Worry Dolls - Flash Fiction

Daniel pulled his hand from under my pillow, retrieving the little box I kept hidden there. "What's this?"

"My worry dolls." I snatched the yellow box from him, intending to hide it again, but at the questioning look in his eyes I pried it open. "See?"

He held his hand out and I shook the little world into his palm. Seven tiny dolls, my friends since childhood, stared up at us. Each of their faces wore different expressions. Millie, the one with the blue skirt, always looked the most concerned, and sometimes I worried that the others weren't all that fair when sharing my troubles.

"What are they?" Daniel looked confused and I wasn't surprised.

I traced my finger along the length of each of the dolls in his palm. Their bright outfits were a stark contrast to the grey/blue of my bedroom walls and their entire existence was out of place in my life of scientific textbooks and rational thinking.

"I tell them my worries," I said, smiling at the silliness of my statement. "And, like magic, they make my worries go away."

The look on Daniel's face was starting to resemble that of Millie's and I could tell he was struggling to understand. Out of habit, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the lightness of his touch gliding along my skin as he said, "But they aren't really magic."

I knew that was true as much as I knew fairies weren't real and my prayers were just whispers that disappeared pointlessly into the night. I didn't really know it at all.

But I knew what he needed to hear - my sweet Daniel, who saw the universe in black and white and grey, but never rainbow.

"No, they aren't really magic," I said. "Just a bit of fun."

Daniel visibly relaxed as I placed the dolls back in the box and closed the lid, leaving it resting in his hand. He rolled on top of me, but not before carefully placing the box under my pillow. Leaning down, close enough that his lips touched mine, he said, "You don't have anything to worry about tonight."

Seeing the hunger in his eyes, I wasn't so sure, but as I arched up just enough to grasp his lower lip in my mouth, I hoped my worry dolls weren't listening all the same.

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This morning I was scrabbling around in some old boxes and found the wee worry dolls of my childhood. They were still in pristine condition, despite the devotion with which I loved them as a child. It got me thinking about all the things we believe (or know for certain) as children, but forget or disbelieve as we grow up. I remember knowing without a doubt as a child that there were fairies at the bottom of my garden, just as I remember telling friends and partners that such beliefs were childish nonsense as I grew up. Now I like to think I was right the first time round.