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Ragdoll
She used to sit here laughing with us. Now, however, all that really remains of her is an empty shell. She takes all the pain around her as her own, yet never cares for herself. She who dressed in bright whites and blues now hides behind dark blacks and bloody reds. Now, we can only watch as she wounds herself, becoming more like the ragdoll she calls herself. Do you want to know her story? Do you want to hear about the little ragdoll who smiled through all the pain in the world, yet was broken by love?
She used to sit here with us, and in fact, she still does, except, it’s not her anymore. She used to be happy and bright, and no matter what anyone said, she was our strongly beating heart, even if her own was frail, both emotionally and physically. She could walk through all the sorrow and pain in the world with a smile, lending her helping hand to those who deserved it and would take it. Now she breaks at the slightest hurts. What happened to our heart? Who shattered our fragile little heart?
She used to sit here with us, helping us with her problems when she could. Why, then, couldn’t she get through her own? Maybe, it’s because none of us could help her. None of us knew that our heart was dying. She put aside her own problems, until they were too much… Then, one day, she suddenly stopped beating. It took one word, nothing more. He said good-bye and walked away. Still, she smiled and said, “I understand, and I forgive you…” Then he was gone, and so was she. Our fragile little heart broke apart, and now the pieces lie in the snow.
She sits here with us, a ragdoll dressed in black and red, still smiling, but not out of happiness. She smiles with pain, now, forcing it as only someone at the end can. Our fragile heart broke and froze in the unforgiving snows, and as white powder falls she takes up a shining knife and stares at her reflection in it. With a smile, another cut is made upon the heart. She’d given him her heart, and now there’s nothing left. Now we can only stand and watch as our heart destroys itself.
“Silly little ragdoll standing at the brink of death. You found the truth you wanted to find, and now you find that you don’t want it.” She chants for gods that cannot speak. She condemns herself to misery, yet, has never shed a tear. She continues to lend her hand, but only reluctantly. She speaks in riddles, or with cynicism, or not at all. Some have told her to finish herself. What holds our heart back from the black void of death? Hope holds her back… The hope that can only be had by someone at the end… The hope that he’ll come back.