She looked over the toy box ledge, she was out.
A noise. A humming.
The notes hit Wichita’s tiny plastic auds, as she slowly turned her chassis towards the sound. A dainty, blonde headed girl sits at a Victorian style dressing table, gold leaf surrounds a gilded mirror that provides her reflection. A young lady of 8 or 9 adjusts a golden curl, her baby blue eyes displeased when it bounces back awkwardly, having not been tamed at all. Perhaps she normally would have had a tantrum, but just as her mouth sours, so it does quickly broaden.
Her eyes become alarmingly wide, she slams a pink hair brush down on the white lacquer and squeals. “Eeeeeee a pony!” The cherub bounces up from a down filled pillow, it sits skewed now, atop its matching pedestal. Her small pink hand wraps around the mares chiffon colored frame, pressing much too hard on her hip. The mare wanted to protest, but as the fingers folded around her, her once flexible form became immobile. What’s going on? She thinks, as the words will not sound through her molded mouth. You there, girl! Please let me down, you squeezing me too tight! The words bounce around her head, lacking their emphasis as they fail to be heard. She is soaring over a plush looking carpet, everything is moving quite fast as the child transports her across the room, slamming her down on a pink table.
Wichita is permitted a look around having been placed at the head. A child’s dining set has been turned into a make-shift beauty parlor. Play makeup, nail polish, Q-tips and the like are haphazardly strewn across what had before been an impromptu tea party. Kid sized fine china was stacked on top of each other, without any regard to first clear its contents. Half eaten sweets sat smashed between plates and saucers alike, tiny crumbs littered each dish in between. It was surprising to Wichita that the room was not infested with critters, not an ant to be seen in all the sticky mess. A colored liquid slowly dripped to the floor from an overturned tea cup, a puddle forming by one of four table legs, and at this pool crouched a snow colored Angora cat.
“Welcome our new friend to Nerissa’s Beauty Shop everyone!” the girl shrieks. The yellow pony wished she could cover her ears, this little one surely did not know the meaning of ‘use your inside voice’. Wichita was dismayed to see the toys that had been chosen to participate in a day of glamour. A blue teddy bear sat to her right, a purple heart clutched between its arms that read ‘Be Mine’, one side barely hanging onto the thread that connected it. Both of its plastic eyes were missing, the stuffing peeking out through the holes that they had once been held by. It had bright pink nail polish half way up each arm, and clip on extensions in unnatural colors clung to each ear. Across the way sat a well preserved Sophia the first doll, a too small tiara crookedly adorned her brunette tresses. Only a bit of well-placed makeup and crumbs from a cookie, or maybe a cake, to provide evidence that she had been played with. On the mares left side in the last seat was a princess Merida, one of those oversized toddler style dolls, her red curls streaked with hair chalk. Her green dress was torn and stained, a smear of pink frosting spread from her ear to her nose, eyes adorned with several different colors of eye shadow.
Nerissa jostles the table as she takes a seat, having moved her vanity stool to her place behind Wichita, sans its down pillow. The small toy horse can do nothing as the child shakes a bottle of blue liquid in her hand against a cotton ball she has pressed to its opening. “This is my new pony,” she rattles off, gesturing with her free hand, “she’s going to live with us forever and ever, I knew I would get a pony for my Birthday.” The child sets the acetone down having saturated the dripping cotton ball she held, and reaches across the table. A half-eaten cookie falls to the floor where it is forgotten, Nerissa’s hand clasping around the tiara Sofia was wearing, only to pull it from the dolls plastic head with a yank. “Stupid crown!” she yells, as the combed ends tangled in the dolls hair. The cat bolts at the sudden increase in volume through a cracked bedroom door. “Stupid Sofia! You can’t wear the crown anymore, my pony is going to wear it. She’s prettier than you, I didn’t want a stupid Sofia doll anyways.” Advising them all just how she felt, Wichita made the equivalent of whimpering noises though no one heard. That’s just awful, she can wear it, she can, I don’t need it. A pollen hued pony tried to reason, but her requests where for naught, as they fell on deaf ears and a miniature tiara was placed on her head. “Now you all will bow to Queen..Queen,” Nerissa hesitates shaking her finger at the tea party guests as she makes her demands. ”Queen Sunshine Pony,” she finally decides. Had she been able to move, Wichita would have wrinkled her nose, that was a silly name.
