Play With Me

Ending It

I giggle to myself. They look so pretty. Shame moma doesn't like them. I frown, my small, red lips pursing together with dissapointment. I pick up my new toy gently, as if it is a baby. It is too me. A beautiful baby. My giggles grow louder; then I lay I lay on the floor crying with laughter. Until a knock on the doorsilences my glee, like water engulfing the last rock left before the tide.
A hesitant voice questions, nervously, "Elizabeth- are- are you alright?" Stupid woman. My mouth twists into a sneer of hatred. She hated my babies- so I hate her. Period.
"Yes Moma, I'm fine" . I reply, my voice tainted sickly sweet.
"You're- you're not playing again are you? " she asked, a slight tremble in her voice.
"No of course not Moma." I say, my voice laced with a coat of poison underneath the sugared words. Taje the hint. I glare at the door, wishing I could play with her. I hear a muffled response, but not her footsteps that usually scurry away downstairs.

A smile forces its way onto my lips, as I glance at my picnic planket. My surgery planket. Toys lay scattered on the floor, headless, armless, legless. Then my babies sit on the pride of place. I hold up my latest creation close to my chest. It had the head of a doll; it's porcelain lips posed in a frozen smile; and the body of a bear; it's stuffing tumbling out of the crude stiching holding it fused together with the doll. My eyes shine with delight, as I hold my beautiful creation up. Once again my body shakes with laughter- as I turn to dmile at my Moma's shocked, pale face at the door way.

Her hands shake as she backs away from the door, from me.
"Moma?" I question sweetly.
She turns and sprints as fast as she can down the stairs, but she trips over her own feet and is flung down the stairs by what seems an invisible force. I slowly walk towards her; needle and thread in hand.
"Don't you want to play Moma?" I ask menacingly, the little girl façade evaporated. My Moma's mouh opens in a scream, she tries one more futile attempt to escaped but her legs are stuck fast to the floor boards as I plunge my needle into her throat.

Deeper and deeper it plunges into her throat as it wirms it's way through muscle and flesh. Blood bubbles up out of her nose and mouth and her ees roll back into her head.
"It's just a game Moma." I say as I pull out the large stake knife from the kitchen draw. I plunge it into her leg and carve throw muscle and bone, as the limb falls off and relaxes like a fish collapsing out of water. I then pull out my needle and thred. I sing to my self as I sew back the leg- but too her abdomen. A giggle escapes my mouth and I fall to the ground, drenched in blood, crying with laughter.