Toy Heap

It was a glorious day in that musty, grey encasement...

While to my captors it is just a basement, to me it was a conquered realm of which I am at the helm - the top dog sitting at the apex of this food chain. Mines is a Cinderella story, from the toy gutter to toy glory, and this story all played out by the hands of fate. I did not have to inconvenience myself one bit, never once did I fret or perspire, which is why I still lay in disbelief (the whole thing is so uncharacteristic and strange)...

Fuck, has my mood changed!

The toy soldiers were trampled all the way at the bottom of the pile, since Autumn they've been buried beneath the Lincoln-logs and soccer cleats. No one will be coming to their aid for a while. The ambulance is lodged in between the TV and the wall. Sewing string entangled in countless spirals on the axles, the emergency medical transport for the battalion of "No Man's Fort" will not deliver dispatch of cover nor comfort. Over-achieving Alpha-Males, Good-Samaritans to the fifth power, now cower under a possible avalanche of teetering hobby items and novelties. It boggled me that they -the first responders had no one to respond when the ping pong table turned on them. Had the ambulance not have been bound, regardless, it never would have come around to them because...   

... the Hot Wheels cars are in gridlock at the foot of the toy chest. If I didn't know best I'd say they are never getting home, for some of them that is just fine and dandy. In stagnation they stagnate, frustrated, bored, alone, no radio on the dashboard, no meters, no gauges, a sterile vessel going nowhere. The driver of the Buick Regal, barely alive and hardly believable gropes the glove compartment for his personal armament, going to make a point-it to the center of his plastic brain basket and blast it. Toys die all the time, victims of human on toy murder, typically dismemberment, their suicide rates would blow your mind as well.

That is why there are so many Hot Wheels 'tracks' loose and with no use strewn about. Infrastructure here is somewhat obtuse since none of the vehicles here have a conductor. There is a small black slate with chalk by the tracks, but no one in the realm to be entrusted as instructor. Here, we are all just empty headed puppets at best, hollow Easter eggs in a shredded paper nest, full of nothing more than chewy gooey and sugary treats. A miniature sized bible, for some reason, also was buried in the heap, and an uproar amongst toys stoked like a furnace over who the possessor to be. All the toys wanted to be be preacher, guess work made easier from the the lack of teachers in the realm. Hanging from a branch of the Elm outside the basement hang inverted the last who blurted blasphemy against the leader -Lionel. They claimed that they had converted to another faith and repudiated his hand over this place and now as deterrent they hang in effigy and disgrace. 

Barbie and Ken were seen again half naked in shame, one is in the toy chest one is halfway out. Barbie making a quick escape before Ken's mani-pedi is done. Her and He-Man are going to have some real fun. Ken likes boy dolls and Barbie has an itch. He-Man goes both ways and for blondes will gladly hit a switch. Sometimes he and Skeletor dispel of her with haste because She-Ra is hot and bothered and will give all suitors a taste. Even Battle Cat she'll make him purr, she has beastly appetites that transcend the acceptable limits of peers.  

Balls of all sizes from Ping-Pong to Beach Inflatables, strewn about the atmosphere, one over there, three perpendicular, one in particular right before me, as in the center of gravity, the nucleus of a solar system that has fallen around me yet left me uncrushed by its force. Now I am the devourer of worlds. I'll create a new galaxy and name it after me. It seems I am the last Toy standing, though really I am just laying, my broken friends not withstanding.   

The Legos interlocked into an amorphous cluster, I prayed that those blocks would converge to build me a home where I may dwell alone; or a monolith at the very least. One that when I face my eyes point due East, towards some type of hope or wisdom. My multicolored obelisk, brightly colored, ominous, yet stupidly obvious it means nothing. Just a landmark to commemorate the day that brought this realm to a collapse while it just so happened that I remained intact, at the top of the stack -a new solar system, a new origin story to adapt...

I hereby declare myself, the Rag Doll, just inches tall, as ragged as small, torn and stitched,  The Rag Doll Emperor atop the toy heap!    

As for today I rule this kingdom. Either by luck or by right, by day or by night, I managed to be the uppermost toy, at first reach of the boy, laying at the top of a mountain of rubbish that no One wants to play with, yet sovereign I lay with, or over, the refuse that has been long forgotten. 

I am thy Lord and master, of this realm of make believe. The Rag Doll Emperor atop the toy heap.