Dollhouse |slow updates|

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I am stoic.

My face still reflects the plastic that it leaked back into now, but I can move again.

And so, after being placed at the little girls' Lego set picnic table with my family and a few blockheads, I get up stiffly and walk back to my room.

In the false bottom of my drawer, the shiv lies. But something else lies there too. It's my necklace, made up of the chubby-chubby arms of my Sister. Maybe I should explain.

You see, I used to have a Sister. She had hair like mine, parted by the clash between colours, and the same name. But she was smaller than me - and not the real Melanie.

And so, one night in the toystore, Mrs. Potato Head snuck out using the surgical knife that had conveniently been provided for her. Then she snuck me out and we tricked Sister into coming with us.

Mrs. Potato Head cut and pasted away at her body, as I sang quietly, "Oh, Mrs. Potato Head tell me, is it true that pain is beauty?" Long story short, Sister's face didn't stay together. And so, we cut her apart even more.

And pain is beauty. Sister's pain made my beautiful necklace. Sometimes you've got to make sacrifices for the greater good.

I reach over into the false bottom and snatch it out, then curl her plastic little arms around my neck. It feels comfortable, as though they belong there, where they always wanted to be, just squeezing my neck and popping my head off instead of making me look beautiful.