Bonded porcelain.

Upon the dusty shelf, the place where she has always been, she looks below at the girl she has known for years.

Supple skin, warmth, bouncy hair. What it meant to be real.

On the shelf, her Victorian dress is bonded to her. She is bonded to the shelf. Her ringlet curls are bonded against her head. She is bonded to the shelf.

Sometimes, at night, the girl would sneak a boy into her room. She admired him, them, what they did together.

She never knew anything but the shelf. She wanted what the boy would give the girl at night. She wanted what the girl had.

Supple skin, warmth, bouncy hair. What it meant to be real.

A box sits by the shelf for a while. The girl, whom she has known for years, grabs her by the hand and places her in the box. She is sealed in darkness and moved to a place cold and damp.

She can no longer see. She is bonded to the box, bonded to her dress, bonded to her hair, bonded to her memories of the times at night and what it meant to be real.

– Jessa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s