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 became a human guillotine as the knife crashed down across her
neck.
Her
round plastic head jerked back, separated from its body. It balanced on the edge of the counter for a
long second. She had time to cast me one last glassy-eyed look before her head hit the floor. It seemed to roll forever, until it 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.
Because reality is the toe breaker
is the dance
is the false teeth sitting
innocent in the glass
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