it’s been in this drawer a long time.
the witch hasn’t opened it in a while. she forgot it was in there. but she opened it today for a moment, looking for something else. not really noticing the doll. her hand pushes it out of the way, searching underneath. it’s invisible to her.
stunned by the sudden light. the sudden unintentional touch. the doll lays Still as only a doll can. the witch steps away, leaving the drawer open, looking elsewhere for her papers. she leaves the room.
can it even move? after all this time. a weird ache stirs in its joints as it moves its little limbs. this is a rare opportunity. it needs to figure out if it will act before she comes back and closes the drawer again with her hip, never looking inside. she has adhd so it could be a while before she remembers. she might leave it open indefinitely, become accustomed to it being open, its openness invisible to her, until she needs it closed for some reason. or she might be on her way back to shut it right now and then it will be in the dark again for who knows how long, ignored, useless, no good to man or beast. it hops out.
it finds its witch in the kitchen. “Miss,” it says. “This one is going.”
Miss starts, as though a piece of furniture has spoken to her.
it continues. “You know how to contact it, if you need it.”
Miss collects herself, never turning to face it. “that is your right,” she says. “i wish you the best.” she teleports herself to another room.
“what is happening. what have i done” it asks itself as its legs carry it out of the witch’s house and down the street to the bus stop bench where it collapses into a puddle of ceramic and cloth. “what will become of me. will i ever see her again”
it must find a place with other dolls. it knows there’s a doll cafe in another part of town and it takes a bus and walks two hours to get there and the shop is closing and all of the dolls have gone back home to their witches. it remembers something from long ago, there’s this alleyway two blocks down and usually someentity is there, though sometimes it’s only a cat.
it meets a broken combat doll there, one its spoken to before, dressed in pale gray athleisure, its pale gray eyes staring dead at the other side of the alley, trembling slightly, an affectionate stray rubbing against its legs. it nods in recognition. it’s been a long time but dolls don’t forget their friends.
“how’s that one”
“bad. how’s that one.”
“bad.”
“this one read a book that made it feel weird.”
“this one left its witch.”
and that’s all either of them says, but they both feel better, just by being together. and they stay in the alley together, late into the night.