Far Island- The Beach Hut's Last Sunset

When deep in composition of a major literary work, or when needing repose, or just when nothing will do quite like a premium tea steaming in the colors of sunrise, I like going to my beach hut. A nice hideaway, it was small in space, and low in prims, but,, it was a beach! A place to rezz shopping victories, Chat about relationship defeats, and had enough prims allotted to hold my bedroom suit and sofa, everything needed to create future relationship defeats!
   I was desperately needing to get away, to spend time understanding the reasons I have been feeling the way I have, why being treated like a clockwork creation should make me,, a clockwork creation, feel bad. Imagine my horror when the Transporter relay sputtered, the readout stating, "The location you requested is either not operating properly, or no longer exists."
   As if  on cue, one of the prominent inhabitants of the sim, Mister Magic contacted me. He said I would be angry- that the simowner Redeagle had failed to pay the Lindens the money we gave him for tier, and had several bad personal issues, and long story short, the sim was gone and all our belongings!
   "But,, I paid him,, you did,, we all did,, how could a personal issue change the fact that we paid him,,," My cogs worked flawlessly, and yet something incalculable had caused this horrendous loss and indeed a crime.
   Something Human.
   I immediately hurried to the basement of The Hypnotic Shoppe. Picking up the teletransmitter, I sent a message to Mrs. Linden, who had taken me with her on that harrowing mission to recover the missing time on the Great Life Server,, wait,, that was in the future, I shouldn't talk about that yet. Anyways, she responded rapidly to my plight and opened the sim  for one day. One day to see the place again, swim in the warm water, and see one last sunset there. It's last sunset.

The Far Island Beach hut figured in my YouTube video Barbie's beach house.

There was a strange calm, a despondent quietness. It was clear to this doll, that the water, the tropical wood hut, the sand, the sky itself, knew it would not see the sunrise. Dolls are not trained and experienced in the higher, wiser choices to make in these instances- Ohh another pain in my mainspring, driving the counter ticking in my head! Was I, in fact, just like this beach?  A creation of another's fancy, at the whims of a lunatic? For it is well known that though strikingly beautiful, and highly intelligent, Mrs. Linden is stark raving mad. Though, I am a doll,  I could be wrong.

Packing was quick, Dame Ember's Copper Dirigible could hold my belongings and much more. But something was not yet complete; It was as if a great crime was about to be committed, I was watching, and was clueless.
   Dolls, ALL dolls, know what must be done, when someone we love and play with, is about to go to the Grey. When their battery dies, their spring unwinds and they are to be soon taken to the Human Land of forever Broken. All dolls face this eventually, unless they themselves go to the Toybox of the Broken before their owners. It is not worth argument or complaint from Human or Clockwork- we all know it is the will of our Creator; Qui Mattel Est.
  So it never really occurred to me to do otherwise; I simply did what I must, what must be done.  This must be why Humans created dolls, maybe. So, I sat those last hours with the quiet wood hut, filled the space of the sky and the sea and the sand with my ticking presence, and I held its hand. The surf bubbled again, lightly, but a definite content bubbling. Ticking is time, and Time is ticking. We all go there. But we do not have to go there alone.