Once upon a time, there lived a jolly, plump woman with rosy cheeks, a warm smile and short, stubby fingers. She wore a pearl white dress with bright pink flowers embedded in emerald leaves scattered all over it. On top of that, lay a clean, fresh white apron; outlined with frills of lace. Her hazel hair was tied into a tight knot at the back of her head, giving her the air of a motherly old hen, who was frequently known for giving hot apple turnovers to the children passing her cottage on the way to school. Her eyes were wells of blue and sparkled with fun. Most adults smile at little children only with their lips out of mere politeness, thinking that children are fat little objects of no importance. This pitiful, understanding creature smiled a warm, loving smile and not only did her soft, beautiful lips smile but her wells of blue did, too. She thought that children were chubby, cute little things of much importance.
It was a balmy Autumn evening. Birds’ chirping and the fluttering of wings shattered the silence as the sound of a crunchy leaf being stepped on was made. Mrs Crabapple was hanging clean laundry on her washing line, singing merrily as she clipped each piece of clothing on the line in place.
“Oh! I’m as happy as a sunflower,
Swaying in the breezes,
Oh! As happy as the leaves falling off the treeses.”
Suddenly, she exclaimed, “Oh my!” lifting a ragdoll covered in dust that had fallen into her basket of laundry from the branches of a tree, as it appeared to be. Out of the blue, her soul seemed as though it was being sucked out of her body and into the ragdoll. Her body lay limp and lifeless on the ground. I shudder to think what a scene the neighbourhood would see when they found her like that.
It was pitch black, and she was falling down a long, deep, upright tunnel. The friction was so hard that her hair became static and streamed upwards. At long last, she hit firm, solid ground; but she was not hurt. “How come?” Mrs Crabapple thought. She felt quite floppy and agile, which was very unusual for Mrs Crabapple because people with lots of flesh (I find it unladylike to use the uncivil word by the definition of “(of a person or animal) having a large amount of excess flesh.”), are not usually flexible, and she had been having rheumatism for the past three years. She lifted her hands to her face and gasped. It was not a gasp of pain, but one of bewilderment and shock. She had turned into a ragdoll!
Presently, she heard a cheerful voice singing Old Mr Sailor Sea as fast as they could.
“Old Mr Sailor Sea went out so sea,
Old Mr Sailor Sea was jolly and happy,
Old Mr Sailor Sea became a Pirate!
Old Mr Sailor Sea thought his life was great,
Old Mr Sailor Sea met his downfall one day,
Old Mr Sialor Sea’s fellow mates ran away!”
“Who’s there?” asked Mrs Crabapple sharply. It was a wonder that anyone but the size of a ragdoll could be where she was. A young boy, (or a young ragdoll, rather), came round the corner of the passageway. He was dressed in a faded blue and white gingham shirt, and a muddy, grey dungaree. When he saw Mrs Crabapple, he touched the jet-black cap that lay on the mess of brown yarn on his head and said, “Good day to you, ma’am.”
Suddenly, the ground began to shake. Mrs Crabapple shrieked for help and the ragdoll boy muttered “This is funny!” Funnily enough, nobody in the world cared about the fact that two ragdolls were being thrown about in an earthquake.
Miles away, from that magical place of a world of ragdolls and ragged objects, the real Mrs Crabapple woke up in a hospital, lying on a bed under a mass of white sheets that smelled of aromatic lavender. She could feel her soul parting from this world. It was not a strong, pulling feeling like before, but a gentle sensation. She was drifting away. That vision was just a glimpse of where she would soon be. Where she would soon meet the sailor she had been wedded to forty-three years ago, and who had passed away eight years ago. “If this dying, it isn’t so bad, after all,” Mrs Crabapple mused. “But that ragdoll did look quite familiar.” She smiled. It was her slow, blossoming, warm smile. She was finally going to be among her beloved ones.