©Tanya Grout

The porcelain face was splitting – a ghastly fissure separating eyes from lips, nose from cheeks, forcing the painted-on smile to crack… A lifetime of delicate china had forced a false visage over top of the dying one underneath, the one that contained secrets, lies and rage.

It was time to strip off the brittle structure that held her so tight inside: watching without acting, knowing without telling, feeling without screaming – a witness to every goddamned sick thing that went on in this house!

An ending would be good: a dead doll perhaps, smashed and broken – one to be tossed into the garbage – freed! And so when the wind gushed through the open window, she fell off the mantelpiece…

© kym darkly – All rights reserves but please feel free to re-tweet…


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