Little Miss No Name: Doll Demise


I think this portion of the greater tale is done, now. I don’t know if it’ll go into any larger final product, or if I’m just performing a brain dump, or if it’s one of those mutliverse things of “how this could have happened” but not directly tied to the actual narrative. But it still entertained me, and thought I’d share. (Commentary about how I am amused by alcoholism and child abuse is probably warranted.)



I took a step, moving slow like you do when you sit on your feet too long and it’s all tingly. Then one more. It got easier, so I got a little closer. Mommy was still making that panting noise, and her arms were still sticking out, but she was watching me. Her eyes were leaky and her mouth was twitching and I knew she was scared. Scarder than she had ever made me, maybe.

It was bad girl thinking, but that made me happy. I wanted her scared. I wanted her to hurt. Hurt like she had hurt me. Now I could.

Maybe I was a bad girl. Maybe I was as bad as Mommy said. Maybe I deserved the stuff she did. Maybe it was my fault that Daddy and Oscar were gone. But it felt good to feel bad.

I took another step.

Mommy shook her head, then bent down and grabbed the scrubby for the potty. She bent down and smiled, but not a happy smile. It was a scary smile, the kind she used to get when she’d had too much of her medicine or when she talked about Daddy leaving.

“Come on, you little bitch. You want your Daddy? Your goddamn dog? I’ll make sure you see them.”

Mommy’d said a swear. That was bad; she’d always told me so. That meant she was bad, too. Maybe badder than me. That made thinking bad things okay, didn’t it? It was confusing. I stopped, trying to think.

Mommy ran at me and swung the scrubby, like a baseball player. It hit me in the face, and everything turned sideways again. Then she hit me the other way, and the world flip flopped. I tried to put my hands up or to scream or to cry or anything, but I was stuck again.

She hit me again, and I flew across the room. I hit my head on the wall, and there was a sound like eggs cracking. Everything got real dark. I could still see Mommy, and she was coming closer, but it was like watching shadows dance when your night light was going out.

I wanted to cry. Wanted to say sorry. I was going to be punished for being a bad girl, and I deserved it. Mommy was maybe bad, but she was the Mommy, and that meant I was more bad.

She threw the scrubby behind her, and I heard it land in the tub. She reached down and grabbed me by the foot. She lifted me up, and now she was sideways and upside down.

“I’ll teach you.”

She pulled me back, and then swung me hard, right into the wall. I heard another crack, and everything went black. I couldn’t see anymore, but I felt when she pulled me back and swung me at the wall again. And again. And again.

I felt like I was going somewhere. Away. I thought I heard Daddy, but he was whispering to me, tickling my ears with his beard. I heard a happy bark, and knew Oscar was talking to me.

She swung me one more time, and I went with Daddy.

Bye, Mommy. I’m sorry I made you so mad.

I was a bad girl.


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