I Was Natalie's

My home is the shelf, the cold, dusty, old shelf. It has been for quite a while. I sit next to nothing but a plastic bull won at the local fair. My porcelain skin is unable to feel the change of weather, unable to reveal the emotions hidden behind the glass. My life is a constant nightmare where you need to run from an inevitable evil, but your feet seem to be distant from your body. A constant nightmare where you need to scream, but your voice seems to have drowned in the pits of your soul. My life is an un-optional silence. No matter how much the desire to grasp onto my ancient friend grows, I will remain still. No matter the pain that I witness, I will remain in the shadows. Not by choice, but by design.

It hasn’t always been this way.

I remember when I was first brought to the little yellow house on the curb. When I was first placed in Natalie’s warm arms. When I finally caught a glimpse of the coziness of a family. We would run around the yard for endless hours. We would have tea parties on the back porch, climb trees, build forts, and watch butterflies soar in the distance. During the times of sadness and hurt I would always be there for Natalie to cling onto. She would wipe her tears in my hair, for which Mother would always scold her. She loved to wear princess dresses, a certain lavender one in particular. She made mud pies in it, rode bikes in it, and went adventuring in it. What a peculiar sight this must have been for outside spectators who did not know the creative little girl to whom I belonged. Mother made it last as long as possible with patches that resembled the calm after a great storm, but there came a point where hope was no longer found. The dress did not last forever, just like any temporary object.

Just like me. Just like Natalie.

Soon enough the princess dress I had grown to know and love was replaced with something a bit less...imaginative. The tea parties became less frequent, the forts were not as elaborate, and the mud pies ceased completely. I spent most of my days snuggled between the fluffs of pillows, gazing out the window into the sun, so warm, powerful, and mysterious. Occasionally the door would swing open then slam shut. Natalie would rush to me and cry in my hair. I was never able to get a word out, but sometimes presence is all that’s needed. The tears of scrapes and scratches turned into tears of insecurities, confusion, thoughts of helplessness, and devastation. As the tears became more and more somber, Natalie became more and more distant. Soon enough, I was moved to the unspeakable - a place of dust and abandonment.

Slowly, something in Natalie changed. The joyous little girl I spent endless days with disappeared, and I had to watch it all from a distance. She stopped chasing after the light and let the darkness take over her mind. She stopped believing in herself and let the lies of this world speak falsely to her heart. I watched as confusion rushed through her soul like a rancid fire. I watched as the enemy of destruction devoured her with a quick, simple slice. Each drop of blood gave destruction strength from her weakness.

I wanted nothing more than to embrace her and show her how beautiful she was. How special she was. How joy can be found in this broken world. I longed for her to shut out the whispers of despair. However, longing without action is like a fire without a flame.

I began seeing less and less of Natalie. One night, after a prolonged absence, Natalie entered. Despite the changes, there was something different. There was an eerie calmness about her. I watched as the decision was made. I watched as the twine, thick and sturdy, took away the thing I loved most. Unable to move, unable to speak, I watched my best friend pass through my fingertips.

I was Natalie’s, but now I belong to the shelf.