The Dolls’ Cemetery



Written by Isabella Thermes
Edited by Hassan Morsy

The girl didn’t have a home to return to, unlike many other girls her age.
She was mostly wandering around, fascinated by things and places that would surely cause any other child distress.
Her appearance too was very much unlike the other children, but people –those who could see her– said that she had very delicate features and was almost pretty in her own peculiar way.
Her long raven hair, whispering in the wind like autumn leaves danced a silhouette ballet, orchestrated by the breeze.
Her glazy eyes, her vague smile and the worn silk petticoat that covered her fragile frame had to be quickly glimpsed before they vanished like a shooting star in the night’s sky.

The girl didn’t seem to need shoes or even much clothing, nor did she ever seem to care about the changing seasons.
In her place there was really only one season, the season when everything lies dormant.
When trees are naked but still keep their sleepy eyes open, when the only voice heard is the wind and the only thing felt is the frosty bite of bitter snow.
The only thing the girl had plenty of was dolls. She was drawn to dolls more than anything else, perhaps because they reminded her of other creatures, their complexions just so different and their eyes dotted with all the colours she lacked. Every time she got a new doll, she would ceremoniously put the past one to rest and lay it forever after under a blanket of soil.
But all of her dolls knew that she would always come back next to the tree where the crow liked to rest.
They would appear then and silently greet her with their hollow eyes.

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2018 All images and content copyright Isabella Thermes