The Altered Doll

• Grace Davey, Grade 8, Methodist Ladies' College
• Poetry
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

The cold breeze ruffled my unkempt hair, an unwelcome gesture I despised. And yet I sprinted freely, the dew-speckled grass tickling my bare feet and the bitter wind brushing my skin. I allowed the coldness to sink in. I felt unconditionally fresh, and exceptionally content. But suddenly I caught sight of the shade of pale magenta and of rose, I can still remember effortlessly.
My legs betrayed one another, beginning to sprint in opposite directions until I fell hopelessly beside the doll. Stroking the pink dress, I sat between blades of the soaked grass, the towering hedge offering metres of shade. I stared at the face of my once seemingly innocent and flawless doll with disgust.
The outlines of her eyes were smudged with dirt, which also managed to crawl into the creases of her clothing, her legs, and her feet. Her plastic dress now obtained a shade of darker pink, one I instantly disliked. And finally, miniscule leaves had buried themselves among her midst in an unwanted fashion.
I heard my laugh fade, falling like brightly coloured ink that’s spilt, and sinking through a sheet of parchment. My doll’s life had been ruined, destroyed and eliminated, and I felt every memory disappearing into fragments, into the darkest corners of my mind. Tears blurred across my eyelids, so I wiped them across my cheeks with a fingertip now coated in a fine layer of dirt.
How was this even possible? Could personalities instantly alter, despite my disagreement? Where was the demand for permission, the thought for my preferences? These thoughts engraved themselves into my head and I helplessly attempted to reverse my loss.
But suddenly, as I continued to brush the dirt, my dislike, from her eyes, I realised a new personality had grown during the period I was absent. The satisfaction I felt when I knew this doll was going to be different and individual to all others was astounding.
And so therefore, I wrapped my fingers around her tiny, delicate arm and pulled her into the comfort and warmth of my home, a home I was willing to share once more.