A Short Submission by Kelly Smith

It was around noon when I started to catch the smell of something rancid on the air. Something told me to leave it alone, but that digging curiosity got the better of me, as it always does. You see, I had been sick and laid up for far too long. My body was screaming at me to move, somewhere.. Anywhere. So, I decided to take a walk. A walk that would land me smack in the middle of the most beastly mystery of our time. Like I said before, the smell.. It was like something straight from the bowels of hell. The southern heat has a way of makin that smell come to have a very life of it’s own. Perhaps, it’s the way our ugly souls really smell, hidden deep inside our perfumed bodies. It was ripe, pungent and my relentless need to know drug me right toward it. God, how I wish I had just walked another way. You see, I love the woods, the creek, the way the light falls in beams through the canopy above. The light, like poles we could climb straight up to heaven, and today, maybe that’s what they were used for. The ground felt great under foot after being down so long. The wind caressed me and seemed to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, How it missed me, how good my skin felt. Everything was just about as perfect as a day could get, except that smell and the nagging thought at the back of my mind that this was the wrong place to be. I found out real quick that that feeling was right. As I came to the edge of the creek I started to sit, take off my shoes. Let my feet have a little rest in the cool of the water. That’s when I noticed there was already something resting in that cool water and this would be resting there forever. She was wrapped in plastic. You know, the kind we used to pour dish soap on to slip and slide. She didn’t look like she was in the mood for any slipping or sliding though. Her hair was this reddish brown hue, the color of dry, burning leaves In autumn. The way those beams of light hit it, I could swear there were embers of a long gone fire still hiding in the strands. There was no fire though, you could tell from the translucent white film that took over the vibrancy of her irises. That milky whiteness that robbed her of clearly seeing how beautiful her final resting place was. At least, that could have been some solace. Some warmth too, could have taken that cold shade of blue off her fair skin. It truely was an odd sight to see something, espcially a person, in that frigid hue, in the heat of the day. Hell, it would have been a strange color in the snow, to be honest. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was quite transfixed on her stillness. Laying there in that shallow creek, wrapped up like a deli sandwich, eyes to the heavens, peering into eternity. Her mouth slightly open as if to give one parting note, one final aria. Her right arm was loose of the wrap and outstretched as if she gave her final breath trying to worm out of that plastic cocoon, poised to make one last bow. As obviously dead as she was, she was still quite beautiful. Pale skin yet unravaged, hair still ablaze, a lovely Dresden doll for all to see. The only thing that I could see out of place, besides her life, was that her left eyebrow was smudged ever so slightly. I can’t even begin to tell you why but that one little detail made me crack. Tears fell like torrents from hurricanes and a cry escaped my throat that sounded foreign and ferrell. It was then I saw that wrapped inside the plastic with her was a book. I could swear that the woman laying nearly atop my bare feet was the very same woman that graced the cover. This book, certainly, had led to her untimely end. Then and there, I decided, I must find out Who Killed Amanda Palmer.


——————————————————————————————————————


Story by Matthew Stalbaum
Inspired by this photo by Nicholas Vargelis

Of course the store was crowded on a Sunday morning – ironically enough, there’s a lot of business that day of the week.  I usually avoid that crowd, I’d rather have less people around by going a weekday instead.  Besides, those guys who show up Sunday mornings always creep me out a little.  They always wear real nice clothing, like they want people to think they’re going to church, and they walk down the aisles with these grins that give you shivers.  Hell, even the dolls start to shake and move to the back of their containers, though of course still smiling cause a sale’s a sale and they’ll pay hell if the manager catches them scowling or frowning some guy away.  I feel a little sorry for the ones who get bought up by those Sunday guys – I hear they’re into some sick shit.  I mean, my tastes are a little violent, but damn, the Sunday-bought dolls barely last a couple weeks, or at least that’s what I hear.

I was only there that morning because the doll I had bought on Friday had fuckin’ run right into the street and a Volvo hit her right in the back and tossed her, and I was gonna see if I could get my money back.  It wasn’t the guy’s fault though, the dumb broad was trying to escape and just ran in the street half naked, didn’t even know where she was going.  His insurance can cover the damages to his car, cause no one’s weekend should be ruined by some dumb doll doing something stupid.  I’d have waited some other day to take her back, to avoid going in on a Sunday, but I was afraid she’d start to rot or something, and I didn’t have no where to store her until Monday without stinking up the house. 

