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She sat there, the sun was on her shoulders. It was getting caught in her untidy hair, somehow it was always like this with her. Even on the beach, with a perfect sky painted in every hue– something would be amiss, a little something wrong and she wouldn’t make the cut. Her life wouldn’t ever qualify for a two-minute television commercial.

What people were those? With perfect lives, laughter, pet dogs that behaved and didn’t bite, children who returned with trophies after gulping down glasses of energy drinks, air conditioned houses that gave you enough oxygen supply and flat screen television to give you enough fake unhappiness to get you high.

So she sat there, wishing she’d brought her ash-tray to smoke yet another filter tip. Not that it would light with all this sea-breeze. The breeze was wonderful, or at least it was trying to be wonderful. It was trying to blow away all those things that stuck to her person. The little imprints that she’d tried to shake off all her life. A little mirthless smile. There was no way the breeze would succeed. The patchwork was so much, there was little fabric left in the original. She was like a little rag-doll.

Rag-dolls always get the raw deal. They’re first the favorite play-mate, loved and carried around. Then better play-mates arrive. First the giraffe displaces you, then the lion and then the beautiful Barbie. Hot and haute. Why would the rag-doll matter now? From somewhere deep within there was a cry, the tears welled up but didn’t really make make it down to the cheeks.

Time to nose-dive, and so she did. Back into the sea, with surf all around her, salty like her tears. Warm and happy, so for once she didn’t struggle. There she was, out in the watery depths, looking for wind-scattered bits of herself.