My NAME IS MARY JANE.

My name is Mary Jane. I used to be a living doll.

I had freedom. I could talk. I had a choice. I could do what I please. I had
emotions. I could feel. I could feel a lot.

I was the most beautiful doll in a toy store. Then someone owned me. She treated me like her baby. Bathed me, combed my hair, dressed me up. We would eat together, go to the park, watch the stars. I was happy belonging to her. Until she began to outgrew me. She began to cut my hair, let one of my arms dangle, and leave me soiled & sticky for days. She would abandon me on the porch and leave me for the night. Sometimes she’d use me to smack her dog. I was heartbroken. But there were times, when the sun shines bright and the flowers bloom and give colors to the world, she’d hug me & kiss me and tuck me in with her in bed. Those moments would sustain me, give me the will to live. Those were the moments that would give me reasons to watch over her every night, to shoo away all evil spirits, to chase away bad cats and sinister fairies who wish to steal her dreams. Those were the moments that make me say to myself that I’m alive. That I’m a living doll.

But, alas, like dreams that fade when we wake up, like books that are closed after the last chapter is read, everything has come to an end. As childhood is outgrown, her love for me began to wane and she took more to a doll called Barbie. I was so jealous. I would cry everytime I watch her comb its synthetic blond hair. I would die with envy everytime I would see her play with it on a thing called dollhouse. It stirred hatred in me that I would call the bad cats and let them drag the long-legged doll outside the house. She would always cry every time she would find it outside. And I would die again, everytime. I breathed my last when one day, she looked at me and said, “I would give you away, it’s for the best. Her name is Sarah, she’s an orphan. You will make her happy.”

I belong to Sarah now.

I don’t cry anymore. I don’t think evil thoughts anymore. I don’t feel jealousy or anger anymore. I’m not a living doll anymore.

I’m just a rag doll.

But Sarah is happy. And she is happy.