She sat there, in a rose-red chair, looking pale and lovely. Her clover-green eyes stared out blankly at her construction paper bedroom. Her golden (though slightly yellowed) mane lay stiffly, as if each strand had a straitjacket covering it. Abby liked her looks, at least most of the time. Sometimes, when presented to a mirror, she'd gaze at her snow-white complexion and sigh. She would think, Well, my nose looks like a 1st grader drew it, and I think that my eyes are crooked. She would just have to get it fixed the next day.
Occasionally her boyfriend, Joe, would visit. Always strategically placed in her crimson chair, he smiled at Abby mechanically. Sometimes he rather reminded her of a doll.
Abby longed to flee this life of laziness, wished that she could do something spontaneous. She felt so...flat. Knowing that this was another hopeless dream, she'd cry in her golden four-poster bed. At least, she'd attempt to cry. Abby's slightly off-kilter eyes never produced tears. No mascara soaked the cerulean throw pillows, no sobs issued from Abby's alabaster throat. Abby's faces actually never changed expression. A sparkling smile always graced her thin face. Her emerald eyes never ceased to glow happily. But inside her (much too slender) body, she felt no joy. She felt like someone's puppet.
Kimmy stretched and yawned, laying back on her comfy twin bed. She nudged off her heather gray comforter and padded over to her mahogany desk. Resting on its surface was a doll's room, drawn on construction paper and filled in with crayon. Kimmy had done the best that she was capable of, but she WAS only a 1st grader.
Kimmy slid the drawing over to where she sat in a worn-out office chair. Her father had let her keep it, after much begging and pleading. As she moved her artwork, a piece of paper fluttered onto the navy-carpeted floor. Kimmy bent down to retrieve it. She dusted the cat hair off of her new favorite doll. It was a paper doll, cut from a piece of white construction paper & drawn on in colored pencil. Unfortunately, the doll's eyes were a little crooked, and her nose hardly looked like a nose at all. Settling the doll in her red chair, Kimmy squinted at her unhappily.
"Looks like your time is almost up, Abby," she remarked. "You're ripping at one arm, and your legs are crumpled!"
Tossing the doll carelessly in the direction of her golden bed, Kimmy turned her attention to her brother's G.I. Joe action figure. She sat him down on Abby's bed, colored with her brand new gel pen.
"Say hi to your girlfriend, Joe!" she squealed happily. "Go make kissy-face! Or she'll be mad! Like Mommy gets when Daddy doesn't kiss HER." Kimmy touched the dolls' faces together rather aggressively. "Mwa, mwa! There, now everyone's happy!" She grinned at the inanimate objects.
Abby felt a twinge of pain when Joe's hard plastic nose jabbed her delicate face. He was never the best kisser.
Kimmy put down both toys, and scampered over to the bookshelf. Her calico kitten lay at the base of the black wooden shelf, purring contentedly. Kimmy began to stroke him gently, scattering cat hair all over the dark carpeting. The kitten extended his chin, purring loudly when Kimmy scratched in his favorite spot.
Kimmy's wooden door was violently thrown open, exposing a bawling, red-faced little boy of about 3 and his incensed mother. Without a word, her mother stalked in and snatched the G.I. Joe off of the desk and handed it to the now-calmed little boy. Then she turned a glaring eye on Kimmy.
"How many times have I told you not to steal your brother's toys? How hard is it to keep your hands to yourself, Kimberly Annette?" her mother snapped.
Kimmy's bottom lip trembled. As her mother turned on her heel and stomped out of her room, Kimmy's tears began to fall. She looked at her best doll, now boyfriendless, and started to sob. She shuffled over to her pretty artwork and grabbed Abby.
"You were a dumb doll anyway!" Kimmy snarled. She marched over to her garbage can and promptly tore the doll to shreds.
Since the hearing is always the last to go, Abby's last snatch of the world was Kimmy's mother screaming, "You said 'I Do' too, Steven! You were at the ceremony! How hard is it to kiss your wife goodbye?..."
Kimmy dusted the last of the construction paper scraps from her palms. She didn't need Abby OR Joe. She'd just make herself a new pair of paper dolls.