chipping paint

The tinkling that accompanied the old ballerina’s twirl sounded hollow. Her painted smile and rosy brushed cheeks chipped and decayed. Her pretty lips, constantly stretched in a grin, were colored a deep bloodred. Though she had been spinning for many a year, the age she appeared stayed the same.

She gladly danced for whatever small face appeared when her box was opened. The child’s face lit up when they saw her pink dress and slick bun. Then, they were called away by another attraction in the old thrift shop. Her box would close, and she would be forced back into the musty-smelling darkness.

The old music box lid was pulled open for the last time, one day. The ballerina smiled hopefully at the child, spinning perfectly to the clinking music. Suddenly, a looming finger lifted and poked her. She wobbled and struggled to keep her balance. The finger pressed her to the floor of her box. The child grinned when she popped back up and continued her pirouette. Her smile turned desperate as the kid flicked her fragile body.

The ballerina’s head popped off. The child gasped and quickly shut the box before anyone would notice. Her delicate head rolled around inside the music box as the tune halted. A label was slapped onto her beautiful brown box and she was carried to a storage room for broken toys.

Finally, some light shone through the thin slit between the lid and the rest of her box. She watched and listened from her sideways spot. Footsteps thudded outside and shadows crossed her vision.

Her head lurched as her box was lifted into the air. She heard the lid open and saw her body move upright. Ashamed, she could only watch as her body twirled, headless.

“Oh, my!” somebody gasped. It was a rich voice, from a woman.

“Ah, I told you, these toys are broken.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll take her.”

“Are you sure? I can give you a better deal for-“

“How much for the ballerina?” She gently closed the box.


“Hello, dancer,” said the woman. She held the ballerina’s head tenderly between her first finger and her thumb. Gently, she brushed some glue onto the ballerina’s head and stuck it back on precisely. Then, she took a tiny paintbrush and fixed up her features, covering the scratches and chipped paint.

“You’re very beautiful, aren’t you?”

The ballerina’s music played, and she happily danced for this wonderful woman. She spun and twirled, content to entertain the woman until she grew old. They smiled at each other and for each other, and loved each other for a long, long time.

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