The Sandbox Saga, part 2

Miniature cabbage patch dolls were kind of a thing. I had six. Three girls, a boy, and two indeterminate crawling babies, which I more or less randomly decided were also boys. They lived in a shoebox orphanage full of thin Kleenex bedding and general squalor. 

It wasn't long after Lizzie joined the crew that they broke out. A tissue-filled shoebox was no home for dolls like these. Lizzie's mind may have broken somewhere during the elaborate funerals of her family, but she was still a charismatic leader, able to convince the others that a desert castle was waiting. They broke from the box, out the door, across the yard and into the sandy waste, where they lived in a straw and earwig filled hole, surviving on fruit stolen from Treetown, a decorative crab apple that was the nearest outpost of civilization .

While generations (all represented by the same dolls, and mostly with the same names) of feral children scraped out their lives in the desert, a different struggle was underway in the land of the downstairs bathroom.

The bathroom held a great civilization, most of which was not represented in any physical sense, as it was not entirely my room. There was a shelf that held old magazines, which could be pushed to the side to make a living area for a couple of miniature barbies that were known as The Princess and Her Friend. I'm not sure why these two never got real names--this story went on for over two years, and their names just never came up. The Princess was, well, a princess, of the bathroom kingdom. Her Friend was a combination bodyguard and buddy, who got to carry all the weapons--a bow made of  a bamboo skewer and dental floss, tinfoil swords, a staff made from half a chopstick--and the food, and bedding, and anything else I could cobble together.

The thing you have to understand is that playing dolls wasn't about moving dolls around and making them talk in funny voices. It was about building props and making little homes for dolls, arranging them, and then sitting and staring at them as the story played out in my head, until eventually more props or a different location were needed.

The Princess and Her Friend were sent by the king to measure the flooding in the lowlands. The floods were very bad that year, and people were starving and dying of various flood related illnesses. I am really not sure where my childhood obsession with horrible diseases and tragedy came from, but most of my long running games were equal parts bits I stole from books, things I made up, and villages dying from plague.

The floods weakened the country, and opportunistic neighbors moved in with swords and chemical weapons. The Princess and Her Friend were caught in a raid, the cave they were hiding in was filled with an experimental foam that knocked them out. When they woke up it was a hundred years later and they were more or less immortal.

They were captured by a roving band of slavers about two hours after emerging from the cave, before even managing to find a decent meal. Tragedy!