Momentarily content, the flaxen girl again takes her seat. “Now we will give the royal Majesty her makeover,” a giggle passes her pouty mouth. Cotton ball in hand, she rubs it across Wichita’s left eye, the painted peeper growing faint. A few more passes, and the acetone does its job, a one eyed pony stares back.
Inside, Wichita was crying, sobbing dry tears that would not come. My eye, my eye, why did you do that? She could do nothing but stare back through her one brown eye, as Nerissa picked up the nearest eyeliner and she was given a scribbling. At least, that’s what it felt like. What was so wrong with my other eye anyway?! She shouted. To this, eye shadow and mascara were added. Streaks of purple and pink were smeared across her brow, clumps of black paste spotted where eye lashes might have once been. “You’re beautiful now, but not as pretty as me.” The tot says matter of factly, picking up a tube of pink lipstick and dabbing it on her lips. “Mommy says I am the most beautiful girl in the world.” Pouty lips and kissy faces follow her statement. After tossing the tiara to the floor, she picks up a rhinestone set of scissors and begins chopping away at Wichita’s mane. The flowing curls she once had, fell to the floor, pieces sticking to a cupcake wrapper below. “Oopsie,” Nerissa says, as the silver blades cross and meet a plastic pale-yellow ear.
Aaaahhhhh! the yell is agonizing, a curdled call, bubbling up in Wichita’s throat to explode out her muzzle. Nerissa doesn’t seem to notice, or mind her little mistake, not yet anyways. “I can fix that your highness.” She tugs on the few short strands of hair she had left to the mare’s head, a butterfly clip swooping in to be placed awkwardly across the open hole, held by but a few strands of synthetic blend.
“Nerissa!” a yell from the hall Wichita notes, an older tone, a woman’s tone. “Nerissa dear, come and help mommy with the goodies!” Ms. Ribbons and lace, jumps up carelessly bumping the table. Sofia tumbles out of her chair and into the floor. Wichita finds herself now on her side watching the little girl recede from the bedroom, the door faintly half-latching behind her. The mare’s sobs continue but to her surprise she is vocal again, her body shaking in waves of pain beginning at her clipped ear. She manages to gain her legs, the awkward cylinders made even more so as she wobbled, only one eye to guide her.
“H-Help me p-p-please ca-a-n you.” she says through an attempt to stifle her sobs, the other toys still staring straight ahead into nothingness. She makes her way across the table, stepping in what was probably fruit juice in the process. A head bump to Merida’s hand and the doll is awake, her green eyes afire as she looks around. A hand reaches up to wipe away the frosting that was starting to harden across her cheek, and she wipes at her heavily made up eyes. The result was hardly better than what she started with, but Wichita had no room to talk. “Lassie, what in the blazes you doin’ comin here?” she questions almost accusingly. “I didn’t want to come here, I didn’t ask.” Wichita returns, her voice hurt to match her mangled body. “Well lets get ta movin’” the redhead begins to jump up, ”Well come on what are you waitin’ for?” she asks fiercely as the pony fails to move, rooted to the tabletop. “What about them?” she motions to the others with her dial, a simple nod in their direction. “We can’t leave them.” Merida huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “Fine, you do it then.” she makes no attempt to help. Wichita makes her way across the table, gently touching herself to the teddy, he sniffles and sneezes before calling out blindly, ”What? Who’s there?” he says, a worried piglet voice emitting from him as he clutches the stuffed heart. “Mr. Bear,” Wichita calls to him, “it’s me uhh…Queen Sunshine Pony. We have to leave now.” Her voice grating along her windpipe, sore from such copious amounts of crying. “Leave? We can leave?” he says questioningly, perhaps never knowing that was even an option. She turns to wake the other princess, the one in the purple dress with brown hair, having forgotten her fall. Merida seems to have a change of heart, though stubbornly so. She lifts the limp Sofia’s arm, holding it out to Wichita begrudgingly. A yellow foreleg, meets a plastic doll arm to awaken a defensive ruler. Sofia immediately snatches her hand away from Merida, holding it close to her chest. “Unhand me!” she shouts. “don’t you be grabbing at me, you want me to get hurt don’t you? So she’ll forget all about you? No, no I wont.” She runs to Wichita clasping the mares head in two cupped hands. “Oh little pony, it was awful. I wanted to help I did, is it terrible, does it hurt?”
