06-28-2015, 08:53 PM
The cupboard opens, letting a thin stream of light rain down from above. Syl closes her eyes, preparing herself for the garbage that she’s sure will follow. Perhaps she will be joined by more expired food, or even another damaged toy. What a depressing end.
But instead of garbage, she feels a rough hand close about the pieces of her body. A soft and kindly voice filters down into her ears. “Oh, no. Another one. Poor dear.” The hand lifts her gently, bringing her out into the light of the kitchen. A pair of watery hazel eyes peer in at her. “She really did a number on you, huh, little one? I’ll see what I can do to put you back together. Or … well, barring that, at least turn you into something beautiful again.” The words sound promising, but Syl can’t bring herself to hope any more. She’s horribly damaged and broken - her ear snipped, her head off, her body chewed and squashed, and her legs cracked and sticking out at odd angles. Surely she is beyond fixing. Why hasn’t she woken up out of this nightmare yet?
The person with the watery eyes slips her into a bag, where she remains for what seems like hours. The person bustles around, bumping the bag every once in a while, and sending shocks of pain through Syl’s shattered body. Once again she finds herself wishing for death.
Eventually, finally, the hand returns and scoops her pieces out of the bag. It sets her down on a wooden table and disappears. Syl simply lies there and waits - what’s the point of even trying any more?
After a few moments, the person returns to the room and begins bustling around, collecting items and placing them on the table beside her. Syl opens her eyes to try to catch a glimpse of the person. It’s a middle-aged woman with greying brown hair and a very exhausted air about her. If Syl had been able to feel anything besides pain, she probably would have felt a little sympathetic.
The woman suddenly turns back to Syl and picks her up her body, leaving her head on the table. “Now lets see what we can do.” The hazel eyes peer in close, studying. “Hmmm probably nothing I can do about the squashing.” She turns Syl upside down, face still close. “But the legs and the paint …” Her eyes travel to Syl’s head back on the table and apparently notices the bandaid, which she rips off. Syl’s ear burns in pain. “A little bit of paint on that …” She’s clearly talking to herself more than anyone else, trying to figure out the puzzle that is Syl’s broken body. “The head’s going to be a challenge though.” The pink mouth twists in thought. “Okay, lets give this a try.”
She places Syl’s body next to her head and sets about mixing together something in a silver bowl. Syl would have grimaced if she could - it smells foul. The lady hums as she mixes, a small smile on her lips. Syl has the feeling that this is something she’s done before. After a few minutes, the woman pulls out a little putty knife, puts some of the mixture on it, and picks up Syl’s body. She smooths the mixture on the stub of Syl’s neck. It’s an odd sensation. Syl has to wonder how she’s even feeling it when her head is no longer attached. Then, the woman picks up Syl’s head and crams it on. She works quickly - first making sure that the seams on Syl’s neck match up, then pressing the two pieces together with some force. “Thank god this dries quickly.” Next, she turns Syl over to look at her legs. “Hmmmmm …” She dabs a little bit of the mixture on one of the breaks with a q-tip, then suddenly grabs the leg and wrenches it.
Everything is pain. Syl’s leg burns and she tries to let out an almighty scream. But her mouth of course, is still frozen. The pain ebbs a little and the woman dabs the mixture on the cracks in her other three legs. Then, in quick succession, she wrenches them into place as well. Syl almost blacks out from the pain.
When she regains her senses, the woman is still holding her. “Pretty good if I don’t say so myself!” Then she sets Syl down, pushes the silver bowl, putty knife and q-tips away and begins fiddling with a bottle and a tiny, thin paintbrush. She dibs the paintbrush in the bottle and begins dabbing all over Syl’s body, covering the seams from the repairs and all of the little dings, scratches and toothmarks from her day with Nerissa. The purple paint is a almost an exact match to the amethyst purple of Syl’s body - the woman has a good eye. Then when she’s done, the woman stands back to admire her handiwork. “There! Almost as good as new!” She grins and wipes off her hands with a dirty rag. “Lena is going to love you! But we’ll have to wait until morning.” Then she turns out the light and walks out of the room. Syl waits, unmoving, on the table all night. There’s no point in trying to escape - where would she even go? And besides, the woman at least seems friendly.
