Broken Porcelain

"I turned from the mirror and pulled on my plastic shoes and painted smile..."

 I sit infront of the looking glass; the one that was once mama's but now is mine, and stare in wonder at who I see.
 

 She's a doll-small and pale and lifeless.

 She used to be pretty; the prettiest little doll on the shelf. Everyone wanted her. Everyone loved her.

"Look at her hair, curly and gold,"
To hide the burns from the iron her mama would hold to her ears.

"And her eyes! So shiney and bright!"
From tears that never fell.

"I wish I were that thin!"
Never a bite to eat.

"Her lips are so red and full!"
Swollen from and chapped and bleeding.

"So beautiful."
Beautiful-yes that's what they saw. A pretty little doll with her painted on smile. Her porcelain mask.
 

 What they don't see are the the cracks. The bruises beneath the lace, the ribs beneath the skin, the pain beneath that pretty face.
 

  Sometimes the doll dreams that someone will come, and rescue her from har glass case, and take her to a place were there is no more pain, when her eyes will shine from joy not sarrow.
 

 But no one does. And the fall from the shelf to the floor is far and she knows if she tries to jump she'll break. Just like mama.

  I turn from the mirror and pull on my plastic shoes and my painted smile and head off to school-hoping that maybe today someone will care enough to pick up this broken porcelain.

Reviews

[E.V. Black]

The only real criticism that I would have to say to fix about this is some of the spelling. Really, those mistakes are minimal. As a read this, it felt to me to be a poem in story form. From my heart, this was one of the shortest stories I have read. Also, it is one of the most heartbreaking. Besides some minor errors, its beauty really does shine through.