Not Long At All

Chapter Thirty

     Despite the appearance of the place, it didn't seem to be a landfill. There were no food scraps or bags. Instead it was mostly toys or furniture, like a donation collection gone wrong. Being in the midst of all the discarded items, and dwarfed by the size of the mounds, it almost felt as if we'd become apart of them. Items drifting through a sea of forgotten treasures. 

      It wasn't until after we'd passed several of the piles that I'd noticed the smell. Dusty, like old photo books or a grandmother's attic. It was a soft scent that curled around the items, dusting them in age. Giving in, I leaned into Sarah, my voice low, "What is this place?"

      She shrugged, not bothering to keep quiet, "I'm not really sure. I think it's a place for childhood or something." Her eyes swept over the piles, "I guess it has to go somewhere."

      The longer we walked, the more I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. Whether or not it was by the toys or something we couldn't see, I found myself searching the piles, half afraid that the eyes I saw wouldn't belong to dolls.

      Sarah put out a hand, letting it catch on my chest to stop me. Confused, I followed her line of sight, not noticing anything at first. But then I saw it. Frowning, I watched as a small pile of items began to turn, moving away from the mound it had rested against. I looked to Sarah, anxious to know if we should run. But instead of returning my gaze, she simply stared ahead, waiting. 

      I moved my head to join her, watching as the pile continued to turn, stopping suddenly before slowly making its way towards us. I tensed as the items drew closer. They swayed precariously as if someone were sliding a dismembered jenga tower across a table. Then, suddenly, there were eyes. 

      From underneath the rocking tower, an old women stood hunched, supporting the weight of it on her back. She squinted up at us, her mouth twisting in a frown as she looked between us. Slowly, her eyes traveled from Sarah, to me, to Ziggy. She paused to nod at us, turning her gaze back to the ground before continuing to move in our direction.  

      Sarah's hand stayed frozen across my chest as we watched the woman hobble slowly towards us. As she came closer, the sweet smell of dust strengthened. My stomach felt tight, something about the sight of her pushing my heart into a suffocating stillness. 

      Eventually she stood in front of us, the items on her back precariously leaning backwards as she tilted her head to look up. For a moment she studied me, as if double checking something. Then, nodding again, she reached behind her, pulling something from the pile. Her voice trembled as she turned back to face me, her smile not reaching her gesture, "You've been missing this."

      Reaching her arm, she held out an odd doll to me. The porcelain face was painted like a jester, his cheeks rosy red circles. Frowning, I pushed away from Sarah, grabbing the doll. I could feel her eyes on me as I held it, its soft body dressed in a white and gold costume. In one porcelain hand he held a scepter and the shoes on his feet curled up, decorative bells dangling from the toes.

      Suddenly the world fell still as the doll grinned up at me, the tip of his slender nose broken off. I was sitting. The floor beneath me was cold, the doll jumping from one stone to the other. Occasionally I would turn him over, manipulating his arm to make him wave his scepter in the air. I remembered being somewhere else, walking carelessly down a stone staircase, swinging the doll by his arm. He slipped, elegantly floating from my hand before falling onto one of the steps below me. Rolling, he slid down to the next step, smiling up at the ceiling, his nose broken.

      "And you..." The woman's voice pulled me from the vague images and I looked to where she stood, her hand extended to Ziggy. She pushed what looked like a pocket watch towards him, its gold case catching the moonlight. The woman cooed in her strangled voice, "You could never forget this."