literature

My Monday Knows Me

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Literature Text

She's put me in the basket, and I am swaddled up in cloth. It keeps my world just a bit darker, and just a bit safer as she carries me away. I don't mind it. Papa always said I was a snuggle bug.
She's rushing out the door, and I'm glad I'm swaddled up. Even in the soft fabric padding, I'm being jostled around. She's going to have to spend even longer trying to style me for whatever photo she's wanting to take of me, I hope she knows...
It feels like forever. She's placed me in the backseat of the van, and her mother is driving. I can hear them talking. Why aren't they saying where they're taking me? Why aren't they saying where we're going? I want to know.
It's been too long, before she picks up the basket again. I must have dozed off. She's walking slower now, smiling brighter. She's so happy. I'm glad to know I look somewhat like her. 
She sets me down, and all these flowers—there are so so so so so many!! I don't have names for all of them! There are pink, and white, and these fiery yellow orange ones! So many colors!
I look down at myself as she poses me. I'll cooperate with her, just this once. My pale pink dress is perfect in this setting. She pulls something new out, a tiny, tiny flower crown for me. I sit perfectly still as she places it on my head, styling my thick hair around it.
I'm maintaining my pose. Instead of fighting with me, she instead decided to use my "flop" to her advantage. My owner is smart like that. 
She's pulling out the camera, ready to take some great photos of me, and I wish she'd hurry up. It's sunset, and while I know she wanted a sunset garden shot, I am not fond of the dark.
Hurry up hurry up hurry up hurry up!!!
She keeps moving around me, taking photo after photo, to make sure she gets the perfect shot. Her jeans and T-shirt have grass and dirt and paint all over them. They're her doll clothes, she calls them. Whenever she makes something for me, she wears them. Whenever she wants to take photos of me outside, she wears them. I can see where she used the shirt to wipe off her paint brushes. I never see her when she wears that shirt, but I know what she does. The other dolls tell me. She let's them watch, even consults them for advice as she works. I think it's cool. She let them help form me into me, although I know Papa, and Kairi helped out too. They helped make me who I am. Kairi and Monday worked to form me from an idea, into a doll. I'm happy about that.
The camera is set down on her jacket, that really soft grey one, the one she wears all the time, even in her room. She picks a couple of flowers I actually know—portulacas—and they're yellow and orange, like Monday's mouth metals. She wraps a tiny bit of thread around the stems. Before setting them down in my arms, posing me so I can hold them.
Papa and grandpa give me flowers like these after I dance. I love them. They make me think of magic, and summer. I've watched those flowers bloom one color, before changing their mind and being a different color a week or two later. Papa and I agree, they are magic flowers.
Monday knows I love magic flowers. 
Cheyenne's pov. What a cutie.
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