Four thousand one hundred twenty days; one thousand three hundred eight-seven tea parties; four hundred cuts; two hundred eleven kisses; two hundred six punches; forty, 'I love you''s; seven owners; six different sets of clothes; are a few of the things I kept count of since I could count. I was born a plaything and lived as such, not moving, not speaking, only thinking, but the tragedy at the end of a plaything's life is always the same; abandonment or worse, disposal.

My life as I a remember was almost entirely sitting, forever unmoving; watching, but only what was in front of me; thinking, endless counting. Not a sound made from my rose red lips, not a long eyelash fluttered, a head of black hair flowing and piling on the floor, slender, perhaps too much so, pale fingers laid still on my lap.

I am...

...

...

...forever motionless.

One, two, three, four, five, six... today too I count... seven, eight, nine... one at a time... ten, eleven, twelve... the things I see... thirteen, fourteen... the things piled around me... fifteen, sixteen... until i finish my count... seventeen... I am content when I finish my count...

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...seventeen new dolls.

"UUWAAAAAAAAAAHHH"

"UWAAAAHHH"

"UUUWWAAAAAAAAHHHHH"

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen; thirteen dead dolls. It can't be helped, they we're too young to be good dolls.

One, two, three; three moving dolls.

One; one stationary doll. It looks like my replacement is decided, as I did before, this one will take my seat. Red lips, shoulder length and growing pitch black hair, flawless pale skin, a slim face considering her age. Yes, this one will do fine in m- her new spot.

One, two; two bulky arms carry me gently from my throne. Ahh, what is this sublime feeling of accomplishment I'm feeling? One, two, three... I've fulfilled my role as the perfect doll and plaything to seven daughters of the house, growing out of my doll like physique...eighteen, nineteen, twenty... It feels like I can pass that role with no regrets...fifty, fifty-one... Now what becomes of me?... five hundred seventy-three; five hundred seventy-three steps from the play room.