This is my first attempt to post publicly. I hope you will be kind.
This short story is called Broken dreams.
It is meant to be read after Pony’s “Broken Toys”, but can be read separately.
Thank you for reading.
I wander all alone in my big house. It is full of people. But I am all alone. The yards and trees do not bring me relief. Neither does my room, nor any other place. But I keep wandering from place to place .. maybe.
It is now late in the afternoon. The winter sun is shying away. And I am still restless.
No. I will not go up there. But my feet take me to the foot of the stairs.
I will myself to stop. I order my feet. They refuse to obey me. Silly feet.
I find myself upstairs, and in front of me is the forbidden room.
When I was little I always wanted to go up there. To where my dream was taken away. So one day, I got a bout of courage when I had my best friend with me. That morning, a million lives ago. Together we looked, explored; and to my amazement I was discarded from her life. Instantly. She laughed at me. Said I was weird. She left that day and never again played with the “weird girl”.
Yet today I find myself once more in front of that door. For I know that nothing else will bring me peace. The peace that had been long lost from my life.
And so, slowly slowly I turn the door knob. I don’t know whether it is because I am too scared or too excited. I open it anyway.
The afternoon sun timidly enters the long-deserted room.
I see it.
“In a shadowy corner sits a dusty trunk rarely opened. This heavy wooden box is the home for so many toys that have seen better days. Days when they were accepted equally among all the regular toys. Most days meant playing, entertaining and making some girl feel special. Ah, but within each toy's personal story something tragic went wrong - maybe they fell from a high-shelf, maybe some other accident that broke, or shattered, something vital, causing them to be put away in this chest of broken dreams. Really, no one knows exactly what to do with them. They're not so bad as to throw them out, but really most girls can't imagine playing with them either. It's much easier to not see them. And so.. the trunk it is.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. For a moment there I want to just walk away. But I am immobilized. Like a statue carved out of stone I cannot move, nor can I take my eyes off “the trunk”. My trunk.
A long time ago it was taken away from me. Locked away where I couldn’t go. My beloved toys. No .. my beloved toy was taken away from me. Replaced by a seemingly better looking, seemingly better functioning toy. But no, my heart remained with my old broken toy. My perfect dream toy.
I take slow steps to the trunk. I wipe the dust away gently as if scared it would break under my shaking touch, postponing opening it. So why am I here if I am scared? I know the answer to that. It is because I can no longer tolerate it. This silly existence. This lonely being.
I open the lid, and there is my beautiful broken toy. Sitting there peacefully as if waiting for me to come back to it. As if years of separation were only minutes. Looking at me with amazing hopeful eyes. Willing me to take it in my arms where it knows it belongs. And will always belong.
Does the toy know? Does it know that I am, really, different too? Does it know that I feel closer to this broken toy than the other shiny, perfectly functioning beautiful dolls?
I hug my toy, close to my still pounding heart, and take him with me. Forever.
Does he know how much I want to be needed, loved...profoundly found - more than the working toys could ever make me feel?
I just found the toy that makes me feel whole!