Melancholy Toys

It wasn't so much that the doll meant anything to her; she was sixteen, of course it didn't, but seeing it thrown into the garbage bag, ready to be shipped off to Goodwill, made her pause. She only remembered playing with it twice in the ten years that she had had the doll. Once, when she had first gotten it on Christmas, only months after Mr. Sniffles, the family pug, died, where she twirled the brunnette curls in her tiny fingers, before pushing it to the side. The other time, she was eleven and she was cleaning up her bedroom, and had stumbled upon the thing in the back of her closet. She had moved it to her shelf in half hope of playing with it again, but from there it only collected dust instead of use. Now, it was going to Goodwill, a better place for it, she knew, but something bubbled inside of her, reminding her of what she could've and should've done.