Day 67 - Dollhouse

 DOLLHOUSE

Prompt - Dollhouse : Write a poem or short story from the viewpoint of someone living in a doll house.

I wonder if it will be today.  I wonder that every day.  Fear of being found out, fear of the unknown.  Fear of being crushed.

I think I've been here about a year now.  It's hard to keep track of time.  Especially when you don't know when time began.  With consciousness I suppose, but that developed over several days.  Or weeks maybe.  I have no way to measure it.  All I know is that I was once like my fellow inhabitants.  Inanimate, voiceless, lifeless.  Subject to the whims of a child.  Or, worse, her friends.  

There are four of us.  A nuclear family I suppose.  Mother, father, daughter, son.  And dog.  Why should I be the one to find life?  Will it ever happen to any of the others?  I used to check every single day, once I'd understood what had happened to me.  Or not understood, but accepted.  I was alive, they remained toy dolls.  My husband and children and pet remained plastic.  Remained toys. 

When She picked me up the first time I almost cried out.  Of course it wouldn't have been the first time for her.  Did she not notice the changes in my body?  The flexibility?  The warmth?  The eyes that looked up into hers, pleading to be set down, pleading to be told what the hell was going on?

Stupid child, She never did.  And I have had to create stratagems that reduce the number of times She wants to touch me.  Every night I change the scenario She left behind, every morning. She fails to notice, just wants to play.  

I have made a life of sorts for myself.  So far I haven't worked out a way to escape.  I could leave, yes, but where would I go?  How would I survive?  In here I can find, forage, food, shelter.  There is a bed in the doll house, plates and cutlery to eat with, chairs to sit in.  It is a life, of sorts.

But my world is changing.  I am accepting that it is only me, will only be me.  If there others like me then they are outside this house.  I am accepting that one day, if I don't get away, She will do me injury I cannot live with.  If not Her, then one of the occasional friends She brings to see me, and my family, and my home.  The only She calls Sheel is to be feared, and I do my best to keep out of her way.  I still limp from the twist she gave my leg.  Sinking my teeth into her finger had just enough impact to make her sting and let go.

No, it can't go on like this.  I must risk all, must pack what I can carry and make my way into the world.  It is not a world for tiny people like me.  Or is it?  The only way to find out is...