Letters to the Fireplace

|Letters to the Fireplace| The First Taste

Dear Fireplace,

Continuing from where I left off last time, I met Ken. He was a new toy of Master’s, and he was kept in the same box as the rest of us. The famous people liked to play tricks on new toys. Always.

But they were all jealous of Ken, I knew. He must have known too. We were the perfect dolls, Ken and I–in the eyes of the others. The usual celebrity dolls had big heads and small bodies. Japanese anime figurines were small and chubby. Ken and I, we rose above them all. Tall. Lean. Perfect.

In fact, the first thing he said to me was, “I’m perfect, you’re perfect, we’re perfect together!”

And I guess my reply settled our fate. “Perfection is always a lie.”

But then again, he was right. We were perfect. Our movies and books all told us the same message–Ken and Barbie were made for each other; they would experience hardship but they would always have a happy ending, no matter which movie they were in.

For the first three months of Ken’s arrival, I believed it. After all, I believed that I was programmed to love Ken, and vice versa. Nothing could separate us.

Ever.

Hey, fireplace, don’t you wonder why I’m now in flesh and blood, sitting in front of you all alone in this haunted mansion? Even if you don’t wonder, I have a question for you.

I’ve never given you fuel. How is it that you keep burning, day and night?

With no love,

Barbie

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