She was in the freaking S&M section at the store, she knew what she was in for, and I’m damn nice compared to a lot of other guys browsing that aisle.  Hell, I didn’t even mean to give her a black eye, and I apologized for it and offered some ice to put on it.  Now how many other guys would do something like that?  A handful maybe – we’re a rare breed, us nice guys.  The guy who owned the Volvo wasn’t that mad though, luckily.  He was telling me how he had a doll who just up and killed herself, just hopped out of the top story of the house and broke her neck on impact.  I told him that was a shame.  I said, “Man, it’s like they don’t appreciate anything!  We feed them, we give them a place to stay, and most of us take them out every once in a while.  I don’t understand why they do this stupid shit!  I know I’m not what you’d call a looker, but dammit, it ain’t that bad!  I’m giving them a better life than those girls on the streets just selling themselves.”  He nodded in agreement, cause he was a nice guy like me – I could tell, he didn’t give me no trouble or anything, he knew it was just a freak thing.

I don’t get how those girls get the nerve to just bypass the store and sell themselves, and for a limited time only no less!  I guess it attracts that crowd that only wants a quick pleasure, not a keeper like me, but it’s still pretty strange.  You don’t know what can happen to you on those streets anyways.  I remember reading about that Jack the Ripper guy once – don’t any of those=2 0girls see any guy could just come up and get them around the throat?  At least with a store they get made up, they’re clean, and the clientele at least has decent money and will take care of them – most of ‘em anyways, and even the crummy ones just rough ‘em up, no one just ups and kills their doll.  Those street girls should just find other work, like waitressing or something, cause those streets just aren’t safe, you know?

I had bought this one on Friday cause I’d just gotten a raise and figured I’d get myself a present.  I’d had one before her though, bought right after Juliet, my wife, died.  It took some getting used to I’ll say, to suddenly have this doll in front of you who isn’t like other women, who you don’t have to go through that bullshit process with of courting and flowers and movies and looking good and what not.  God, I was so new back then, I didn’t sleep with her for a week, just kept taking her out to restaurants and hoping she’d get a liking to me.  One day she finally asked me, “hey, how come you don’t wanna do it?  Got a sex problem?”  She was a bold one, had short brown hair and tough limbs, small but all muscle.  It probably never occurred to her that I thought she had to like me before we did any of that.  She just asked me that question straight out, word for word, and I realized that it didn’t matter whether she liked me or not, she’d still do it, so I smiled and kissed her all over her lips and neck, going down her body like an animal cause I hadn’t gotten any in so long. 

What really got me was all the things I could do with her that my wife wouldn’t agree to.  I won’t go into detail, but she never once said no.  I don’t know what they do to those dolls, but they should do it to all women if you ask me – it would’ve saved me a lot of endless and winless goddamn arguments, I can tell you.  She didn’t always smile about what I asked from her, but it didn’t matter.  She made the sounds and put up the motions, worked her hips the right way each time, so she was always worth it.  Sometimes she even forced a smile, and I know she didn’t mean it but that’s alright.

She stayed about a year, and could’ve stayed longer if she hadn’t been a bitch.  Back then I was real green to the whole doll thing, so on most nights when I’d use her she’d just fall asleep in the bed, and I, being the doormat I was back then, didn’t ever bother to wake her.  One night I got up to go the bathroom and when I came back the drawer of the bedside table was open and she was holding a picture of Juliet I had put in there when I had decided to buy the doll.  It was this picture of Juliet at a company party a year or so before she died.  She was a little big at the time, and those days she would hound me for damn near everything, but her smile in that picture was so damn…I don’t even know what, just her, I couldn’t bear to look at it.  The doll went, “hey, who’s this?”  I told her it was my wife.  “What, she leave you or something?”
“No,” I told her, “she died,” keeping my lips as tight as possible so we’ll drop the subject. 
“Well, that’s a shame” she says flippantly, and then a smile grows on her face.  “Hey, least you got me now!”  That’s what did it.   Not the actual words, but that goddamn smile she was wearing when she said them, I can’t tell you, I was so close to just smacking her across the face.  The nerve of her, going through my drawers, and then talking to me about my wife!  I clenched my teeth real tight and snatched the picture from her hands. 

