There's a flicker of light in the corner of my vision.

There's been a lot of those lately.

I know it's just the ceiling fan, but I can't help but wondering if it's something else. I can't help hoping it's something else. I just wish for something interesting to happen in my life. I sigh and watch where the light had flickered. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing ever is out of the ordinary these days. The days all fall into repetition, and I'm stuck alone, and I'm stuck alone, and I'm stuck alone. It's only a matter of time before I crack.

There it is again! That flicker of brilliant gold across the polished head of a doll on a shelf. I get off the bed, put down my book, open to the next chapter, and examine the doll.

It's a plain doll, one I've had since I was a kid, and never knew how to throw it out. I take it off the shelf and blow the dust out of the doll's perfectly-coiffed blonde ringlets. Her still-shiny blue eyes and porcelain skin almost seem to reflect back on me. She almost seems to be...glowing. That's impossible. She can't be glowing. She's a 20-year-old doll, for cripes sakes! I dust her off and promise to take her down once in awhile, now that I've remembered she existed.

I wonder sometimes if people have forgotten I exist. Like I'm the doll, only ever looked upon when something brilliant passes through me.

Sometimes I think shelves are overrated.

But then there's the flicker of light that shuts every light off for miles.

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