#AtoZChallenge. April 4, 2018, The Theory of Dolls
What is the theory of dolls? What if the hobby your spouse loves and you hate is more than it seems?
26 posts. 26 days. And 26 letters of the alphabet, one post beginning with each letter, in April.
Follow me as we visit the not-quite-normal retirement village of Twilight, Arizona, where reality clashes with the unexplained.
The Theory of Dolls
Dale Sutton hated the dolls. They occupied every inch of his Twilight, Arizona home. On the bookshelves, in the closets, on the back of the God-damned toilet—everywhere he looked, they stared back. It was like living inside a clown car.
“How much for this beauty?” his visitor asked, holding up one of the ugly ones, the kind with the oversized eyes and pipecleaner-thin limbs.
“What?” Dale pulled his attention from listening for Helen in the next room.
“This Blythe.” The woman, who had the body and face of a bulldog, cradled the stupid doll as if it breathed and pooped.
“I don’t know, I don’t know. Let me check Helen’s book.” Five years earlier, when she’d retired at age sixty-six, his wife had finally had time to catalogue her collection.
Over the years, the monstrosities had multiplied like rats in a third world city. Sleeping babies, Victorian ladies, and Barbies—don’t get him started on the damned Barbies. Scarlett O’Hara Barbie. Liz Taylor as Cleopatra Barbie. Bewitched Barbie. He’d set fire to them all if he could.
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