I watch the other toys play down on the ground, running and chasing each other. Why can't I play like that? Because I would break. Break into a million tiny pieces. Porcelain dolls aren't meant to be played with, we are meant to be looked at and admired. We aren't even considered toys.
Jessie runs and tackles Woody to the ground. She's wresting with him, and by the looks of it, she's winning. Why can I play like that? Because I would break. Break into a million tiny pieces. Break like my heart is broken now.
I'm never taken off the shelf, and I am never admired like a porcelain doll should be. Do I even have a heart? I'm nothing but empty space on the inside. Nothing. That is what I am. Buzz's helmet shines. Why can't I shine like that? Because I'm porcelain. My skin is soft and delicate, but it will never shine.
Woody's sheriff badge sparkles in the sunlight that comes through the window. I look down at my arms and legs. Nothing. Not a sparkle. Not a flash. That is all that I am. Nothing. My what used to be white dress is now covered in dust.
I am never taken off the shelf. Why? Because I would break. Break into a million tiny pieces. My blonde hair no longer shines, and my blue eyes are empty. Because I am broken. Shattered. Forgotten. Why? Because I broke. Broke into a million pieces.
Or at least….it feels that way…. I hear footsteps on the shelf. I keep still. Maybe they will go away. Cowboy boots appear next to me. I look up, to find Woody. He's smiling at me. "C'mon Isabelle, come play with us," he says. Is he joking? He must be. I look away. He sits down next to me, and gazes down at the ground.
The rest of his gang is down there, waiting for him. "It has to get pretty lonely up here," he says, still not looking at me, "It would be a shame for a pretty doll like you to spend her life up here." He gets up and leaves. I watch him go, but don't ask him to stay.
The next day, he comes again. He sits, he talks, and then leaves again. He comes back the next day, the day after, and the day after that. He continues to come and talk to me. The next day, he doesn't sit next to me. What is this feeling? I need something. I want something. Is it…him? Or something else?
Friendship. That is what I long for. And so I cry. I cry for Woody. I cry for friendship. I cry for everything that I can't have. That is how he finds me. Sobbing. Alone. He doesn't say anything; he just sits with me, and waits. My tears stop, but I still feel the pain. "C'mon Isabelle, come play with us," he smiles. He holds out his hand. "B-but what if I break?" I ask. He continues to smile. "I wouldn't let that happen. I promise," he says. No one has ever promised me anything, and I feel unsure about it. But suddenly, I find myself smiling. He continues to hold out his hand, to hold out the chance of friendship and happiness. And so, I take it.
:)
