The Doll

August 19, 2010
I am a porcelain doll. I sit in the corner of my room watching the life of other people with glazed eyes. They don’t know I sit here. They don’t care to look over at the doll in dusty old corner.

My face is cracked, my closed painted smile faded and washed away. My dress is tattered, old with use and stains. My hair is tangled and unwashed. My feet are broken so I cannot walk. My hands are pieced together with old glue. Dust clings to every part of me.

I am a porcelain doll. I have been used, abused, played with, shattered and loved. But I have lived. Now I sit here, waiting, for someone to love me again. People pass through my room, never pausing to even look at the dusty old corner in which I sit. So I wait. I wait for that one special person to see me, a porcelain doll in a dusty old corner.

I sit here, watching the crowd. It’s a party, full of life. Full of joy. There are kids here too. Little boys and girls bounding around their mothers and fathers. My eyes gaze upon these children, my fragile heart beating a little faster.

Suddenly, a little girl with brilliant blond curls spies me in my dusty old corner. She smiles at me. She starts to walk towards me, eyes shining with curiosity. I try to straighten myself up. I know what she is. She is hope.

The little girl waddles over to me, and her arms outstretch. My heart starts to thud louder against my cold porcelain chest. The girl reaches me and picks me up carefully. Oh what happiness! Oh what gratefulness I have for this little girl who bothered to pick up the broken porcelain doll!

As her small arms envelop me in an embrace, I feel warmth race through my hard body.

“You are gonna be my Rosalyn.” The little girl states. She has such a lovely voice, like warm syrup. She cradles me a second longer and fingers through my matted hair. She smoothes over my dress with care. Then she turns around to face her parents. They are looking over here with concerned wonder.

I hear her ask if she can keep me. Keep me! I repeat that beautiful question in my head. She smiles down at me as her parents answer her. I hear them say yes and the little girl laughs with glee. She runs over to them and hugs them, with me still in her arms. The warmth in my body grows into an unbearable fire and I smile brightly inside. I am being kept! Someone wants me! I look upon this little girl and see the smile that cures all the pain in me. She snuggles me close and starts to play with me. And she doesn’t let go of me for the rest of the night….

I am a porcelain doll. My face is still cracked, and my feet are still broken. But my hair is washed and brushed. My dress is new and has many colors. My porcelain body has been cleaned and repainted. My smile is the brightest out of all the other toys.

I now live with a little girl with brilliant blonde curls and a smile that cures all the pain inside of me. She notices me in my corner everyday and she plays with all the time. She sleeps with me locked in her arms at night.

I am a porcelain doll.

And I am loved.

Join the Discussion

This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Lovely_Lauren said...
Aug. 29, 2010 at 5:18 pm

aww thanks! (:

and yeah of course!

thepreechyteenager said...
Aug. 29, 2010 at 1:24 pm

This was sweet.  It appeals to the porcelian doll in all of us.  You personification was great, you really made it feel like the doll was real.

Can you comment and rate my story, "Encounter"?

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