Kristina Skaggs, co-owner of Complete Chiropractic and Wellness Center in Joliet (www.completechiroandwellness.com), has the unparalleled honor of being the first writer to submit and publish a short story on Bryony's website.
She is also the founder of "Write On," the writer's group that meets every first and third Thursdays of the months at the Three Rivers Arts Council in Minooka (http://www.three-rivers-arts.org/index.htm). Read Kristina's blog at www.pokkadotdog.wordpress.com.
Here is Kristina's latest twist on death. Enjoy!
Geoffrey predicted a few years. He would say his goodbyes. He’d blame it on the recession. Then he would die.
There wasn’t much to his predicament. The pink elephants at the end of the shelf knew what was coming. Each Christmas another kid pointed avidly at the anorexic bleached blond Plastic Fantastic doll in the aisle. She didn’t have to worry about job security. Everyone loves a party girl. Birthdays, bachelor parties, and each and every Christmas, she was there, beneath ribbons, ready to be unwrapped and played with.
Plastic Fantastic, she’d get what was coming. The shoes would be the first to get lost then her blond hair would be chopped off with safety scissors. They’d strip off her panties and discard them in a crayon box. Her pointy breasts would lead to dozens of unanswered questions. Eventually the rest of her clothes would be scattered and shoved between couch cushions. They’d find her naked laying face down, a scene taken right out of SVU.
The choking hazard cars, the glorified robotic hamster that also could be used as a cat toy, they had all had their hey day. Geoffrey was more of a sentimental item. He was cuddly, sure. He didn’t talk though. There was no battery pack stowed away in his rear end to make him recite lovey-dovey phrases. The talking ones, they got played with until their batteries ran out anyway. After Teddy started babbling through the Goldilocks and the Three Bears he’d be sent to the ceiling hamper with the rest of the stuffed lot. Sentenced to a lifetime of having to look adoringly onto the bedroom of a child who no longer remembered them. At least they had company.
Geoffrey had come to terms with his inevitable. He’d be picked out as a last minute shower gift. Wrapped in pastels, Geoffrey preferred baby blue. There would be squeezing and facial nuzzling by the adults. They would awe at each other, saying how he was “cute” and “fluffy.” And then he’d sit untouched in a white barred prison, until his cellmate arrived.
He’d be kicked unexpectedly in the night, he’d put up with the outburst of crying and spats of bulimic purging. His ears would be used for numbing new teeth; his eyeballs would be pulled out and get vacuumed up. He’d be dragged everywhere. There would be attempts to wash him, but his color would never return. There would be snuggles, hugs, kisses, and then he’d go late in the night; out with the binkies and the tattered security blanket. The parents would replace him with a newer, flashier toy. Maybe even get Plastic Fantastic and her accessories, which they’d regret when they stepped barefoot onto her handbags and tripped over her convertible.
Geoffrey, he’d go peacefully. There would be a little fussiness, but sooner rather then later, was best. He’d be there and then not. He expected death, but not without a few years of toying around.
She is also the founder of "Write On," the writer's group that meets every first and third Thursdays of the months at the Three Rivers Arts Council in Minooka (http://www.three-rivers-arts.org/index.htm). Read Kristina's blog at www.pokkadotdog.wordpress.com.
Here is Kristina's latest twist on death. Enjoy!
Geoffrey predicted a few years. He would say his goodbyes. He’d blame it on the recession. Then he would die.
There wasn’t much to his predicament. The pink elephants at the end of the shelf knew what was coming. Each Christmas another kid pointed avidly at the anorexic bleached blond Plastic Fantastic doll in the aisle. She didn’t have to worry about job security. Everyone loves a party girl. Birthdays, bachelor parties, and each and every Christmas, she was there, beneath ribbons, ready to be unwrapped and played with.
Plastic Fantastic, she’d get what was coming. The shoes would be the first to get lost then her blond hair would be chopped off with safety scissors. They’d strip off her panties and discard them in a crayon box. Her pointy breasts would lead to dozens of unanswered questions. Eventually the rest of her clothes would be scattered and shoved between couch cushions. They’d find her naked laying face down, a scene taken right out of SVU.
The choking hazard cars, the glorified robotic hamster that also could be used as a cat toy, they had all had their hey day. Geoffrey was more of a sentimental item. He was cuddly, sure. He didn’t talk though. There was no battery pack stowed away in his rear end to make him recite lovey-dovey phrases. The talking ones, they got played with until their batteries ran out anyway. After Teddy started babbling through the Goldilocks and the Three Bears he’d be sent to the ceiling hamper with the rest of the stuffed lot. Sentenced to a lifetime of having to look adoringly onto the bedroom of a child who no longer remembered them. At least they had company.
Geoffrey had come to terms with his inevitable. He’d be picked out as a last minute shower gift. Wrapped in pastels, Geoffrey preferred baby blue. There would be squeezing and facial nuzzling by the adults. They would awe at each other, saying how he was “cute” and “fluffy.” And then he’d sit untouched in a white barred prison, until his cellmate arrived.
He’d be kicked unexpectedly in the night, he’d put up with the outburst of crying and spats of bulimic purging. His ears would be used for numbing new teeth; his eyeballs would be pulled out and get vacuumed up. He’d be dragged everywhere. There would be attempts to wash him, but his color would never return. There would be snuggles, hugs, kisses, and then he’d go late in the night; out with the binkies and the tattered security blanket. The parents would replace him with a newer, flashier toy. Maybe even get Plastic Fantastic and her accessories, which they’d regret when they stepped barefoot onto her handbags and tripped over her convertible.
Geoffrey, he’d go peacefully. There would be a little fussiness, but sooner rather then later, was best. He’d be there and then not. He expected death, but not without a few years of toying around.
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