When morning finally comes, the woman returns and collects Syl. She brings her out into the kitchen (so much smaller than in the other house) and places her in the waiting hands of a little girl. Syl’s heart sinks immediately. Not another child!
“Ohhhhh …” The girl exhales in wonder. “Mummy she’s beautiful.” She peers in at Syl with pale hazel eyes that are so similar to her mother’s. Her hair, is long, straight and brown. The mother smiles and places a gentle hand on top of the girl’s head. “She was a little worse for wear after Miss Nerissa was done with her, but I think she’s in good shape now. So, what do you think Lena?” The girl’s eyes are glowing and she looks up at her mother with a giant smile. “I love her! Thank you Mummy!” The woman’s smile widens, but she takes a step back. “Now, go play! I need to get to work. But make sure Miss Nerissa doesn’t see you with that. You know what happened last time …” The girl nods sadly, and with that, her mother turns and walks out the door.
Lena lifts Syl up to her eyes, peering at the patchwork pony with an intensity that is far different than Nerissa’s had been. “I’m going to call you Violet.” Syl’s heart sinks even further. Here we go again. She’s already being held together by the glue that the woman put on her the night before. There’s no way she can survive another round of rough treatment.
But, much to her surprise, the girl is far, far different.
Lena starts by taking Syl to her room, and introducing her to every single one of her toys. There’s a beautiful china doll with cracks running all through her face (another victim of Nerissa’s), a whole collection of repainted plastic animals (also rescued from the garbage can) and, clearly the most treasured of all - an old, worn brown teddy bear.
Then she begins to play and it’s nothing like the torture Nerissa’s ‘playtime’ had been. Syl and the plastic animals (including a menagerie of cats and dogs, and a brightly coloured elephant) have tea, go on adventures in the ‘mountains’ (also known as Lena’s bed), find a magical treasure, rescue a prince (yes, a prince), and when it’s finally Lena’s bedtime, are gently placed on a bookshelf beside her bed. Not once is Syl slammed into the ground, snipped at with scissors, smashed into a toy dragon, dropped down a set of stairs, chewed on by a dog, or run over by a car. And as Lena’s soft little snores begin to fill the room, Syl begins to reflect that she hadn’t minded it. In a way, it’d actually been sort of fun. She’d felt … loved. Cared for. Prized.
It’s something she’d never gotten from her mother.
Lena loves her the way she is, even if she’s not ‘talented.’ Even if she’s now only a little hunk of plastic being held together by Lena’s mother’s glue.
And as the days go by, Syl begins to love her too. She begins to look forward to the mornings, when Lena gives her a little kiss before heading off to school. She waits excitedly for every afternoon, when Lena comes home from school and heads straight to her room to say, “I missed you Violet!” She adores playtime, when Lena makes up multitudes of new adventures for her and the other toys to go on. And she loves bedtime, when Lena holds her tight to her chest and sings herself to sleep.
A week passes like this. A week of wonderful bliss. Syl no longer cares if she wakes up. She’s happy here. She’s loved far more than she ever was in the real world. She would rather stay here forever, than return to Beqanna where she is the granddaughter of a mass murderer.
But of course, it was never meant to be.
One day, during Syl’s second week of living with her, Lena decides to take a risk. The little girl decides to take her new favourite toy to show and tell at school, so that she can show all her friends the beautiful pony that her mother fixed up for her. She just knows that they will love her too. She doesn’t worry at all about Nerissa - Nerissa goes to an expensive private school, not a public school like Lena, so there’s no fear of her ever seeing her old, fixed up toy.
She places Syl gently in her backpack, along with her lunch and her school things and heads out the front door in the direction of the road - she has a good fifteen minute walk before she reaches the bus stop.
It’s as she’s reaching the end of the driveway that she makes her fatal mistake. Worried about whether or not her favourite toy is comfortable, she stops, places her back on the ground, and takes Syl out to check on her. “Are you ok in there Violet?”
