Rest in pieces

Plastic dolls

Chapter 2

My fingers run along the smooth handle of my knife, the smile that has risen on my face hurting my cheeks as blood runs down my arms.

The silver glistening in the small amount of light present in the room.

Like a river of red water it covers me from head to toe, the blade hanging loosely from my grasp as my hair tumbles down my shoulders in dirty waves.

Dirt covers my exposed skin and sits under my long fingers nail but it is not the only substance under my nails.

Removing soft skin from under the pinkness of my fingers, a gravely chuckles leaves my partly open lips. The joy of what I have done still mixing around in my veins, my own heart beating repeatedly as a cold blood covered organ sits on the table in front of me.

The screams of children filling my ears as the blade slides around my fingers. The darkness of the room closing in on me as I feel warm liquid slide down my dry skin.

A cut unfolds on my skin as metal touches skin, the sound of my own skin ripping, like a thousand sweet sounds filling my bloody ears.

The sound of clattering objects catch my attention as movement happens in the corner.

The tables before me cluttered with tan colored objects, the substance that can only be described as blood slides slowly from my cheeks as another squeal enters my ears.

The soft mixture of that my thoughts make into skin brings a satisfied smile to my small lips. It slides through my fingers as my breathing becomes labored, my once crisp and clean shirt drenched in an odd substance.

No light leaks in through the covered window as the table top moves into my view, the wood smooth and clean. Like a birthday gift I forever wish for a low cry escapes an unknown source.

Little instruments sit in a straight line across the table, crimson colored liquid splattered over the handles. My fingers gingerly glide over them as the object in my hand falls like in slow motion to tiled ground.

It bounces once and then twice before disappearing into the darkness that surrounds me and my work station.

Inky blackness lines up all around me as distant noises fill my ears. The low whisper of voices as foot steps vibrate through my surroundings.

Almost completely black shelves cover the walls around me, figures sit upon them.

The clatter of glass and other materials below me as my index finger slowly traces patterns into the soft clay like material before me.

My heartbeat like the sound of a thousand horses as another squeal lingers in the room.

A fruity smell like apples brushes past my nose but I decide to ignore the odd fragrance that sticks to my cloths.

My long delicate nails scrapping off the odd gooey texture from the sides of the wood, it grips under my finger nails making them sticking.

My eyes adjust to the darkness like a cat, fuzzy figures stand around me with wide grins on their plastic faces; their long arms pointed straight out beside them.

Eyes like humans they watch me carefully, blank expression on their face, rosy cheeks like strawberries.

Some with eyes the color of the sea and other like honey but with a emotionless expression present on all, my toys all lay frightened and horrified as globs of tan clay fall from my dirty fingers.

My cloths baggy and ripped from sharp objects that lay forgotten on my work station.

The cream skin of my dolls as they all huddle together from the cold and bitter temperature in my little room.