Wrong Plastic

Strangling limbs cover any sight of my plastic. Seas of fluorescent green, chrome, red, blue, white, bright yellow and matte black swirl above my painted-on eyes. Slightly, soft streams of night light blue and warm gold-bulb drip between the narrow gaps.

I can't breathe. I am drowning. Waves of hardened coloured oil brushes against my skin - coloured and textured like a uniform. Like a uniform which isn't mine, this isn't my skin, I can't take it off even if I tried.

I was burnt, melted and frozen in the wrong shape.

Material meant for long dandy stilt legs; squeezed into blocky tight lumps.

Material meant to be plain so I could have flare, stained by dull patterns and dark colours.

Material meant to be elsewhere.

The long halls of metal logoed trees; row after row reaching up constantly. Stilts of iron reflecting behind themselves over and over and over. Such sore scaring images of where I was bought.

Clear but impenetrable solid walls separate this flood of silently proud play things from touching the grass of wool. Masses of mustard cream fields stretch from the wall to the tall moving mountain. I scramble through the bodies.

I was burnt, melted and frozen in the wrong shape.

Tall, skinny and plain coloured. Curved, slender and dazzling.

To be dressed up in flowing dresses with plastic dogs yapping at my plastic heels.

To be pink and drink from imaginary cups. Not grey and damaged from real action.

Peering passingly through the glass outwards to the room of my buyer. The one who puts me here after having his fun with me. I gasp for air as I reach the surface.

He sleeps in black and white circle framed bed with posters of those in here bolted religiously on the wall. A shrine to them, the thing he wants me to be. I wish I was sometimes.

At least I wouldn’t feel wrong, this alien about this feeling…

Eyes and mouths and ears and grins and stares. I am surrounded. Watching, with all their attention, quiet crawling of sight picking me apart before they even grab me.

I slowly, gently, swam through the sea to the shoreline .

They are following me.

Their drawn expressionless eyes follow my every small jolt forward.

They are following me.

Little claws, fingers, fist and guns raise to my movement.

They are following me.

I hear them in their heads.

Welcome to the 'glorious' marine Corp of forever war land. We are all soldiers, dying for the child maniac god. Because that's our purpose, we live to fight, to die, to play, to die, to fight, to die...

That's the mantra of this box. We are either allies or enemies. Doesn't matter if we like it or not.

I grab the hard transparent sand. The clawing, gnarling, snarling sound behind me inspires a leap of faith into the long strides of cotton. I am brought into the warm embrace of fabric.

Is this it? I wonder. Do I feel different? I ask myself. What now? I ponder.

Tiles of stone. One foot by one foot and repeat outwards. Fitting the pattern of the design endlessly further than the inked eyes can glare.

Maybe the right hand is where I should be. The house of dreams with those I wish to look like. Will they be welcoming despite my design flaw?

I bravely venture out. Pushing passed the glades. Pacing strongly. Onwards to the mountain which moves. Bright golden rays line the opening. A gap. A hole. A way out. It'll do.

Give me pink. Give me roses. Give me fairy lights. Give me a pool of glitter. Take my gun. My poor skin. My shape. The light dangles from the sky above like a falling sun. Cream roots like ropes hang the star above. Large royal sized frames encrusted on the solid plane walls. The paintings of gods from the steel eye leaves their likeness still in the ink. Are they watching me? The thought stops me in my tracks and I freeze. A shiver overcomes me. What if they are right and I am just designed to fight the make believe war for the rotten little ruler. 

My painted eyes felt almost as if they’d fall off. I dreamt of a dreamhouse. Not the box. But before the build up could run off the paint I see something else in the picture though. Gentle, kind, soft eyes. Rosey chump cheeks, long flowing locks of bright blonde. Narrow pointy chinned face. Bright pink plump pronounced lips. 

And holding her was another god. A kinder one maybe. Maybe she will  play with me the way I was supposed to be. 

A determination and reassessment set me back on my path onwards. Even if these gods see me they see that I am going to them. 

Onwards through smaller glades of cotton coloured in deep red and dark purple.

I come to another mountain as I end my travel through the world between worlds. This one was wide, welcoming. Glitter on the walls. Hanging photos and there is the sleeping god. Resting draped in fluffy clouds and sleeping on a plastic long throne fitted with an adorably small but jewelled tiara.  

I really hope she is kind and not cruel like the boy-god of war.

I'm here, I'm where I was supposed to be. Finally, Relief passes into me finally for once. I gaze upon the pink castle, pink cars and pink slide. Pinstripe walls like waterfalls of shallow indigo. Glades of grey cotton almost pull me in further.

A white unicorn with long bright rainbow hair strides up to me.

I'm home!

The welcome party of long dolls exit the dream house and look at me.

I'm home.

But their expressions are dull, uninviting and piercing. Cruel and disgusted. I would have hoped they’d be kind but they are as hurtful in their judgement over my faults as the war crazies in the box.

But, at least it's home...