Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

May 31, 2007

notebook draft: another random line

If only I had beaten her more severely, she would surely have enjoyed a sweeter disposition to me since. My damn rag doll. She stared every night; I was supposed to love her, like my mother. I hated the button eyes and stuffed-in-China scent; would pull at her rancid stitched-mitt hands with my teeth (and my mother thought that I was kissing the thing) but as far as beating her went, I could only bash her against the wall or floor once, before I would relent and tuck her in beside me, staring still.

[More three-minute fiction, from another stolen line; San Franciscans have interesting bookshelves.]

Posted by Delire at May 31, 2007 12:30 PM
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