Chris Smith

The Doll and The Room

A porcelain doll in a white dress, arms reaching to be held by someone; imprisoned by the room that held it now. Undisturbed and forgotten, left to rot and waste away. The smell of mold and rot filled the air as dust slowly drifted through shafts of light coming from the window. A rocking chair in a corner creaked as though it were raising its head to see who had entered the room.