Collector

Anna sat cross-legged on the floor of a dusty, windowless room, a
doll clutched in her hand. The only light in the room was from two
small fires burning on the concrete floor on either side of her that
bathed the room in a comforting orange glow and set flickering shadows
dancing on the graffiti covered walls. The smoke gently curled upwards
and was sucked out of the room through a jagged hole in the
ceiling.

The room around her was filled with old, discarded items in various
states of disrepair; a silenced radio, a rusty bike, a carriage clock
with hands that no longer moved.

Her collection.

Anna brushed back a matted strand of greying hair from her eyes and
gazed down at the piece of moulded plastic in her hand. The pink dress
the doll wore was as filthy and tattered as the clothes Anna wore
herself, though it was considerably prettier than her ragged trousers,
sweater and jacket.

Anna licked her thumb and wiped the grime from the doll's face, as a
mother would with a child. She lifted the doll to her face and one eye
slid closed while the other stared back at her, the flickering fires
reflected in the hard, black, glassy orb.

Anna closed her eyes and stroked the dolls face. In her mind's eye she
saw a young girl sitting in a garden, playing. She imagined a perfect
summer's day, the well tended grass bright emerald green in the
brilliant light of the midday sun, birds singing a beautiful song as
they swooped through the cloudless blue sky above her.

The girl got to her feet and ran to the great tree that stood
majestically at the bottom of the garden, the doll clutched in her
hand, her pink dress flowing in the gentle breeze. When she reached the
tree she sat in its leafy shadow, grateful for the slight drop in
temperature it's shade granted.

The girl sat there beneath the tree for hours, playing with her doll,
feeding it, changing it's nappy, talking to it as if it were a real
child of her own.

Anna opened her eyes and grudgingly returned to reality. She looked
around the room at her collection, recalling the stories she had
dreamed up for them. The bicycle she imagined belonged to a boy who was
never happier than when he was out exploring his small world. A broken
television set that once had a family arranged around it, laughing at
comedies and competing during game shows. A skateboard that belonged to
a boy who would impress his friends with the tricks he could perform. A
locket on a chain, given to a wife on the tenth anniversary of their
marriage by the husband she loved more every single day.

Anna sat the doll down in the centre of the collection, giving her
latest find pride of place, then she got to her feet and left the room.
She walked down a garbage strewn hallway into another room. This room
was empty save for the rubbish that littered the floor, a dirty torn
sofa against one wall and a pile of glass that had been brushed away
from a smashed window.

A chilling breeze blew through the broken window as Anna looked out at
the shattered, desolate landscape that was once a thriving city.

She looked down on streets that once thronged with people going about
their lives, but that were now empty, populated only by broken pieces
of rubble and the charred remains of burnt out cars. All around for as
far as the eye could see, buildings lay in ruins, like gravestones
beneath a burnt orange sky.

Anna closed her eyes and a lone tear cut a clean path down her grime
covered cheek, then she returned to the back room to escape to the
happier, manufactured memories of her collection.