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Flash Fiction #32 – Don’t You Forget About Me

songprompt4

This months’s song fic was inspired by Simple Minds’ Don’t You Forget About Me. Here’s the video if you’re feeling like reliving the 80s with me. And here are the lyrics. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t remember seeing the creepy clown head in the video before. WTF, Simple Minds?! That’s not okay! Anyway, here’s what I came up with…

 

“Um…did a garage sale break in and attack you while I was gone?”

My roommate, Cassie, set the grocery bags she was carrying on the counter and wandered closer to where I’d started sorting through the boxes of crap my parents had dropped off on their way out of town.

I sighed. “This is what happens when your mother insists on saving all kinds of shit from your childhood – shit that you’d told her years ago that you didn’t want, I might add – and then your parents buy an RV.”

Cassie sat on the floor across from me and started fishing through the open box between us. “Ah. They’re downsizing, then.”

Nodding, I tossed aside a battered copy of Cinderella, and Cassie picked it up and flipped open the cover.

“This book belongs to Lizabeth Annabelle Adler,” she read. “Lizabeth Annabelle?”

I rolled my eyes. “My mother has always had a flair for the dramatic.”

Cassie looked around and snorted. “Clearly.” She reached to the side and opened another box, then squealed! “Oh my god! You had an American Girl doll? I always wanted one of these, but we could never afford it.”

“Well, you have four sisters, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. And if one of us got something, we all got it. So American Girl dolls were definitely not happening at our house.” She smoothed her hand over the doll’s long brown hair. “Which one is this?”

“That would be Molly McIntire – 1944. I had Kit Kitteridge, too. But I have no idea what happened to her.”

“She’s darling. I love her little glasses.”

I stared at Molly, and the way Cassie held her made it seem as if Molly was looking at me. Goosebumps blanketed my arms, and I glanced away. I’d never wanted the stupid doll. She  and Kit and every possible accessory between them had been a Christmas gift the year I’d really wanted a Nintendo.

I watched as Cassie sorted through all of Molly’s clothes undressing and redressing her in all her little outfits. Molly’s head kept spinning toward me, which was weird. I didn’t remember her neck being broken.

“You know…I’m just going to donate all this stuff. So, if you want the doll, you can have her.”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. What am I going to do with her?”

“You could sell her on eBay. She’s practically in mint condition. And with all her clothes and accessories, you could probably make a small fortune.”

I shook my head. “Nah. If you like her, I’d rather you have her.”

“Thank you!” Cassie hugged the doll to her chest. “I promise, I’ll take good care of her.”

When I went to bed that evening, I peered into Cassie’s room and saw the doll sitting on Cassie’s bed against the pillows – much  like she used to sit on my bed with Kit whether I’d wanted them there or not.

Reaching my own room, I fell into bed. I was exhausted. Besides a full day of work, I’d also hauled all the boxes from my mom to Goodwill. I think the only thing I’d kept, besides the doll crap I’d given to Cassie, was the that tattered copy of Cinderella.

I set the book on  my nightstand and pulled the covers up to my shoulders and closed my eyes. I had no idea how long I’d slept, but I startled awake to the sound of someone whispering my name. I opened my eyes expecting to see Cassie, but Molly sat on the pillow next to my head, her expression so far from the benign, vacant-eyed stare that I was used to seeing on her that a scream lodged in my throat.

“Where’s Kit, Liza? What did you do with her?”

“Cassie?” I called. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but this isn’t funny.”

The doll raised its hand as if it wanted to smack me. “Don’t worry about Cassie. I took care of her.”

Was that blood on her dress?  I wanted to check on my roommate, but I was frozen in place. I  couldn’t move.

“Where’s Kit?” the doll demanded  again.

“I-I don’t know.”

“That’s not the answer I want to hear.” Molly leaned forward until her tiny little face hovered above mine – her braids tickling my skin. “Don’t you forget about me, Liza. We’re going to be together forever. Just you and me.”

 

Welp, that’s it for me. Be sure to check out Paige’s story, too.

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10 thoughts on “Flash Fiction #32 – Don’t You Forget About Me

  1. LMAO! Ummmm….you KNOW I’m Molly McIntire, right? (Maiden name) buwhaaaahaaaahaaa…..

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Okay! I love dolls! I still have a couple of mine. (Although it is Betsy McCall and Barbie. Didn’t have American Girl in my day.) They are not the least bit scary! Why? OMG. Where is Kit?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Dude, American Girl dolls are terrifying! They’re watching people sleep…and plotting. Especially Jenny Trout’s doll Samantha. o.O Because her doll is so scary, we made a video about her: http://jennytrout.com/?p=7784

      Liked by 1 person

      • I saw that video. LMAO! You were so mean to her. Samantha is nice. I missed out on this craze. My daughter didn’t like dolls. I was so sad. But my granddaughter, who I never get to see . . . *sigh* Is 60 too old to play with dolls? 😀 Okay! So I am creepy too.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Nah, that’s not too old – not if you like dolls. I’ll make doll clothes. Oh, and I’ll make starbabies. But, that’s about as far as I’ll go. However, I bet my niece would *love* to play dolls with you. 😀

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Nellie on said:

    This was awesome =)
    … and it gave me the creeps. Right now I’m very glad that I don’t have any of my childhood dolls.
    But I’m gonna share a secret with you:
    When I was in my 20s I bought a Barbie that was on sale. I cut and dyed her hair, gave her a lip piercing and then I “mutilated” her and turned her into “Accident Barbie”.
    What can I say, I’m a really disturbed person XD

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I seriously just got chills. OMG that was creepy AF.

    Liked by 1 person

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