Silent sobs of grief echo around me, as rain is pelting the ground below.
Pelting the lonely grave of my beloved grandmother.
This loss hit me like a tidal wave, threatening to wash me away. Technically, it did. I’ve been crying in the corner of my room ever since, and I went on like that for days, inactive. Everything was so overwhelming, like the car that caused all of this.
Now, our entire family is here to mourn in unison. The rain concedes and cries along with us, offering a soundtrack to the heavy and palpable sorrow that hung in the air.
———————————————————-
I’m organizing my grandmother’s house when a stream of sunlight glints off a reflective surface. Curious, I walk towards the shining object to find a worn-out, abandoned cardboard box full of dolls. Each one possesses a pair of shining marble eyes, their gazes boring into my soul. All of their heart-shaped lips form a delicate pout and the sunrays illuminate the slight flush of color on their radiant porcelain skin.
Attracted, I finish cleaning carefully, carry it outside, and shove it in our car’s trunk.
At home, I place the box in my room and carefully position the dolls onto a weathered, high empty shelf I also discovered at her house.
Perfect.
This collection makes me feel brighter internally, somehow chasing the darkness in my heart away. It’s like having a piece of my grandmother with me, her soft gaze always watching me from above.
A specific doll catches my eye as I neatly place the dolls into rows. I gently pick it up and observe it.
Her perfectly-curled auburn hair bounces as I raise her upwards until we are eye-level. I tenderly comb my fingers through her hair- a muted copper- just like my grandmother. That may be the reason I feel so drawn to her. I name it Laura.
I put the doll at the very top of the shelf, to resemble that it’s my most prized possession.
———————————————————-
I wake up to find Laura seated on the silky carpet of my room. Even though I don’t remember placing her on the ground last night, my mother could’ve done it to comfort me and remind me that our grandmother is invariably with us.
When I approach the shelf to place Laura back in her place, I notice that the dolls are all standing up, when yesterday they were sitting down. All the dolls are in a slightly different orientation. Some dolls fell off, slanted, or turned around.
I assemble them again and hurry to the living room to ask mom;
“Mom, did you move my dolls around when I was sleeping?”
“No, honey. Maybe it was the wind from your open window?”
I nod and trudge back to my room.
It doesn’t take me a while to notice Laura is missing. She’s not even in the house. All that is left of her is a strand of ginger hair, one that points to the open window.
I panic and hurry outside, careless about my clothings. My top priority at this moment is to find Laura, a treasure gone so quickly.
I search everywhere, around the whole house.
Nothing.
Tears blur my eyes and clogs my throat. Laura was the last special piece of my grandmother, my most cherished item that I swore to keep until the end of the world. Yet I’d lost it in a day.
Now, determined to find the doll, I rush to the nearest street and inspect everywhere.
That’s when I find Laura, as radiant as ever, in the middle of the road and smile big.
Before I can even ponder about how she got there, my joy of recovering her moves my feet. I dart across the wide street, unaware of an incoming car. The last thing I see is Laura in my hand, coated in blood.
When I open my eyes, I’m in a strange house, my body as stiff as ever. I’m part of a pile of porcelain dolls, stuffed in an old box. I am a doll.
I perceive a young girl taking interest in the box, and watch as she picks it up, me with it.
Another victim.
