Another morning awoke with the plonk of the newspaper that had been slipped through the slot of the entrance door. The metal flap swayed; a tinny ringing resonated through the house in the breath of the invited chill.  Alexander rose from bed and suited up. He smoothed the creases on his side of the bed whilst fixing a black tie around his neck. He then lent across the bed to kiss his wife, pressing his lips upon her forehead. She murmured, and the tucks of her mouth pulled taught as she offered a weak smile in return. 

Alexander made his way downstairs, plunged himself a cup of coffee- skipping the milk, and sat down at the kitchen table before the large newspaper which he had collected from the floor. He was a well groomed man and he held himself with an unconscious sense of pride. His eyes peered through a pair of glasses that sat too far along the bridge of his nose, as he skimmed the stains of uncharacterised text-type, and licked a finger before turning each grey, wafery page.
He would sit for no longer than five minutes each morning; he liked to allow himself a little time to walk to work in the mornings, via a neighbouring park.

He neatly folded the newspaper in half and like a paperweight, sat the coffee cup on top. Walking through the corridor he reached a coat stand which stood before a family photograph- Alexander, Susan and their two children, Annabelle and Patrick. They stood like paper dolls, placed so precisely; their smiles so wide they looked drawn. It offered questioning as to whether it was just some sense of security for them all to say ‘we are a happy family’.

Alexander slipped into his coat and he left the house in its silence. There was an instant mist as his warm breath met the cool, wintery air. The streets were white lined and the tall willows across the park looked like a faint, webbed canopy above a cobblestone path. There was no lush, green foliage. No sun. No blue sky. It was grey and overcast, but the cold air was clean and refreshing.

Alexander stepped neatly through the white powder; leaving his polished shoes sunken with every following step. This was the time of day where he spent a few moments on an absent minded wander, alone. A bleak expression hung upon his face and he seemed to have left his soul behind the door he’d departed; glancing at that portrait stole something from him every morning.

Through the park, a young girl with a blond bob of hair sat in the middle of a bench seat. Her presence made it seem so lonely and sparse as she sat directly in the middle. She looked like a little French girl wearing a vibrant blue dress with a matching beret`. Clutched in her hand was a doll; so elegant looking, with a flawless china face. She sat there every morning, and her being there welcomed inquisition. She would have only been about five years old, about the same age as Annabelle, and she was there alone. Though Alexander never gave her much thought. He always seemed to be stuck in auto-pilot mode, and failed to take much notice of her. She was no more than a blue blur out the corner of his eye that accompanied his vacant thoughts.

Alexander existed at work, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere; it revolved around his own personal values. He often wrote letters into the newspapers concerning the state of the economy. His words were usually cynical. He was always in doubt about the way the world worked, about the functioning of society and more so the role of the government. He had a strong hold on his morals. He was, undoubtedly, very straight down the line. Susan would call him at work to say ‘hello’, but Alexander despised it. He always felt uptight when he heard her voice on the other end of the line; she wasn’t supposed to be calling him at work. At the office, he was supposed to be doing work, not taking social calls- he thought. He was so very precise. He would take the twenty minute lunch-break, calculating how long it would take him to get to and from the lunchroom before he left, so that he would take no longer, nor shorter than twenty minutes. He could arrive back at his desk only thirty seconds over his twenty minute time limit and he would feel guilty. Everybody thought him a ridiculous character around the office.

When Alexander would come home, Annabelle and Patrick would greet him in leaps and bounds throwing their arms around his neck; they seemed to express some sort of craving for his presence.  Though, Alexander seemed to have his mind occupied with other things. He only saw his family in the evening. He always left before they woke. He liked having the morning to himself; he liked to disconnect himself for a while. Though, the family portrait always reminded him where he was supposed to belong. Whether he felt he did or not seemed to be out of his control. He was a man of customs, after all.

Another morning sent Alexander walking through the park.  The mist from his breath floated before him and paved the way through the tunnel-like vision he found himself consumed within. He once again, came across the little blue blur out the corner of his eye, and although he never seemed to pay her attention, something was missing. Today she was not fiddling innocently her doll’s long locks of hair; today she did not have the doll at all. Instead, she sat in a stare, her eyes glazed over and her expression bleaker than Alexander’s; that same unknowing innocence didn’t seem to be there. The little girl had never consciously captured Alexander’s attention, but today, the absence of her doll had taken him by surprise. Still, he walked on by; worried he would be late for work.

At work Alexander received no call from Susan. He felt relieved in a way. Though, it seemed unusual. Though, he quickly turned his attention away from Susan and towards calculating how much time he should allow at lunch today. There was a problem with the elevators and he had to take the stairs. Who knows what sort of problems he could encounter going down the stairs that could interfere with his timing schedule.

Arriving home, Annabelle or Patrick did not greet Alexander, nor did Susan. Instead he found Susan telling them to get upstairs, as she had noticed he’d entered the room. There was fear in their eyes as they quickly scattered up the stairs, looking behind them, but avoiding eye contact. There was anger and sadness in Susan’s. Alexander asked what was wrong; he felt no reason to expect this. Susan didn’t say anything.

He had never felt this disconnected. He felt pushed towards the doorway as Susan walked closely towards him. He bumped into the coat stand, took another step backward and pressed his back against the door.  The gap between Susan and himself slowly closed in upon his chest, and he turned the handle of the door. Before turning around he glanced at the portrait. There they were, Annabelle’s blue dress and matching beret` catching his eye, her little face just like that china doll, tears filled his eyes and she slowly became a blue blur. Images of the doll fluttered through his mind. Now, it made sense.

“You stole it from her”, Susan said.
Alexander felt sick.