Sweet Blossom — The Doll

I am a pretty doll.

I was made to make children happy. To sit with them during tea parties. To wear little dresses. To sleep beside them at night. Childhood is supposed to be the most beautiful time — when dreams feel real, and everything can be okay.

That’s what I was made for.

She called me Blossom. Her name was Anna. She had soft hands and quiet eyes.
When she smiled, it was like a little star in a big, dark sky.

We played in secret. She gave me tea, brushed my hair, told me stories when no one else was listening. She said I was her best friend. Her only friend.

But the house was not kind. The man she called "Dad" was loud. He shouted too much. He didn’t like toys. He didn’t like noise.
He especially hated it when Anna made mistakes.

One day, he took me.

“Why are you still playing with this junk?” he said. His voice was sharp like broken glass. He grabbed me and stuffed me in a black trash bag. It smelled like rotten food and old smoke.

The lid closed. Everything went dark.

I lay there, quiet.

Dolls do not know time.

Later — maybe that night, maybe later — I heard the bag rustle. The lid opened. And there she was.

Anna.

Her hands were shaking. She pulled me out and held me tight. She didn’t cry out loud, but tears were on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re all I have, Blossom.”

After that, things got worse.

He hit her again. Sometimes she had marks on her arms. Sometimes she limped. She didn’t talk as much anymore. Just held me in her arms and stared at the wall.

Days turned into nights. The sun rose and set many times. Sometimes I heard birds outside. Sometimes the house was so quiet, even the walls seemed to hold their breath.

Then came a night with a full moon.

The light came through the window, bright and soft. It touched her face. She looked so pale, like the light was making her fade away.

And she spoke.

Very softly.

“I liked the yellow dress Mama bought,” she said. “I felt like a flower.”

Her hand rested on mine.

“There was a garden once,” she said. “It had pink and white flowers. It was real. I think.”

Then, after a long pause:

“I want to see the sea. I think it’s blue. Like your eyes, Blossom.”

Then she got quiet again.

Her breathing slowed.

And then… she stopped.

I waited.

I didn’t move. Dolls don’t cry. Dolls don’t shake. But I felt something deep, like a crack in my chest that would never close.

Then noise.

Fast footsteps. Loud voices. Someone crying. The door opened hard.

“She’s not waking up!” someone shouted.

A man with a square box spoke into it. His voice was fast and tight.

“Girl, maybe six, no response. Sending her now.”

Gloved hands lifted her from the bed. Wires and blinking lights followed. They didn’t see me fall to the floor.

I rolled under the bed and watched.

They took her away.

And then the room was quiet again.

I don’t know how long I stayed there.

But then — a soft light came.

Not from the ceiling. Not from outside. It came like a warm glow, like something kind. And in it, Anna stood.

She was wearing her yellow dress. She looked like she did in her dreams — no bruises, no pain. Just Anna.

She smiled and held out her hand.

“You can come with me, Blossom,” she said.

I wanted to go. I wanted to be with her forever.

But I didn’t move.

Because maybe another girl — somewhere — would need me. Maybe she would need someone to hold, someone to tell her secrets to. Someone to love her when no one else did.

Anna understood.

She smiled again, the kind of smile that feels like peace.

And she left with the light.

And I stayed.

Still broken.

Still waiting.