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  • Molly was the smartest doll in the dollhouse. All the other dolls talked about their hair and makeup all day, and their favourite time of the day was when the little girl took them out one by one and changed their outfits.

    “Oooh! Look at my gorgeous sundress!”

    “I’m so pretty in these capris!”

    They would squeal and giggle all day. Molly had little tolerance for them, and instead would occupy her hours with the neglected bookcase at the back of the dollhouse. She would take her pick from the dusty tomes, and sit cross-legged upon the floor of the dollhouse, shutting out their childish babble.

    Molly knew a lot of things that the other dolls didn’t. She knew why the grass in the little garden around the dollhouse was green. She knew about leadership and diplomacy. (Beyond the pecking order that had established itself in the dollhouse, of which, she, being the plainest little doll, was bottom of the heap.) She knew there was life beyond the dollhouse.

    Molly knew that soon, the little girl would tire of her and the other dolls. She knew what happened to dolls that had outlived their appeal. She wanted desperately to see life beyond the dollhouse and playroom. She wanted to be free to roam the world, and do as she pleased.

    One day, Molly saw her chance. The little girl had taken all her dolls out to play, and had neglected to put them back into the dollhouse, as she usually did, ever so neatly. The playroom door was open!

    When Molly alerted the other dolls to her intentions, they scoffed.

    “You must be crazy! Our dollhouse is so pretty – why would we want to leave?”

    “The little girl clothes us and plays with us every day. What more could we possibly want?”

    But Molly wanted more. And so she left, on unsteady little feet, that were not used to walking distances further than that from the living room to the bedroom of the dollhouse.

    Clickety-clack, clickety-clack went her high-heeled feet upon the marbled floors. She wished the little girl had given her comfortable sneakers to wear today. But no matter – she was free! Finally, she could explore the world and see the amazing things that the books told of.

    Molly walked the entire length of the living room and saw that the front door was open. Smiling dreamily, she imagined romantic nights under Arabian star-filled skies, sipping champagne with a handsome (and intelligent, of course) prince, who would show her far more about the ways of the world than she could read in any number of books.

    She imagined endless days at sun-kissed beaches, learning about the marine life that fascinated her so. (There were no beaches at the dollhouse, and no fish in the swimming pool.)

    She imagined herself as a Nobel prize-winning scientist, who had discovered the cure for AIDS.

    She imagined herself helping thousands of little dolls like her previous self, trapped in a meaningless existence in a dollhouse prison. (For she was a big believer in giving back to the community.)

    She imagined herself, leader of the revolution of dolls, all championing worthy causes and refusing to be merely aesthetically pleasing playthings. She imagined dolls and humans alike, looking up to her, bowing down to her.

    Caught up in her reverie, Molly hardly realized she had walked out the front door and halfway across the street. With a start, she looked around and saw that her right arm had somehow dislodged itself from her torso, which was rolling slowly into the gutter. Her legs were a flattened, twisted mass of beige, right in front of her face. Horrified, she looked down and found no shoulders attached to her head and neck.

    Unfortunately, her books, which had equipped her so well for this adventure into the real world, neglected to mention one important fact.

    Cars did not stop for delusional dolls to cross.
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