A Simple Song For Amy
It was the simple things that saved Amelia's hope. The miniature police box that appeared under her bed the day after a boy stomped her paper time machine. A doll, custom made and dressed and oh-so-beautiful before her third psychiatrist told her aunt to take it away. It reappeared in her toy chest a second time, but when her aunt took it away again she whispered that she didn't want it to come back. It never did. The way when she closed her eyes, she could almost feel a cool hand on her forehead and hear a soft voice whispering, Hush, now, you know it's all real. Someday he'll come back and you'll see. We're the same, you and I… always waiting for him, aren't we?
It was the teacher—one she'd never seen before, and one she never saw again—that told a little boy named Rory to come over and play with her, and so is responsible for her first friend. It was the feeling that someone was always watching over her, protecting her, that kept her believing. Someday her raggedy Doctor would come back, because he hadn't forgotten her—he'd sent someone to protect her, hadn't he?
~Annmarie