Breaking Out of the Pile

Eyes open. Everything is quiet. I'm piled right on top of other dolls along the floor against the wood wall. My hands feel warm and loose. I brace my palms against the figure under me, push straight up, and my elbows actually bend. I look around—there's a blue plastic organizer basket sitting just inches away on the tiles. I reach out and tap my fingers against its plastic rim. A clear click sounds out. I'm moving on my own.