“Whhaaat?” comes the piglet voice across the table, the blue bear having not yet moved from his seat. “Hurt? Who? What happened? Did she take your eyes? Tell me girl did she have your eyes out?” He laughs a strange laugh, that sends an unsettling chill down Wichita’s spine (or lack thereof) She is about to ask him if he is okay, when the bedroom door swings open, a mess of golden hair entering. The others become limp once again, Sofia and Merida crumpling in on each other, Wichita now too stiff to move. A golden cockapoo crosses the lush carpet, nose down close to the ground, sniffing deeply into the threads. Schnnf schnnf schnnf schhhnf the dogs scenting is loud, as it scavenges for scraps, snapping up cookies and sweets as it approaches. It appears to inhale food, hardly chewing the snacks, they disappear rather quickly. At last, the beast rears up on hind legs, snuffling at the pink table, its head angled to lap up spilled juice. The yellow mare watches it through one chocolate painted eye, as it laps at her leg, the one covered in sticky fruit juice. She sidesteps attempting to get away, but this only makes it worse, a game of chase! The pup reaches up and clasps her between its powerful jaw, saliva coating her as its teeth pierce through her barrel. She can’t imagine anything could ever hurt so much, jagged pinholes clawed their way across her stomach, as the fur ball chewed and chewed. How many 20? 40? At least, 50 she would have thought, had she been able to muster such a worry. She made to scream but nothing came out, not because she had yet gone limp, but because there was no sounds to register this pain. Puncture wounds spread from her back left leg, up her thigh, around her barrel on both sides, ending at her shoulders. A thin film of spit, slowly slimed its way down her bodice and the dog’s mouth. She had struggled, but only for a bit, only when the bottom of her foot had ripped off in beaded up fragments had she stopped.
She became rigid once more, petrified, as Nerissa re-entered her chambers. A flash of fabric and fists, as she flung her appendages wildly around. “Cuddles!!!” her wail was frightful. Little miss princess reached for her pony, clasping Wichita around her neck, tugging against Cuddles who only pulled back. “Let go! Let go, you stupid dog!” it was more screams than words Wichita thought, the pony simply in some limbo form of existence now. She retreated far into herself, an attempt to escape the pain. Finally with a loud pop, Wichita’s head dislodged itself from its base, Nerissa clutching it open mouthed. Her tail was hanging between the dogs upper and lower jaws. Once recognizing the game was over, the golden pet smartly bolted from the room. Tail still in mouth, its small token of victory.
Nerissa bent down, picking up Wichita’s body from the floor. A disappointed look in her eyes, as she carried the separated pieces out of her room. “Mommy! Cuddles broke my pony!” she regaled handing the two pieces to a woman Wichita could not see. Whoever it was, they were repulsed, crossing the kitchen in quick strides. Wichita was dropped, unceremoniously into the waste basket, she could hear the woman’sm uffled voice assure the child. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll buy you a new one.”
The lid closes, and once more she is shut in an unfamiliar dark place.
(( count:2,344 ))