Tin Flowers

First in the series, of 'x' more. Yeah I republished it, problem?

I sit in my room and look at the barren lifeless walls.  Gray mixed with just the right amount of sadness to keep me from feeling inspired to do anything.  One window barred completely.  An iron frame bed with a gray sheet set, and no pillow.  A black night table that has a tray on it with my meal on it, the same as before and always, bread and a glass of water.  Everywhere I look the gray seems to only get darker. 

    She sits over in the corner patiently waiting for something I'd never get to know what was.  The thing that really infuriates me about her however was a simple fact.  It's something she does, it is quite normal and common, and it's something I took it for granted before this was my life. There she sits in the corner and she smiles.

    "Run! Get out of here already!" I want to yell, but I know from past experience it won't do any good, but it still makes my stomach knot with anger and disgust. She  was seated in the corner of her room across from the window, like I was currently, and has her legs crossed and hands folded neatly in her lap.
   
   She always had this life and never knew what the outside was like. She didn't know what it was like to actually be held by anyone; a friend, family, or a complete stranger. She didn't know what it was like to hear anything but the scraping of metal and the sick combination  bruising or tearing of skin.  Yet there she sits waiting, waiting for something that I will never for sure know what, and smiles. 

    If I only I knew then that even  she had plastic wire twist ties holding her legs to the base board under her blue ruffled dress.  That she too was a captive, held in a cell made for her as well.  A doll with pretty brown hair done up neatly in a bun, with brown eyes and lips painted the color of red wine. There she sat in the dollhouse room that was meant to hold her, in her own world.

       A cherry red night stand.  Flowered vintage wall paper adorns the walls like stickers stuck on at the last minute. Baby yellow curtains, with little circus elephants standing up on turned over wooden barrels.  Her bed was made up with lots of blankets that had a large quilt covering it with lots of pillows, even the baseboard was painted to look like cedar. 

    Why do you smile?  Is it because on top of your mahogany dresser, the tall flat Queen Anne one, the one that is based off the one in my room, the one that your doll house sits on.  Where you are forced to look at all day everyday, there is a picture from the past?  From when I first got you and in the picture we are both smiling, the youth on my face and your paint still fresh?  Is this why you smile?

   I never meant for you to see me like this.  Oh how I hope your eyes fade away first, long before your smile, so you no longer have to see out of the corner of your painted eyes see me in such a miserable state.  How I hope your house gets smashed to splinters so that at least the strongest of us both can be free.

    A cell like room with a tiny replica.  One gray and lifeless and the other vibrant and rich with color.  Two girls, both sit chained.  Two girls, both broken.
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Maybe I should I give it up and play his game?
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Maybe then we can play together again?
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Will I smile then?