“Get out” I said calmly.  I remember breathing it out of my teeth, and it felt like fire against my mouth.  My fists were balled up so tight, it’s a wonder I didn’t break that picture.  Her eyes got real big suddenly, not scared exactly but just big, surprised I guess.  She sat up and just stared at me, with those big eyes, kind of half defenseless and half shocked.  That smile was way gone now, but I still felt it – made me wince a little.  I told her, “tomorrow morning, grab whatever clothes you got and get out.”  That was that.  Next morning I woke up and she was gone, she wasn’t in my bed, wasn’t in hers, and there wasn’t the slightest trace of her anywhere.  Juliet’s picture was face down on the table, and I needed a long shower before I could pick it up again. Don’t remember how long ago that was, and I don’t care enough to figure it out.

Now here I was with a dead doll – great fucking luck.  I had to scour the parking lot for a shopping cart too, guess they were all taken by the Sunday crowd.  Sure, she was light enough to carry probably, slung over my shoulder I guess, but that felt weird to do.  I mean, she was a doll, not some old rug or something.  When I found a cart, I dropped her in and rolled it on inside, avoiding the looks of the guys around me.  Knowing those types, they probably assumed I had done the dirty work.  I thought I heard some snickers and laughs as I found the help desk.  Thank God it was near the entrance so I didn’t have to go through any aisles or anything.  I really would’ve felt bad carrying that dead doll past the others on display, watching from their plastic cases at what they could become.  I think people have done that to them as a joke before, I remember coming across videos of that on the internet, but even that’s a bit too fucked up for my sense of humor.

To just make things more uncomfortable, a woman was manning the help desk.  She had a smile plastered on her face, done up so well that I couldn’t even tell if she was affected or not by the dead doll I was bringing to her.  “Hello, what can I do for you?” she asked.  She didn’t even look in the cart, the same stupid look of customer service on her face.  For a moment I wanted to just break that smile, just do something to her so she’d stop being so damn cheerful, but I resisted the urge.  I looked away and forced myself not to make eye contact with her mindless stare.

“Yeah,” I said, “I just bought this one on Friday, and last night she tried to run away, bolted right into the street and got slammed by a car, and I was wondering if I could get my money back, seeing as how they’re not supposed to try to run.”  I would’ve told her my frustration at how she ran because of what I wanted her to do, even though she was a BDSM model, but I didn’t feel like letting the help woman know that information unless she really needed it; no need to reveal too much, you know?

“I’m sorry,” she starts, and already I’m feeling annoyed.  “We don’t give refunds unless diseases are involved, but you could exchange her for another one if you’d like.”  She still hadn’t looked at the cart I don’t think, at least I never saw her glance towards it.  Hell, she was like a robot or something!  Even dolls have more feeling than that girl had.  A guy would’ve been a better choice for that job probably, would’ve understood my annoyance and it’d have felt less awkward, but you can’t choose those things I guess.

I tell her, “ahh, I don’t really want another one right now, or today at least.  Can I get store credit or something?” 
She smiles real big and goes, “sure!”  Her enthusiasm wasn’t exactly contagious.  Something gets typed into the computer, a slip of paper prints out, and I get handed a nice IOU for one new doll sometime in the future.  Haven’t thought about when I’ll use it or what I’ll get, might go for something different, like an ethnic flavor or something.  Some guy nearby who worked there came up and took the cart from me, pushed it over to the side of the store where I saw an Employee’s Only doorway.  I guess he just took it out back and tossed it in the dump, considering there wasn’t much else you could do with it.  But she was off my hands anyhow, and I basically had a free coupon for a good time whenever I wanted. 

I’ll pick more carefully next time around, find some girl who won’t do something dumb or insane.  I swear, I get the worst luck when it comes to picking dolls.  I’ll look for some girl who doesn’t look like she’ll question or resist anything.  If I wanted that I’d fucking start dating again.