A/N: Okay, I am attempting a Barbie fic. Basically what this is, is me extending on a drabble written by DeathPrincess182. So credit to her for this.
I don't own Barbie.
This is a Barbie/Monster High type of crossover thing. A doll was made in the wrong way so she is under the impression that she's an ugly Barbie doll.
To Be Loved
I open my eyes – I am surrounded by cardboard and a thin sheet of see-through plastic. The shop is open for the day and I'm late, I know this because of the bell that is ringing and the whoosh of the electronic doors.
I quickly snap my hands back and lean back against the back of my box, allowing the strings to curl around my waist and wrists. They offer some security to an otherwise alien world. My box is where I stay, I've never been out of it. It doesn't mean I cannot talk to the other dolls around me. Next to me are rows of Barbie and Ken dolls and across from me are action figures.
There were small children all over the aisle. No one even spared a second glance at me, because I was ugly, I was a freak, I was, in one word, unwanted.
I was a Barbie doll. Or at least, I'm supposed to be one. Something went wrong at the factory, because I have a Ken doll's feet. Also, all of the other Barbie dolls next to me have beautifully-styled blonde hair, some with pink highlights, they all have on beautiful dresses and high-heeled shoes and some even have wings or fish tails. They have pretty made up eyes and pretty blue eyes.
I, on the other hand, have two different coloured eyes, one blue and the other dark green. I have no hair in the middle of my head, or that's the way it looks, because all of my hair is braced. I also have darker hair than the rest of the dolls.
Some of the Barbie dolls tell me that I will never be loved. I can see why, I'm not very pretty and when I smile, you don't see pearly white teeth, because my lips are shut firmly in an awkward smile. My skin was also not the same as the humans that surround us, mine is light blue.
I once had a friend; she was a Barbie doll who just wore a short, pink dress. She was nice to me and said I was just different than the others, and that it was a good thing. She was bought a week ago. I miss her, I really do, because now when I cry, or rather sob because I'm a doll and dolls don't cry, the others tell me to shut up. We can't cry, we have no tear ducts.
I turn my head slightly, we're not supposed to move, but I do, because I like watching the children and their smiling faces as they search for that perfect toy. Two girls with identical blonde ponytails choose Barbie dolls with wings. Another rushes in and picks up a Ken.
One picks me up and looks at me, but she frowns and puts me down again. As I said, I am unwanted. I am met with frowns and scowls and sneers and leers more than even the villain-toys in the store. But this one, being tossed back, is what hurts most. I feel something, a tear, on my cheek, rolling down and meeting my lips. I don't taste anything, but I imagine that tears are salty. I don't know why, though, just a feeling. Wait, I can't cry… can I?
I was created in a mould with certain knowledge, like what tears are and that the people who buy use are children and toy collectors. I really want to be bought by a child, because I've spent a very long time propped up on a shelf, and I don't want it to continue in a glass case.
One girl comes in; her hair is black and held out of her eyes by a red alice band. She looks at the mass of Barbie dolls, all dressed in variations of pink, before rolling her eyes, as if annoyed. She picks up a Barbie doll and sneers at it. I have to hold back a laugh – Barbie dolls aren't sneered at, because they are so beautiful and popular.
She tosses the box back with disgust, before her azure eyes scan the rest of the shelves. Her eyes land on me, and I fear for my life. She's also older than the children who always buy toys. I guess that she is a teenager; I have never really paid attention to one as I am now paying attention to her. Another tear leaks from my dark green eye.
She rushes over to me and picks my box up, a smile on her face. She opened the box and gently lifts me out, my hands and waist still held steady by the cardboard and string.
"Miss, you can't do that." A voice says behind me, and she lifts her eyes from me.
"I'm buying her, sir, so I think I'll take her out now." She says politely, turning around. She looks down at me again, and stops. She tilts her head, as if thinking, before a small finger wipes the tear that was still on my face away.
I hear the whispers around me – the Barbie dolls don't like her, because she likes a freak like me. But I don't care, she was cradling me in her arms, she was smiling at me as though I was a child. She got to the till and got out some money – I was more expensive than the Barbie dolls, isn't that strange? I cost more than those beautiful dolls.
She takes the string off me and tosses my box in the garbage as we exit the shop and smiles happily as she takes me into a car. Her mother frowns at me, before she ruffles the teenager's hair and smiles widely.
"She's perfect." Her mother says. I am so happy, someone thinks I'm perfect!
At her house, she takes me to her room and places me next to dolls that look a lot like me. All strange, all with different eyes and skins and Ken doll's feet.
I am not a Barbie doll. I am perfect.
…
A/N: Please review!