I died last Wednesday. Nobody has seemed to witness or know of my death yet. For I am trapped in a box among many others. I hear people around me and I wish I could scream to alert them but I can't. I have tried but they never seem to hear me. I just want to go away to my happy place. I want somebody to find me and set me free. But it seems as if nobody can do that.
“Mommy, mommy, mommy! Look at this pretty girl.” said a little girl. I try to scream out to her, Help me, you have got to help me. But it seems as if neither she nor her mother has heard me.
“Yes honey, she is quite beautiful, isn't she.” stated her mother.
“Mommy, please can I have her? I promise I'll take great care of her,” she begged with wide eyes and her hands cupped together.
“Baby you already have tons of other dolls, why do you need another?”.She asked with curiosity.
Wait a minute! I'm not a doll, I'm a person. I'm a real person. I died last Wednesday and I need your help.
“Because all my other dolls are old and they were all your mommy. I wish to start my own collection of pretty dolls. That isn't just yours. Please mommy.”. She begged with enough emphasis on please that I think down the street could hear her.
“Oh, alright you can have her but you must take great care of her. She seems very fragile.”.
“Ok mommy! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”.
What is wrong with these people? I am not a doll. I am a real person and my name is June Whitmore. I died last Wednesday. A man named Bryen murdered me. Please you have to help me and call the police.
“Alright ma’am is this all for you today?” asked the cashier.
“Yes it is.” said the little girl's mother.
“Alright, ma’am have a great day.”.
“You to….” she paused looking at his name tag, “...Bryen.”
Oh my god! There he is, he's right there and nobody is doing anything about it.
“Hey little girl, come here for a minute,” said Bryen.
As the little girl was walking over to him, all I could do was watch the horror going on before my very eyes. She couldn't hear or understand me so I had no other choice.
“You know there is something special about that doll you have there,” Bryan explained to the little girl.
“Really?” questioned the little girl who didn't seem to believe him.
“Yes, really. Her name is June Whitmore and she was just made last Wednesday. Some of the other dolls are really old, almost as old as my great grandfather who opened this store. So some aren't so special. But this one you have right here is. So make sure you take care of her. She was my personal favorite.”.
“Okay!”
Why can't you hear me? That man is evil, he is evil. He killed me last Wednesday and somehow made me into a doll. Please!
But they never did. All they did was walk away that day. They took me to the house and kept me there in a glass box. It's been a long time since it was last Wednesday.
