31 Days of Halloween

Maribelle

Cast to the side with a discarded pile of toys - a doll with crystalline blue eyes. Set on the background of flawless porcelain, lined with lush, black lashes, where she laid now with one eye open, the other closed. Outgrown, again. She loved her human girls, but they only loved her for so long. Each time she had been tossed aside, put in a box - for sale, or given to someone less fortunate. Those were the little girls who loved her the most. Holding her, carrying her, talking to her. She wanted to answer them, but that was against the dollmaker's rules. So she remained quiet, taking whatever abuses she was subjected to.

It was always the same, "Look, Mom, look at the beautiful doll! Can I have her?"

"Of course, darling," the mother would reply.

Her journey would start all over. A new home, a new family. Placed gently on top of the cute, pink comforter, surrounded by flowers and ballerinas, or set up on a shelf high above the bed, for all of the little girl's friends to admire. Always ending in the same result, in a pile, no longer loved or thought of, waiting for a new home. Growing restless, she was resigned to waiting.

The sun beat down on the yard as the woman placed her on a table, propped against the stand they thought she needed. The truth is, she could have easily sat there on her own, but she didn't. She played by the rules. Limp, lifeless, her ruby red rosebud lips in a tiny permanent smile. Her hair painstakingly added, a few strands of human hair at a time, now disheveled from being crammed in a box. She had to let the human girls pick her up and hold her, talk about how bad she looks, telling their mothers she was once probably beautiful. Who would want her like this? Someone to love her is all she ever wanted. Love her without giving her away.

"Hey, you, dollface." She heard the words, a murmur among all of the noise.

Unable to move to see where the voice came from, she tried to shift her eyes in the direction of the sound. Her broken, half-closed eye kept her from seeing to her left. There it was again!

"I'm over here. Black dress, blonde hair. I can help you."

Before she should think of a reply, an energy buzzed inside her lifeless body. Her broken eyelid, open on its own. Something was inside her. Suddenly she lifted from the table, the confining stand ripped free from her tiny little body.

"Oh mommy, this one, can I please have this one?" the little girl cooed.

"Honey, don't you want to find one that looks better than that ratty old thing?"

"She isn't ratty and old! I can brush her hair, and there's plenty of different dresses for her at home. I love her so, mommy. Please?"

How dare that woman say she was ratty and old. At least the kid could see she was worth having. Here we go again.

"Fine, but if I find her laying around the house, I'm throwing her out. You're getting too old for dolls anyway."

Anger sparked inside her, a new emotion she didn't know how to process. Something was different, she wasn't supposed to feel this way. While the little girl held her lovingly, a soothing calmness controlled her. When the woman spoke, pure, unadulterated anger flowed from within. She couldn't stop it.

Hanging in the girl's arms as the mother paid for their purchase, she looked around at the other toys left piled in the box and some of them strewn about the ground, where kids dropped them and walked away. As they bounced along the sidewalk toward the car, the thought occurred to her, it was time to go home.

***

In her room, Lauren found the perfect spot on her bed for her new doll. As she rested against the pillows, little Lauren ran to get a hairbrush. Holding her gingerly, she used long, gentle strokes and began to brush the hair. It was different than her other dolls, this was real hair. That meant she could style it and curl it if she wanted, it would be easier to braid.