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⋘ - ⋙VekylzikiFemale
The Worst
Username
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She sails through crowds
as if she is a god, looking down
on the populace beneath.
People are like rats to her,
squirming and groveling at
her feet. She prefers the
company of books. She can
hide in books, fit into their
niches, live amongst
inked words and musty pages.
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═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════I remember when I was a little girl, when I loved these things: plush toy dogs and cats; Barbie dolls with
smiling white faces and obscene proportions; little plastic figures with their appendages forever frozen
in one place. They all lived in their own fantasy world. Each one was a real, breathing being in my head,
brought to existence by the simple fact that I adored them so much, that I invested hours into every last
one.
I fling Maria—a plastic horse with chipped paint—into a bag; she clatters with all of the others. Pulling
myself up, I look around the room, dragging my tired eyes over the brightly lit pink walls. This is—no,
was—my room. Hard to believe that I lived here from the age of ten to eighteen, keeping all of these
toys with me, and now that I’m moving out, I’m only just starting to clean them up.
I scan the bags full to the brim with old playthings, and I shudder. They all lived in my fantasy world
and now they don’t; in a way, they all died. What would it be like, to be a figment of someone’s
imagination? What would it be like to be a toy, loved until I’m no longer loved, then tossed away?
Actually, I know what that feels like. She—Eliza—threw me away, and I can’t help the anger that burns
as I think of her, and the sadness, and the pining. I’ve tossed all of these toys away, just like she did
to me. But the toys never really existed; they were always toys. I’m real.
I wish I were a toy. That way, if someone callously throws me away again, I’ll just slip out of
existence; I won’t feel pain.