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The Cursed Children: Willy the DollThe Cursed Children
Willy the Doll
Do you hear my fellows' cries?
Do you feel my fellows' screams?
They are wanting something from you.
They are wanting you dead.
Of course, we weren't always violent.
Of course, we weren't always monsters.
Our families made us that way.
My mother was a cheerful and loving mother.
She loved me no matter when I was a human or a doll.
My loving mother cared not.
My mother made me a new 'body' to inhabit.
Of course, it's not as well as my flesh suit.
I can still get by bit by bit.
Of course, after my dear mother's death, I had to be sold.
I had to be sold to pay off that whore's debt.
She apparently never told me we were poor.
I was sold to a store down in Florida.
I stood next to a bunch of electronics and toys.
Oh, how humiliating it was for me in that pawn shop.
I was saved by a woman.
The woman came in with her two hideous brats.
The woman's daughter pulled me off the table.
She held me up by her chubby, little hands to the woman's plump face.
My Personal DemonsI am scared of myself.
I can't even go into the mirror without looking at myself.
Those ugly brown eyes torment my soul.
That messy, unkempt, chestnut-red hair I just want to tear out.
I can't stand myself.
I want to run and be as far away from myself as possible.
However, I can't run.
I despise myself.
I want to gouge my eyes out and tear myself to shreds.
It sounds sadistic, I know.
I just wish I wasn't born into this atrocity.
I abhor the thoughts I have even more.
They are always tormenting night and day.
They haunt me and always turn my dreams into nightmares.
I always feel like a liar and the lowest piece of scum on earth.
People tell me how good they think I am, but I see myself differently.
I cry as I try to keep my monsters bottled up.
I cry having to listen to this devil's whispers.
It never shuts up and it never gives me a sense of peace.
I don't want to do evil.
But, how much control do I have over my own actions?
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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