Image credit: Shchus/

Mommy went away.

Little doll left all alone, in a household vacated by a family too much in a hurry to see what is left behind.

Mommy is gone.

Animated plastic thing, with something more within, reaching the window to look out, see them depart. Little breaking plastic heart.

Mommy come back!

A little girl looks up to the window as the car drives away. One child looking from a backseat car window up to her old bedroom window, seeing something she can’t quite make out. Little doll seeing herself being seen, but not seen, all at once.

Mommy see me!

This family never knew what it had in the doll. They never understood. Even the little girl hardly cared for the ancient history of the doll, its passage through their family generations. They were part of the modern world, where everything is fast and throw away.  Even little dolls. You can always buy another.

Mommy doesn’t love me!

Perhaps they should have taken more care. Perhaps they should have paid more attention to the past and its legends. Perhaps they should have understood the solemn way the maternal grandparents talked about the doll and how special it was, how it had a life of its own, and that it could bring great life to its owners.

Mommy has betrayed me!

Things that can bring great life can also bring the opposite. To every power, every love, is a shadow. One that can reach over miles, over distances too great to even imagine, reaching out to find its prey, its destination. The little doll had a mighty shadow, and it was growing, growing, in its anger and rejection, reaching out.

Mommy will pay!

From the window it couldn’t really have seen its handiwork, but I suspect it did on some other level. Little doll, up at the window, casting its shadow. The family weren’t important in society. The car crash didn’t even make the news. And they didn’t make it to their new home. If the doll wasn’t going to get there, neither were they.

(c ) Helen M Valentina 2018

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
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