The shard of glass cut her fingers as Sharon picked up the broken pieces of her beloved mug. Her eyes dripped of hot tears; her mother having died the day before. Long strands of her hair dangled around her shoulders as she knelt to the ground; the tears strolled and created a puddle that diluted parts of the gathering blood. Sharon took a life sized doll from beside her with her undirty left hand, grasping it tightly against her chest. Deep gasps could be heard echoing down the empty halls from between her breaths.

She was only ten years old, and the only things left of her mother's proof of existence was a Japanese doll and the broken mug. Her relatives never actually acknowledged her mother as a part of the family. She was an illegitimate child of a rich English noble and a poor woman who had no skills in life. Her father left them in Japan as he fled back to England to keep both of them safe. He had given his lover a Japanese doll, and as a parting gift to her daughter, her mother had given her the doll and a mug. 

Because of the fact that she was an illegitimate child, Sharon was always bullied at school. Everyday, every single day, and the classmates watched and laughed at her, not doing a thing. She'd always get through these hard times with her mother's comforting words. She was always laughing and smiling although her job was at stake, even if there was no more food. Both of them had each other and both of them pulled through. When her mother had to work late, and nobody was home to comfort her, she had the doll to talk to. The words echo in her head. Sharon was more attached to the doll even more than her mother.

It's okay, Sharon.

It's alright, so don't worry.

I'll be here for you, unlike the others.

And now she's fourteen, living by herself. Ignoring all the other comments about being a mixed race and keeping dolls and curse items in her house, she headed straight to class, ate all by herself, and directly went home. Still she did not have friends. The giant doll was always there for her. It comforted her, even then she talked to the doll, despite her age. It was her only friend. This was spread all around school, among with others that related: "How pitiful, she doesn't have any friends except for a creepy life size doll," and "Have you heard? She keeps voodoo dolls and stabs their hearts after writing a person's name on the back of it."

It all began on this day, when the school was holding a spring festival, and her class was planning to hold a haunted house. "Hey, you. You have many creepy things in your room, right? A few to spare wouldn't hurt, so give us them to use," a bully had said. She looked down on others often and treated Sharon like a slave, ordering her around every day.

"Yeah, go bring that giant ugly doll you have for us." Others joined in on this, "You have your pride, right? If you don't hand the doll over, then we'll beat you up." Sharon formed her hands into fists, trying to hold back her temper. As if she'd give them her only friend she had. So instead, she shook her head to their retorts and orders. And so they punched her, kicked her to the ground, stabbed her with pens and chair legs. Sharon held herself steady and firm on the ground, barely giving a damn about the damage to her body.

Tired and sick of her emotionless face, the others went away, leaving her cold on the ground. She picked herself up and trudged home. The doll sat, greeting her, as she took off her shoes and patted it on its head. As if sensing the atmosphere, the doll began it tell her:

It's okay, Sharon.

It's alright, so don't worry.

I'll be here for you, unlike the others.

It's okay. Sharon took in the words and made up her mind. At least I'll be contributing. The next day she brought the dolls to her class. "Hey, she actually brought them," they laughed. A bully grabbed her by the cheeks and squeezed it tightly. "See, you were smart to listen after all." They teased the poor girl, and some one took the doll and yanked its hair to bang its face against the wall. The head rolled off of its neck and onto the floor by her foot. A black permanent marker was uncapped and doodles were about to be drawn all over the doll. Sharon watched helplessly as her friend was ruined and tortured. 

Why aren't you helping me?

I'm your one and only friend.

Come on, Sharon, fight against the others.

Creepy Doll

The creepy doll stood up behind the bullies as others watched in horror.

She cried for the first time in front of her classmates, and punched the other girl in the guts while angry tears streamed down her face. She picked up the doll's head as an arm extended to reach for it. The arm was familiar to her. Who's was it? The head was lifted away, Sharon left staring down at her arms, emptiness. Screams resounded in the closed classroom. The doll stood up from behind the bullies, who turned around to see what everyone was staring at. 

Sharon, you finally did something.

Don't you feel great?

Go do more damage, give them the pain they gave you.

The doll smiled eerily, its hair covering its face. Sharon, after all her years, grinned. As if she was possessed, her eyes were wild and insane. The doll handed over a sharp knife to the crazed girl.

Hurry, hurry. 

Take revenge for both of us.

You know you want to, Sharon.

You know you do.

Without hesitation, she took the knife and grinned at the others, holding the blade outwards. And as time went by, a second, a minute, an hour, two hours, three, the doll sat back down in a corner and froze back into any regular wooden doll.

Quietly watching as the class were torn into unfragments.

Thank you, Sharon.