Living Doll (Dropped)

I hate sitting. There is nothing more painful, more tedious than sitting. Sadly, that’s all I can do. I will spend the rest of my days sitting around, waiting for someone to purchase me. But that will never happen.

I am a used good. I am not new enough to be neat and proper. I am not old enough for people to appreciate my endurance. I am nothing more than the unfortunate byproduct of some foolish child’s reckless adventures. This body of mine, with its squeaking, wooden joints, and fanciful, tattered dress, they’re all worthless.

But that is not why I am upset. No, the true cause of my displeasure is that I have no recollection of the life I once had. It’s as if everything that had once brought me joy was ripped out of me the moment I was brought into this store. The only thing left for me, is the sweet embrace of death, if I’m even capable of passing on.

I didn’t realize it until I snapped out of my fit of depression, but someone has their hand around me. I know that they probably want to tear me apart, but I’m too happy to think about that. I’m just happy that I can feel the touch of someone other than myself. Alas, this embrace was short lived. I was soon placed on another cold, hard counter. This one was much noisier than the one before, which was uncharacteristic of a used goods aisle. Is there a new section for “unique pieces of firewood”?

The hand returned, only to shove me into a plastic bag. A human peered into it, and whispered to me.

“Hey, are you ready to see your new home?”

New home? What did they mean? I knew better than to be excited, but I couldn’t find any other way to interpret their words.

Perhaps I could finally experience happiness. I was removed from the bag, and was placed inside of a shaking room, filled with white noise, and a fuzzy ceiling. I couldn’t help but smile, curious about life outside of the store.

Eventually, the room stopped shaking, and the hand which had freed me from my hellish afterlife picked me up, and presented to me a modest house. A little girl ran out from the front door. “Daddy’s home!” She cheered.

“Look, sweetie, Daddy brought you a present!”

Hearing those words, I almost couldn’t contain my excitement. Finally, I could experience the bliss of being wanted. The father handed me to his child, who then quickly ran back inside and brought me into her room, and set me on her bed. Filled with childlike wonder, she spoke to me. “So, dollie, what’s your name?”

Out of an odd reflex, I replied to her question. “I don’t have a name.”

The girl gave me a frightened look. “You can talk?”

“Of course I can talk. I-Is that strange? I can stay quiet, if that’s what you would like.”

“No! You’re a special dollie. Can I call you Lisa?”

“Of course, you are my new owner, after all.”