~POV: Lorena~
Once I had a porcelain doll..a lovely little object that I kept on a high shelf above my little bed. I was six years old when my mother lifted the doll off of the shelf and handed it to me, saying, "Lori, love, see how perfect this doll is...she looks just like you, darling. My beautiful little angel, my perfect little girl." She then kissed me and left me sitting on my bed, the doll in my arms. I traced my finger over the curves of the doll's face, observing how flawlessly made it was. As I stared at the dolls face, I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. This was what Mother was planning to do to me...turn me into a doll, a little pet, who's only use is for aesthetics. That wasn't what I wanted to be..I knew that I was so much more than that, even at the age of six. When this occured to me I held my arms out, looking at the doll for the last time, and let it slip from my fingers and break into shards upon the floor. Kneeling over, I picked up a piece of the doll's face and looked into the lacquered eye, wishing that I could break myself as easily as I broke the doll, for I thought I'd be better off broken then on the shelf for the rest of my life. For years, I allowed myself to forget my discomfort and pain, but now as I look back, I realize how right I was, how at six years old I was a wiser person than I could ever hope to be now
Once I had a porcelain doll..a lovely little object that I kept on a high shelf above my little bed. I was six years old when my mother lifted the doll off of the shelf and handed it to me, saying, "Lori, love, see how perfect this doll is...she looks just like you, darling. My beautiful little angel, my perfect little girl." She then kissed me and left me sitting on my bed, the doll in my arms. I traced my finger over the curves of the doll's face, observing how flawlessly made it was. As I stared at the dolls face, I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. This was what Mother was planning to do to me...turn me into a doll, a little pet, who's only use is for aesthetics. That wasn't what I wanted to be..I knew that I was so much more than that, even at the age of six. When this occured to me I held my arms out, looking at the doll for the last time, and let it slip from my fingers and break into shards upon the floor. Kneeling over, I picked up a piece of the doll's face and looked into the lacquered eye, wishing that I could break myself as easily as I broke the doll, for I thought I'd be better off broken then on the shelf for the rest of my life. For years, I allowed myself to forget my discomfort and pain, but now as I look back, I realize how right I was, how at six years old I was a wiser person than I could ever hope to be now