Lost little doll

Shot of a retro doll on the floor of an old building. Darkness around. She's missing an arm. Forlorn and alone, away from her cocoon. What would it be like to be her? Lying in the darkness with all the time in the world to think. Unable to move as your arms are stiff. Painless reflection as the dust falls gently and thoroughly onto your face. Layers forming as years pass. You eyes begin to fade and you skin turns to grey. But your essence is there, immortalised in plastic. The form and shape with which you were born. Frozen forever in this dark emotion. Terror is not a word you know. Terror is not a word you need. Your calm face will stay that way, reflecting on life and waiting for the opportunity to love some more. No fear is the way, to pass through the world. Calm and collected, no matter how bleak things are. As long as you remember who you are, you can always become that person and more. The doll on the floor, all alone, not afraid. Hopeful and restful. Waiting for the day to become herself once more.