The Witch & the Doll

Her glassy eyes drove me mad.  In a fit of rage, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife.  She said something in that dull, mechanical voice of hers as I slapped her down on the counter, but I refused to listen.  Instead I raised the knife high in the air and crashed the knife down across her neck, like a human guillotine. 

Her round plastic head jerked back, separated from its body.  It balanced on the edge of the counter for a long second; she cast me one last glassy-eyed look before her head then hit the floor.  It seemed to roll forever, until it finally came to rest underneath the sink.

I laid the knife down on the counter.  With some uncertainty, I pushed my fist into her dolly stomach, but nothing happened.  She was silent at last.

I had killed it.  I had killed the doll.