Once upon a time there was a girl. She had very few toys to play with because her family didn’t have a lot of money. The toys she did have, she loved. She would take them everywhere she went. When she played outside, she would bring them along and they would have picnics or go on “field trips” to plants that were tree-sized to her toys. She would have them climb the “trees” and they would play underneath as well.
One afternoon she began to carry the toys back home, after a wonderful trip to the “mountain”. As she brought them down the hill, she tripped, fell, hit her head on a large rock, and lost consciousness. When she awoke, she couldn’t remember who she was, or where she was going. She looked at the toys laying where they had been scattered.
Her doll’s arm was in a position that seemed to be pointing toward the forest. I don’t know where else to go, she thought to herself. She didn’t know why, but she felt a strange connection with the toys. As if they knew the real her, and they cared about her.
She needed anything that might know more about her than she remembered. She started walking toward the trees.
As she entered the forest her heart started racing. Something didn’t feel right. A crow called out. Bushes rustled. She felt a chill run down her spine. Everything within her told her to stop. But the doll…she thought.
She moved on into the darkness. As if on cue, a tree branch snapped just when she was thinking of turning back. She looked toward the sound. A bear was staring at her. As she made eye contact, it charged. She turned to run and it was upon her. Tearing her apart. The last thing she saw was on the forest floor. There lay her doll, with its arm pointing out of the forest back to the hill.
Moral of the story: Sometimes a toy is only a toy. No matter how much you want it to be more.