The sound of leather shoes on cement makes her look up, and her gasp of shock alerts Syl to the fact that something’s wrong. There, standing right in front of them, is Nerissa. And she’s staring right at Syl.
But instead of garbage, she feels a rough hand close about the pieces of her body. A soft and kindly voice filters down into her ears. “Oh, no. Another one. Poor dear.” The hand lifts her gently, bringing her out into the light of the kitchen. A pair of watery hazel eyes peer in at her. “She really did a number on you, huh, little one? I’ll see what I can do to put you back together. Or … well, barring that, at least turn you into something beautiful again.” The words sound promising, but Syl can’t bring herself to hope any more. She’s horribly damaged and broken - her ear snipped, her head off, her body chewed and squashed, and her legs cracked and sticking out at odd angles. Surely she is beyond fixing. Why hasn’t she woken up out of this nightmare yet?
The person with the watery eyes slips her into a bag, where she remains for what seems like hours. The person bustles around, bumping the bag every once in a while, and sending shocks of pain through Syl’s shattered body. Once again she finds herself wishing for death.
Eventually, finally, the hand returns and scoops her pieces out of the bag. It sets her down on a wooden table and disappears. Syl simply lies there and waits - what’s the point of even trying any more?
After a few moments, the person returns to the room and begins bustling around, collecting items and placing them on the table beside her. Syl opens her eyes to try to catch a glimpse of the person. It’s a middle-aged woman with greying brown hair and a very exhausted air about her. If Syl had been able to feel anything besides pain, she probably would have felt a little sympathetic.
The woman suddenly turns back to Syl and picks her up her body, leaving her head on the table. “Now lets see what we can do.” The hazel eyes peer in close, studying. “Hmmm probably nothing I can do about the squashing.” She turns Syl upside down, face still close. “But the legs and the paint …” Her eyes travel to Syl’s head back on the table and apparently notices the bandaid, which she rips off. Syl’s ear burns in pain. “A little bit of paint on that …” She’s clearly talking to herself more than anyone else, trying to figure out the puzzle that is Syl’s broken body. “The head’s going to be a challenge though.” The pink mouth twists in thought. “Okay, lets give this a try.”
She places Syl’s body next to her head and sets about mixing together something in a silver bowl. Syl would have grimaced if she could - it smells foul. The lady hums as she mixes, a small smile on her lips. Syl has the feeling that this is something she’s done before. After a few minutes, the woman pulls out a little putty knife, puts some of the mixture on it, and picks up Syl’s body. She smooths the mixture on the stub of Syl’s neck. It’s an odd sensation. Syl has to wonder how she’s even feeling it when her head is no longer attached. Then, the woman picks up Syl’s head and crams it on. She works quickly - first making sure that the seams on Syl’s neck match up, then pressing the two pieces together with some force. “Thank god this dries quickly.” Next, she turns Syl over to look at her legs. “Hmmmmm …” She dabs a little bit of the mixture on one of the breaks with a q-tip, then suddenly grabs the leg and wrenches it.
Everything is pain. Syl’s leg burns and she tries to let out an almighty scream. But her mouth of course, is still frozen. The pain ebbs a little and the woman dabs the mixture on the cracks in her other three legs. Then, in quick succession, she wrenches them into place as well. Syl almost blacks out from the pain.
When she regains her senses, the woman is still holding her. “Pretty good if I don’t say so myself!” Then she sets Syl down, pushes the silver bowl, putty knife and q-tips away and begins fiddling with a bottle and a tiny, thin paintbrush. She dibs the paintbrush in the bottle and begins dabbing all over Syl’s body, covering the seams from the repairs and all of the little dings, scratches and toothmarks from her day with Nerissa. The purple paint is a almost an exact match to the amethyst purple of Syl’s body - the woman has a good eye. Then when she’s done, the woman stands back to admire her handiwork. “There! Almost as good as new!” She grins and wipes off her hands with a dirty rag. “Lena is going to love you! But we’ll have to wait until morning.” Then she turns out the light and walks out of the room. Syl waits, unmoving, on the table all night. There’s no point in trying to escape - where would she even go? And besides, the woman at least seems friendly.
