A dump truck. A doll. Scattered blocks littering the floor. Walls covered in blue and purple hand prints. Barely legible scrawlings across the door. A child’s room sits empty and bleak. A reminiscent feeling of joy and euphoria lingers in the stale air.
One couldn’t walk through the room without breaking an ankle or puncturing a foot on a piece of plastic. But this is exactly how they liked it. This room wasn’t meant for others. It wasn’t meant for adults. It was meant for just them. For children.
Toys piled high in the corners. Mountains of metal and plastic accented by rolling hills of fur and plush. But one seemed to stand out among the rest. Atop a rather high shelf for the height of the other belongings, sat a silly figurine.
A crooked face on top a stump of a body and legs that clutched on by just threads. His eye was a rounded blue pearl, the other a simple white button. His smile was too big for his face and his hair the reddest of reds.
This small, insignificant doll placed high on a shelf. Centered on the board with not a thing obstructing its view. It was never crowded or moved. No other toy dare steal his place. A glowing fog circled around it. Lit from above by a single amber spotlight.
To any other it would be deemed rubbish. A place holder until a new toy could be found. It belonged in the trash and no other place. But to the residents of this room, he was the king of them all. A god among toys. This one special, broken doll was surely their favorite.