suffer, but those ashes who were trying to suggest me that the relationship between me and her was not only gone for vacation, but completely destroyed.

Days went by, with my pain growing less and less obvious, until everybody forgot about the whole story. Except me. The feeling of missing her was still rambling through my mind. Then people thought that it was not normal for a person not to have a doll. So they bought me one. When I first saw the new doll, I thought that it was very lovely, but when I figured out that the doll was supposed to be mine, I rejected it immediately. It’s not that the poor doll isn’t big enough to fill that void in my spirit; it just doesn’t have the jagged shape that would fit in there.

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