Capítulo 49: Chapter 49
The toy sat in the corner of the alley, abandoned. Once, it had been held in hands that caressed it, loved it, but now, it was just discarded plastic and cloth. The doll's face had been scraped. Its limbs, once tightly sewn, dangled loosely.
It had been thrown away like trash, and now it lay, crumpled against the dirty concrete. It couldn't remember when it had last felt warmth, or the embrace of the arms that used to hold it close.
It wasn't supposed to end like this. It had always been there, waiting for the next playtime, waiting for someone to reach out and love it again. It wanted that love, craved it, needed it. But now, it sat in the cold, staring at the pile of refuse surrounding it. The smell of old food and decay hung in the air.
A car sped by, tires screeching. The toy was ignored by everything, as it always had been. The small street was empty. No one cared. It had been left behind, and the worst thing of all was that it was starting to understand why. Toys like it were meant to be thrown away, replaced with something new, something better.
A rat scurried past, a mangy thing, sniffing at the pile of trash. The toy's unblinking eyes followed it, but there was no movement, no attempt to fight. It was just... there. Waiting. But for what?
Time passed. Hours. Days? The toy wasn't sure. It couldn't tell. It felt the weight of time pressing down on it, and the emptiness around it became a suffocating force. At some point, the air grew hotter. It was the smell of burning trash, of things being destroyed.
The sound of tires rumbled in the distance, and the toy stirred, hoping. A truck appeared, a big, dumpy thing with a wide bed. The truck stopped. The toy didn't know why, but it had a bad feeling. A man climbed out of the truck, wearing gloves and a mask, his face hard and expressionless.
He walked over to the toy, kneeling down. The toy wanted to scream. It wanted to jump, to be held again, to be loved. But it couldn't. It had no voice. It was just a doll.
Without a word, the man reached down, grabbed the toy by the arms, and tossed it into the back of the truck. The toy was thrown carelessly into the pile of refuse, crushing some old boxes beneath it. It felt the weight of broken things pressing against it, the sharp edges of crushed cans and plastic bottles.
The truck rumbled again, starting up, and the toy was carried away.
The dump was worse than it had imagined. It was vast, endless heaps of twisted metal, torn plastic, and shattered glass. There was no one here. No love. No hope. Just piles of forgotten things, each one abandoned for some other shiny, new thing.
The toy landed in the muck, thrown like garbage into a place where the light didn't reach. It felt small, insignificant.
It could still feel the press of the old boxes and bottles on it. They were everywhere. And then it saw something—a flicker of movement in the pile.
A child's voice. High-pitched. "Is this one still good?" The voice was shrill, like the sound of a crow. The toy tried to move, tried to call out, but it couldn't. A hand grabbed at it, pulling the toy by the hair, then tossing it aside. The toy had no purpose here.
It was crushed by something bigger. A piece of machinery. A large, crushing arm came down, and the toy's form was destroyed, its fabric torn, limbs snapped.
No one would ever love it again.
No one ever had.
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