GENRE: YA Dark Contemporary w/ magical realism
My dolls haunt me. They jump inside me and make me write things I don’t want to write. Things I don’t need to remember. I try to ignore them, but it doesn't do any good. They’re haunted and haunted things like to scare you.
Mother safety pinned a butterfly bookmark to this journal. It’s her way of saying she speaks my language, that she’s on my level. I wear safety pins in everything. But I have a secret for you, Mother dear. You’ll never speak my language and I’ll never speak yours.
I remember the night you gave me to demons. I’ve been possessed by them, I have been their possession. They cast an invisible spell; they blind the eyes of people around you so people don’t see them in the same light as you. But I know their light well. It’s aged and filled with ancient screams. The minute it touched me, it shrouded me forever.
God. This blood’s getting everywhere.
i crinkle to life when her blood spills. i move in red and breath. she doesn’t see me and she doesn’t know that i see. i am her childhood doll. i’ve seen since we first found each other. she was four. that was twelve years ago. i’ve been around a lot longer. i don’t know how long. i only remember the smell of smoke and turpentine, the taste of oiled cinnamon, the feel of hard straw and needle pinch as it sewed on each stitch of mouth and coarse yarn hair.