The Tears of a Teddy Bear

Kagoatweed's Rant: R&R, and be inspired, but please don't steal ideas.

Blonde ringlets fell in her face as her skeletal fingers curled around the throat of the teddy bear. Her fingertips traced strained threads, caressing the seam that held the dilapidated toy together. The corners of mouth turned as she pulled a loose string and stuffing began to bleed forth. She was pleased.

She tucked the stray hair back behind her ear. Her long, pale lashes fluttered as she admired her handiwork. A sad teddy bear carcass lay in a pile of dirty wadding, a pair of curiously sharp children’s scissors tossed to the side. A red hue was creeping its way into the already impure fuzz, seeping into the matted fur of the bear. The blood was pooling around the forsaken toy. A sad little teddy bear soaked up the life of another, who lie rasping only feet away.

Kneeling in her frayed sundress, she watched the blood creep across the floor. Reaching out into it, she drew it a path, pulling the stream towards her. When enough of it had collected in a small divot in the uneven floor, she dipped her finger into it, a quill into ink. Finding blank spots on the floor, she began to create.

A circle was first. Rough lined and uneven it soaked into the cracked floor leaving barely a shadow. Over the circle came various shapes and lines until a distorted face could be recognized. Depicted was a man. He was balding, the last of his hair attached to the sides of his head. His lips were large and bulbous and his eyes were wide and scared. Tenderly, she touched the lines of the face, the blood and dirt under her nails unacknowledged. With as much care as her untrained hands could muster, she scratched out her name beside the picture. Her ‘d’ came out backwards, and her ‘A’ was uneven, but “Amanda” was there beside the man’s portrait.

The blood had started to dry, the places where it had been spread more thinly. It turned a polluted brown color, and Amanda was disgusted with it. Although she had been stroking the portrait with a smile of longing, when she saw the filth that had invaded her picture, her expression morphed. Her smile became a grimace, and her eyes began to burn. With a scream that tore at the back of her throat, she slapped her hands into the shallow red pool. Splattering her dress with crimson, she attacked her masterpiece, the ground tearing at her fingers as she rampaged.

From the floor nearby, a man listened to Amanda’s rampage. Using a good deal of strength, his arm crawled forward and groped blindly. The man’s face might have been good looking at some point, but his hair was mostly gone, and what was left was unevenly hacked at. His face was smeared in gore and sweat. His lips were cut, missing pieces entirely. This carcass of a man mumbled in his pain as his shaking hands searched for something, anything. His fingertips found something soon enough. Discarded in Amanda’s wrath, with bits of tissue yet attached, the man found one of his dark brown eyes. A yelping cry echoed up from the man.

Sudden silence enveloped him as his howl echoed. Amanda looked over to him. The picture before her was completely ruined. The only things still visible were the last few letters of her carefully printed name. Giggling lightly, she stood. Stopping briefly to collect the remains of her teddy, she carried it by the arm, its head flopping loosely as she walked. Her sandals slapped the floor on each step, and the man began to shake as he realized the direction her footsteps were headed. His entire body jumped when he felt her cold hands on his cheek.

“Dear, dear…,” she petted his face, “dear friend…” He whimpered, shrank away from her touch. A hand tried to come up to protect his face, but he couldn’t find the strength to move it.

Amanda leaned down and kissed his cheek, her lips then colored in fake rouge. Licking the salt away from her mouth, she returned to petting his frazzled hair. She let the teddy rest in her lap, the bare threads that kept his head attached straining to do so. “Did I hurt you earlier? I’m sorry…,” she crooned. His fingers were still stroking the small globe of his eye, his comrade, his self.

Here,” she stopped rubbing his face, “I’ll make you feel better.” Reaching into the neck of the bear, she pulled out a tuft of cotton. She progressed slowly, carefully, moving it toward the hollow socket of the man’s eye. When the stray fibers of the clump touched his skin, the man spasmed, Amanda’s cue to dig her thumb into the hole, pushing the cotton as far into him as her small hands would allow. A wicked smile blossomed on her sweet face as she pulled more cotton from the bear and stuffed it into this man’s eye. As Amanda giggled, the man was screaming. Hoarse and primal, an almost melodic wail shot from his heart itself. The strain pushed new torrents of blood from wounds that had almost begun to clot. By the time Amanda ran out of space for more stuffing, the man had died.

The man’s last thoughts had been of the beautiful little girl, blonde ringlets in her face, sundress hanging loosely around her knees, the girl he had been unable to resist. That same little girl rose, the blood of one taken too young running down her thigh. The eyes that had found her were missing somewhere. The lips that had accosted her were in pieces. The hands that had bruised her were moving no more. Most importantly, she had left for last.

She reclaimed the scissors that had wreaked so much havoc on the man before. She collected her half-hollow teddy. Sitting her toy with as much poise as its limp body would allow, she balanced it keenly on the man’s groin. With one swift, sharp motion, she dug the scissors deep into the part of him that had hurt her the most. With a little giggle, she stood. The teddy was impaled on the man, head dangling by one lone thread, ear and snout stained in blood. Amanda reached down and plucked the toy’s head.

She walked away, a little girl with red stains on her sundress, curls stiff with blood, and a teddy bear head missing the rest of its self. Her revenge was complete.

Amanda walked away from that place, away from the blood, away from the carcass of the man who had raped her. Her shoes clicked on the ground as she walked towards home. She had to hurry, it was teatime, and she was expected in her room.