Letters to the Fireplace

|Letters to the Fireplace| The Stories

Dear Fireplace,

I was the ballerina, and Ken my soldier. As I’ve mentioned before, the others were jealous of us. Divas threw themselves at him, and I dealt with the usual.

“I was programmed to fall in love with Ken,” I’d told myself, over and over again. After our first conversation, we officially met, and no announcement was necessary. We were the one true pairing. We didn’t say the words, everybody just assumed we were together.

And together we were. All the time. I liked him. We had fun. Master had fun with us too.

Day and night, it was Ken and Barbie. If we weren’t peeking from the toy box at the television playing one of our love stories, we were keeping Master company. Master would tell us a brand new adventure we had, and I was always in Ken’s arms.

Always.

At night, when all was quiet and Master was asleep, we would hang out with other toys. They were jealous, but they were kind. Because they knew.

Hey, fireplace. Did you know? The Barbie dolls are actually heartless. When I check the screenshots of the movies I had been in, when I come across other Barbie dolls in the mall, I realize that the smile plastered on our faces never reached our eyes. The kind actions we took were simply part of the script.

“Barbie”, awarded best actress of the universe.

With no love,

Barbie

← The First Taste
The Mansion →
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