Doll

 

Yesterday I crossed the line between life and death. I wasn't afraid. Fear vanished. Time and space ceased to exist. I couldn't feel my body. I floated lightly, and at times it seemed as if I were floating in the air.

"It's strange. I'm flying above the ground. I see hills, grass, and people. I can peer through the windows into their houses. They can't see me, so they're behaving naturally, but is it appropriate to spy on them?" I asked myself.

I flew away. I felt ashamed, because in one of the houses people were making love.

"No, that's not appropriate," I said with a firm resolve to improve.

Curiosity, however, was stronger than conscience. So I floated further toward the housing estate and began observing the behavior of people in their houses.

In the house I called "the doll," there was a child who played alone with her dolls, and she had a great many. I didn't count them. She moved the dolls from place to place, dressed them, and undressed them. It seemed normal to me, if not for the tears in the child's eyes.

"So many dolls, a room full of furniture for dolls and a child, and yet the child was crying. So where are the tears coming from and why is she crying? Was there still one more doll missing to play with?" I asked myself.

The child perhaps heard my question, because she picked up the doll in the red outfit and began to cry to it.

"Marysia, I have so many dolls, but I like you the most. You're the only one who understands and truly loves me. "

I took on the role of Marysia and asked,

"So where are the tears coming from?

" "I'm always alone. They never have time for me. They're always running around, doing something.

" "Who are they?" I asked

. "Mom and Dad.

" "Aren't you exaggerating?"

"No. When I come home from preschool, they tell me to mind my own business because they have to do something. I don't know what, but they never have time for me. I have to go to my room, sit quietly, and not disturb them. Sometimes I want a hug, but I have no one to cuddle with. When I start crying, they give me money or buy me a new doll. I have lots of them, but I only love you.

Everything has died inside me. This child is maybe five years old and has felt the lack of parental love. In a big, beautiful house, he was lonely and rejected. The expensive furniture in his room didn't make him happy. The large collection of dolls didn't make him happy. He only wanted love and affection, and that's exactly what he didn't get. He felt like another porcelain doll that adults had bought for themselves. When they remember her, they play with her and put her away. I couldn't listen to the child's wailing any longer, as everything inside me boiled. I wanted to scream with all my might, but I remembered I was a ghost, and ghosts don't scream. I moved toward the child, not caring if I scared him.

"I'll come back to you, little one. I'll ask God for permission to come to you more often and give you an angel's love," I whispered into the child's ear and flew away.