Burn it Down -- Beth Dawkins

Samantha poured tea into a cup for Snuggles, and then one for each of her “guests.” That included me. Water rushed out of the pot and spilled onto the plastic table. 

The sound of her pouring burrowed inside my stuffed, cotton head. I dreamed of range and movement. In these dreams my stubby arms grew fingers and I ran them through the Samantha's dark curls. I pulled them out in clumps taking pieces of skin with me. She screamed as I bashed the delicate teapot into her head and left shards embedded in her flesh. 

Snuggles sat in front of me. His plastic eyes were big, round, and hopeful: A mockery of what was inside. Water dripped from his mouth where Samantha tipped the teacup. It puddled beside the saucer. 

She picked up my cup, "Now your turn, Oinkers." 

She tilted her head to the side. Her lips pressed over her tongue that stuck out as she balanced the tiny teacup full of water. The water slipped over my snout, pooling onto the chair. I willed myself to grow giant tusks and stab her to death.

It'd happened before. Samantha’s mother came in, spraying each of us with disinfectant. She’d taken Splash, a dolphin, two months ago and never brought him back. 

The water soaked into my stitching, into the cotton under my cloth skin.  

#

In days of tedium Samantha touched her lace curtains, the fabric brushing her fingertips. She made her bed every morning, without her mother having to remind her. Each of her stuffed creatures, including me, had a "home" on shelves, the bed, chairs, and even her white dresser.

Our days bled into one another. Tiny things excited us, like the time she had another little girl over. The new girl was taller, leaner with long, lank hair. She laughed loud. She pulled Snuggles off the rocking chair and dragged him by the leg onto the bed, where she rolled in the sheets. 

"Put him down," Samantha demanded. 

"Why?" 

"He's mine." 

The girl laughed. "You have to share." 

Samantha took me off the shelf and shoved me into the girl's face. My plastic eye hit her nose. 

"Take Oinkers. Snuggles is mine." 

But the girl cried into Snuggles and Samantha fled to get her mother.

The girl heaved a bright pink bag over her shoulder and Samantha’s mother took her away, just like Splash. 

#

"Will you shut up already?" asked the ballerina on the dresser. She had a pile of round coins inside of her. "I'm sick of your whining." 

The princess dolls Samantha never let out of their boxes, the stuffed lamb on the bedspread, and the tiny animals filled with beans all talked over one another.

"Lay off," Snuggles said, hushing the others. 

"I can’t do it anymore, day after day, we do nothing!" I said. 

The ballerina sighed. "But what can we do?" 

"We try, and when that fails, we try again. Anything is better than giving up." 

No one traded thoughts and the air conditioner rumbled to life. 

"I'm sorry," Snuggles said, his defeat as confined as my cotton insides. "This is all we have." 

#

Our places changed. Snuggles sat in my old chair and I was placed on the bookshelf beside the trophy of a girl with a bat in her hands. The trophy told me stories of her identical sisters and how she had the power to connect girls together. 

"They're a team because of us," she’d said with pride. 

Samantha grew taller. She didn’t have tea parties and she didn’t sleep with Snuggles. 

A new girl came into the room. Both girls sat on the floor, hovering over the old tea table where they laid out notebooks and wrote on index cards. 

The girl left and came back. Her name was Layla, and they giggled, playing new music. Layla brought shiny magazines and they sat close together, flipping pages. 

I occupied my time with new ways to destroy Samantha. I watched her with sharp pencils, pens, scissors, and a needle. I hoped she’d slip and jab herself. I wished she’d step on her needle and it’d hit something important. 

Layla took out a box labelled Ouija. Inside was a board with numbers and letters. They lit candles around the room. Golden light flickered against the pink walls. A candle burned right below me in a glass cup. If I fell the flame would catch me, and I’d catch the carpet. I’d burn the world down. 

The girls sat in front of the board, whispering among themselves. They'd locked the door. They put two fingers on the planchette. It moved under their fingertips. 

"Oh my god!" Samantha exclaimed. 

"Shh."

The flame below me swayed on its wick. 

"I think it's my grandpa," said Samantha.

I tried to stretch my stitching out and reach forward. It'd only take one little push. 

The trophy started to grumble. 

"B-U-R-N," Layla said. "Did he die in a fire?"

I wanted all of them to burn in a fire. I imagined stepping to the edge, how my cotton muscles would bunch giving movement to my will. 

"Maybe it's someone else?" Samantha offered. 

The trophy hissed. The girls never heard us. 

And then I moved. The flame called me towards golden oblivion, like a siren song. 

"M-O-V-E," Samantha spelled. "I don't think I like this anymore." 

"Oinkers, stop!" the trophy screamed.

The girls twisted their heads around and I fell. The light of the simple flame grew closer and closer. I thought I heard Snuggles cheer as the girls screamed. The flame crawled against my fur, digging into my cotton as fire licked the carpet. 

The girls screamed and the flimsy curtain floated up, yellow orange sparked at the end. The girls’ tiny hands slammed against the door. 

My plastic eyes melted and the world disappeared.