When morning finally comes, the woman returns and collects Syl. She brings her out into the kitchen (so much smaller than in the other house) and places her in the waiting hands of a little girl. Syl’s heart sinks immediately. Not another child!
“Ohhhhh …” The girl exhales in wonder. “Mummy she’s beautiful.” She peers in at Syl with pale hazel eyes that are so similar to her mother’s. Her hair, is long, straight and brown. The mother smiles and places a gentle hand on top of the girl’s head. “She was a little worse for wear after Miss Nerissa was done with her, but I think she’s in good shape now. So, what do you think Lena?” The girl’s eyes are glowing and she looks up at her mother with a giant smile. “I love her! Thank you Mummy!” The woman’s smile widens, but she takes a step back. “Now, go play! I need to get to work. But make sure Miss Nerissa doesn’t see you with that. You know what happened last time …” The girl nods sadly, and with that, her mother turns and walks out the door.
Lena lifts Syl up to her eyes, peering at the patchwork pony with an intensity that is far different than Nerissa’s had been. “I’m going to call you Violet.” Syl’s heart sinks even further. Here we go again. She’s already being held together by the glue that the woman put on her the night before. There’s no way she can survive another round of rough treatment.
But, much to her surprise, the girl is far, far different.
Lena starts by taking Syl to her room, and introducing her to every single one of her toys. There’s a beautiful china doll with cracks running all through her face (another victim of Nerissa’s), a whole collection of repainted plastic animals (also rescued from the garbage can) and, clearly the most treasured of all - an old, worn brown teddy bear.
Then she begins to play and it’s nothing like the torture Nerissa’s ‘playtime’ had been. Syl and the plastic animals (including a menagerie of cats and dogs, and a brightly coloured elephant) have tea, go on adventures in the ‘mountains’ (also known as Lena’s bed), find a magical treasure, rescue a prince (yes, a prince), and when it’s finally Lena’s bedtime, are gently placed on a bookshelf beside her bed. Not once is Syl slammed into the ground, snipped at with scissors, smashed into a toy dragon, dropped down a set of stairs, chewed on by a dog, or run over by a car. And as Lena’s soft little snores begin to fill the room, Syl begins to reflect that she hadn’t minded it. In a way, it’d actually been sort of fun. She’d felt … loved. Cared for. Prized.
It’s something she’d never gotten from her mother.
Lena loves her the way she is, even if she’s not ‘talented.’ Even if she’s now only a little hunk of plastic being held together by Lena’s mother’s glue.
And as the days go by, Syl begins to love her too. She begins to look forward to the mornings, when Lena gives her a little kiss before heading off to school. She waits excitedly for every afternoon, when Lena comes home from school and heads straight to her room to say, “I missed you Violet!” She adores playtime, when Lena makes up multitudes of new adventures for her and the other toys to go on. And she loves bedtime, when Lena holds her tight to her chest and sings herself to sleep.
A week passes like this. A week of wonderful bliss. Syl no longer cares if she wakes up. She’s happy here. She’s loved far more than she ever was in the real world. She would rather stay here forever, than return to Beqanna where she is the granddaughter of a mass murderer.
But of course, it was never meant to be.
One day, during Syl’s second week of living with her, Lena decides to take a risk. The little girl decides to take her new favourite toy to show and tell at school, so that she can show all her friends the beautiful pony that her mother fixed up for her. She just knows that they will love her too. She doesn’t worry at all about Nerissa - Nerissa goes to an expensive private school, not a public school like Lena, so there’s no fear of her ever seeing her old, fixed up toy.
She places Syl gently in her backpack, along with her lunch and her school things and heads out the front door in the direction of the road - she has a good fifteen minute walk before she reaches the bus stop.
It’s as she’s reaching the end of the driveway that she makes her fatal mistake. Worried about whether or not her favourite toy is comfortable, she stops, places her back on the ground, and takes Syl out to check on her. “Are you ok in there Violet?”
The sound of leather shoes on cement makes her look up, and her gasp of shock alerts Syl to the fact that something’s wrong. There, standing right in front of them, is Nerissa. And she’s staring right at Syl.