The Dolls’ Cemetery

The Girl didn’t have a home to return to like many other girls her age.

She was mostly wandering around, fascinated by things and places that normally wouldn’t attract any kid her age.

Her appearance too was very much different from any other kid but people –those who could see her-said that she had very delicate features and she could almost be pretty in a peculiar way.

Her very long raven hair whispering in the wind like autumn leaves, her glazy eyes, her vague smile and the worn silk petticoat she covered her fragile frame with had to be quickly caught by the eye before disappearing like a shooting star in the night’s sky.

The Girl didn’t seem to need shoes or extra clothing nor she ever seemed to care about the changing seasons.

In her place there was really only one season; the season when everything lies dormant, the trees are naked but still keep their sleepy eyes open; the season when the only voice heard is the wind and the only touch felt is the snow’s.

The only thing the Girl was plenty of was dolls. She was drawn to dolls more than anything else, perhaps because they reminded her of other creatures, their complexion just so different and their eyes dotted with colours she lacked. Every time she got a new doll, she would put the past one to rest with an unusual ceremony and lay it afterwards under the soil’s blanket.

But  all of her dolls knew that she would always come back next to the tree where the crow liked to rest.

They would appeared then and silently greet her with their hollow eyes.

Posted: April 9th, 2010
Categories: Stories
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2019 All images and content copyright Isabella Thermes