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November 12, 2005

Volume 8, Issue 12

I wrote this theme two days ago, hoping one of our regulars would post it Saturday morning since I had to attend a soccer game. It has been proposed that we just post one theme on weekends, especially since even our regulars don't always check in on one or more of the weekend days. With that in mind, the theme for both today and Sunday is:

Once upon a time, a little girl left her favorite toy at the park...

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Comments

It wasn’t one of those form molded plastic dolls that are sold by the hundreds of thousands. Those dolls with name brands and packaged with a dozen twist-ties into garish, cellophane windowed boxes.

This doll was genuine porcelain, carefully outfitted in a handmade dress. And from the worn fading of the painted face, this doll was obviously well loved.

They found the little girl’s mutilated body hidden in the bushes only yards away.

I wept that night, mostly for the poor little girl and her grieving parents. But maybe a little for the doll that would never again be loved.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at November 13, 2005 10:12 AM · Permalink

Sitting on the park bench he was amazed how uncluttered his mind was. The playground was filled with the pastiche of laughing and crying children. Hollywood dictated that the scene was desperately asking for someone’s child to be whisked away leaving only the distraught, much like the formal attired who stumble down wintry alleys are always a few steps from the consequences of seeming social injustice by way of gunshot. Yesterday these things would never have occurred to him, but today a bemused smile played on his face and the abandoned toy under the bench by his feet went unnoticed.

Posted by: Carl at November 13, 2005 5:38 PM · Permalink

Sitting on the park bench he was amazed how uncluttered his mind was. The playground was filled with the pastiche of laughing and crying children. Hollywood dictated that the scene was desperately asking for someone’s child to be whisked away leaving only the distraught, much like the formal attired who stumble down wintry alleys are always a few steps from the consequences of seeming social injustice by way of gunshot. Yesterday these things would never have occurred to him, but today a bemused smile played on his face and the abandoned toy under the bench by his feet went unnoticed.

Posted by: Carl at November 13, 2005 5:39 PM · Permalink

Somewhere in New Jersey, a parked gray minivan, interior:

"Geekachu is gone! Missing!" said Amy.

"At the playground?" Dad asked.

"Yes!" Amy was very upset.

Dad turned his head real slow. "Well, I guess we're just gonna hafta go back in there after him," he said. He put on his all-purpose, wide-brimmed Stetson. "Geekachu's an American," said Dad. "Just got his citizenship. And Americans don't turn their backs on each other - no matter what. Right?"

"No matter what!" Amy chirped.

Five minutes later, Amy was warmly embracing her synthetic friend, and I was wondering where Dad had gotten that hat.

Posted by: G-Do at November 13, 2005 9:54 PM · Permalink

Her dad used to take her to the park down by the railroad tracks. You see, mommy lives there now, behind the bushes. She didn't know why mommy didn't live with daddy anymore. Mommy smells funny.

Now daddy moved away, and I live with my auntie and my cousins in Utah.

My auntie takes me to the park, but not a lot anymore.

I left my barbie for mommy to play with. My mommy loves me.

Posted by: Mr. Bryce at November 14, 2005 7:49 AM · Permalink

Mr. Bryce:

FYI - The entries need to be precisely 100 words in length. I made a couple of posts before that was made clear to me, too.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at November 14, 2005 10:19 AM · Permalink

Beautiful story though!! I don't know how you could count the words through your tears, Jim. I know I couldn't.

Posted by: kasac at November 14, 2005 1:08 PM · Permalink

Exactly 100 words? I have a hard time counting and getting anything else done. But thanks for the nice thoughts, guys.

The little girl is 3 and my nephew's daughter. Life sucks when you are a little kid and your parents are meth addicts. Her daddy was raising her as a single father until she was two. Daddy is now living with a crack whore somewhere (we don't see him anymore). Mommy just got out of rehab but the judge won't let her have custody until she is clean at least one year.

Yes mommy loves her, but not herself.

Posted by: Mr. Bryce at November 14, 2005 7:13 PM · Permalink

Mr. Bryce - Being true makes the story sadder still. At least somebody in her family is good enough to take care of her.

Use the bottom section of the comments page to count your words for you. Hitting it at exactly 100 words is part of the fun.
Give it a try. I'm sure yoi'll see what I mean.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at November 14, 2005 8:25 PM · Permalink