I’m like a broken toy.
I’m a clockwork doll or puppet. A small stuffed animal with a freshened scent and shimmering tag. An action figure glistening in the plastic the box protects me with. The parts all accounted for with factory precision and among the aisles of other presents to bring magic to the lives of those lucky enough to find me under the tree on Christmas Day. My magic is simply waiting to be released—a perfect seal for you to cut and break open into as you tug me out from the packaging and hold me in your hands for the first time.
You can feel the soft, artificial material that feels cold compared to the warmth of your skin. A beautiful shine reflecting from the plastic of my body, and uniform fabric sewn into cleverly hidden holes. You softly move my synthetic hair out of the way of my face, gazing into my glass eyes with childish joy. And you can clearly see a toy. A beautiful, fun, lovely play partner for you to take with you and hold close. To you, I’m a tool of joy that follows you wherever it’s taken. It’s me.
It shows you its magic. It glows in the night sky and you see the joins of its arms move slowly and methodically with precision. You clap and cheer with bliss and hold it tight in your hand. Running up the stairs, you grip your fingers in a fist with its torso inside and shake it with each pump of your arms as you climb to your room. It doesn’t respond. It simply smiles with you, excited to fulfill its purpose.
It’s been a few days now. You don’t let it out of your sight. It simply smiles and performs its preprogrammed tricks to you everytime you press the button on its back. You use the small trinkets that come with it to play with it, undoing its screws and looking into its circuits. You fit them back on each time—maybe a tool or two disappear under the dresser, but you never seem to notice. After all, you got other toys last month. There’s so much to play and so little time to put them back in their place by the time it’s time to go to bed. So you say goodnight and turn the lights off, and it smiles at you hoping it was directed at it.
The time hardly matters since you got it. After all, newer toys had come out since then and you can’t be bothered to remember how long you’d had each toy. But your love for them all still stands and you play with them all the same, once more picking up this one and pressing its button and watching how the ball joints roll in their sockets and it slowly clicks into place. You notice it’s moving slowly now, sometimes stalling when trying to bring its left leg up as if it’s trying its best but trapped underwater. You’d open it up, but its tiny screwdriver seems to be missing and lost within the endless pit of the toy box. You shrug, leaving it on the side of the dresser to watch as you keep playing. It smiles once again, happy to be a part of your life as it slowly tips over and falls to the floor.
It’s a clockwork doll or puppet. Its odor has been mixed in with the countless others just like it. Its box has already been recycled into another, containing the newest model. Its parts are scattered and its arm had fallen off a week ago and was somewhere at the bottom of the bin. You find it, and shrug. Maybe you’ll play with something else today. After all, with your birthday a while ago and Christmas around the corner there’s bound to be more than enough toys for the rest of the day. You’re growing up after all, and maybe it’s time to get rid of your childhood toys and move on to bigger things. You drop it into the box and skip downstairs, looking for something to do. It smiles once more, sure you wouldn’t get rid of it just because of its worn out and missing parts.
It’s a broken toy.