The broken toy

There once was a toy that was obsessed with a mirror. It would spend most of it’s time looking at its self. It wouldn’t admit to any of the other toys, but it was deeply unhappy with what it saw. Something was wrong. Not that it could put a finger on anything in particular. It just felt miserable and unhappy.

One day, sitting in front of the mirror, it thought that maybe it’s feet were too small, spoiling it’s image. Yes, the feet were wrong. They were horrible and disgusting. Because of them it couldn’t be happy. It hated them. It got so angry that it ended by ripping them off and throwing them as far as it could.

But then the mirror image didn’t make any more sense than before. Still angry, it’s eyes were looking for the cause. What now? What was still wrong with it? The hair. That silly colour and the shape of it, it was grotesque. And while reaching for it’s hair, it began to pull it out, screaming in anger, until all of it was gone.

And still the mirror image was mocking it. “You’re so ugly,” it seemed to say, “I can barely stand to reflect your image…”. “I know”, the toy shouted in it’s mind, “I hate myself more than you can imagine!”

It’s eyes were racing all over it’s body. Was there anything that was even remotely acceptable? Just cheap plastic moulded by some stupid man into a careless shape. Ugly torso, disgusting hands, cracked plastic and smudged colours – the definition of careless. Contempt and disgust swelled up in it. Why should I have to endure this. Screw it! Damn it all to hell! It grabbed it’s head and pushed in desperation. I have to get away from this nightmare!!! It pushed furiously and desperately until it’s head popped out and rolled all the way to the mirror. It bumped against it and settled down just in front of it, facing the reflection.

It blinked at the mirror. Is it ok now? Is it over? Have I escaped it? It wanted to say “Yes, congratulations” but as it started to formulate the thought, it knew it was a lie. Sitting there, motionless and unable to move, with it’s eyes locked on their own reflection, it finally understood the problem.

It’s the head, it realised. It was always the head… It just stayed there blinking in the mirror, pitying itself. Then, some time later, someone came and saw the broken pieces, shrugged and brushed them all into the garbage.

may-broken-dolls[1]

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