Doll

Round face, with pink tinted cheeks, the lightest red of roses. Button nose, small and almost invisible, a small raise on the white china surface. Upturned lips, smiling delicately, painted with graceful flicks of a paintbrush coloured to match a robin’s red belly. Eyes, large and clear, framed by dark curling lashes, and irises green and sparkling like emeralds, looking somewhere into the distance, observing quietly. Hair, soft and smooth, tumbling in gentle waves, curled in dark ringlets. Small hands and small feet. A Victorian dress, red, velvet and printed in graceful curling shapes. Sitting on a soft bed.

The gentle inhale and exhale. The steady heartbeat of a child. The small chubby arm wrapped protectively over the cold inanimate doll with green eyes that stare into nowhere, ever vigilant of the sleeping form beside it. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the fluttering eyes, the way her cheek presses against the doll’s pink rounded one. The clock keeps ticking and the Sun and Moon slowly revolve, the stars twinkling away, the pink and gold sunrise peeks through the hills.

Giggling children on a short table, covered with a white cloth, with teacups arranged around. Small hands tenderly picking up the doll, fondly bringing it to the other children, being passed around, admired. Gentle hands, cradling the doll, placing a painted teacup on its rosy lips. Chubby hands, dirty but soft, holds onto the doll on the sweet fields outside. Feathery hats, lace dresses, dolls sit together, watching children run.

Cracked face, whimpering sounds, a child hand holding a piece of white china. Careful callused hands, steady and firm, glue the pieces back together. A small line on the doll’s temple. A crushing hug, gentle kisses on the cheek, and the doll is back outside. Little girls crowd around, happy the doll is mended.

Round face, on the ground, red painted lips against the wooded floor. Forgotten, arms sprawled out, dress crumpled. Small but leaner hands caress another face, another doll. Blue eyes, blonde hair, a smile that was a doppelganger of the doll clad in red.

On the floor, attentive as the child opted for the imposter. Staring at the wooden floor, memorizing the shade, retaining the texture, engraving each little detail. The clock ticks loudly, but there is no steady heartbeat. The pink and gold sunrise shines through the window, a different view at a different angle.

Unneeded, in the company of the abandoned. Whispers from lost horse figurines, forgotten parts of tea sets, missing pieces of long discarded puzzles. Light footsteps, in and out of the room, never once paying attention to the doll. The familiar hum of the furnace, the cheerful chirp of birds, the tedious pattern of the Sun and Moon, signifying the passage of time.

Round face, a crust of dust, on the highest shelf cramped at the farthest corner. Head cocked up, staring at the intricate spider webs. Blonde hair, blue dress, thrown carelessly on the shelf as well. Awkward hands, ladylike but growing, fly across shining screens. Rainbow cases, patter of keyboards and the hum of the television machine.

Peeking down, watching over the girl, sprawled across the now larger bed, a bed the red clad doll never slept on. Late night talks on the phone, the furious patter of game controls. No need of protection from the curling shadows of night.

Taller and taller the child grows, trading pigtails for long locks, pink frilly dresses for ripped jeans. Light filters through the window, as the doll watches the dust flutter down, thickening the air, adding to the thick blanket on the deepest of corners and greying its rich brown hair. Boxes of old books and sparkling crowns shoved beside the two dolls, red and blue.

Round face, wrapped in a thin piece of old clothing, lies under old photos of lost memories and forgotten friends. Box lid closes, and the loud sound of tape scratches them shut. Staring into the fading cloth, movement and the feeling of weightlessness. A loud sound as boxes hit the attic floor, creaking floorboards as people bumble down.

Sounds of laughing faint and distant, familiar smells now all vanished. A dream that ended, a life that ceased. Erased from memory. Sounds from far below. Light never comes through, the gold and pink sunrise fades from mind.

Tearing of tape, loud and clear, rings trough the foggy mist of dust. Shuffling noises, objects move above. Lifting the photos, light streaks through. Warm leathery hands, weathered with age, gently wraps around a round faced doll.