freaky dolls

CRACKING UP…

©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…

BODY PARTS…

At only seven years of age she had used kitchen tongs expertly to dip the openings of the heads, from a row of disturbed dolls, into boiling water – pulling them out when melted to her satisfaction. Her mother watched Pippa sneak her loot back into her safety zone and stretch the small heads onto big doll bodies with a surgeon-like precision, creating freaky little plastic beings. She’s more disturbed than the doctor said, her mother thought, closing the door on the psychopathic wunderkind alchemist, locking her back into the closet. This will surely ruin my dinner party tonight. It was a spooky sight, but not to Pippa. To her it made sense. She wanted to disfigure, to destroy. She hated dolls. They reminded her of adults…

© kym darkly