A Short Narrative
by Emmaline Westlund
Dollie, by Emmaline Westlund
Copyright 2011 Emmaline Westlund
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My sister and I tore through the house, falling to our knees and sliding across the hardwood floor of the family room, coming to a stop at the base of the tree. It was adorned with brightly colored bulbs and tinsel that shimmered. Beneath the tree, there was a pile of boxes wrapped in shiny red and green paper. An equal amount of boxes for us both, and an equal amount of delight was shared by us both as we shredded the wrappings.
Only two presents were notably different, a pair of expensive porcelain dolls. Mine was stunning: long, thick red curls of real hair framed her pale face, her eyes were aqua, and her dress was a fancy ballerina’s tutu. My sister’s, on the other hand, wore a ball gown fit for a princess, had its thick, black hair plaited back and holding a tiara on the dolls head. Its eyes were dark brown, and, unlike the happy expression on my doll’s face, hers seemed to be scowling.
Almost immediately after opening our dolls, Sis slammed hers against the hardwood floor and started shrieking that she wanted mine, my beautiful ballerina. I was up and out of the room before she could get her grimy hands on it, though.
I managed to keep the doll, which I affectionately referred to as Dollie, safe by hiding her in my dresser under a pile of my make believe costumes. When Sis took her bath at night, I would take the doll out of the dresser, hug her, and brush her hair. Dollie was everything I wanted to be, everything I wasn’t.