Click
I glance over my shoulder at the million beady eyes glittering in the dim light from the street. Each night, I lock the door and turn to find them all peering at me from the darkness of the solid oak shelves my grandfather built. And each night, like clockwork, their eyes follow me as I walk to the rear exit behind the counter. I can always feel their glassy stares grasping at the weight of my sins and pulling me down into Hell.
But tonight will be different.
I pace myself to avoid their suspicion. I step slowly down the center aisle, watching the heads of the dolls glide soundlessly to follow. They do not gaze at the trail dripping down my pant leg, nor the red gas can tucked beneath my jacket. I reek of it by the time I push aside the heavy door, but I'm not concerned. Answering to the police is easier than answering to God.
I lean outside and take a deep hit off the cool night air. The scent of dry maple leaves fills my lungs from beyond the alley, and I nearly change my mind. Decades of the family business will go up in smoke tonight. Is it worth it?
I strike the match and grin, holding it up to my eyes and watching the flame dance and leap from the tips of my fingers. A sudden weight falls upon my shoulder, and, before I can scream, a chill breath slides across my cheek and extinguishes the light.
"Never so easy," whispers a voice.
The door slams shut, smashing my nose and laying me out on the tile. As I claw at the bloody pulp on my face, I barely catch the scrape-scraping of a thousand tiny, porcelain hands scratching at their wooden seats as the Little Ones rise to discipline their servant.
Decades of the family business, and my part goes up in smoke tonight. All because I disobeyed.
I hope my son will know better.
I glance over my shoulder at the million beady eyes glittering in the dim light from the street. Each night, I lock the door and turn to find them all peering at me from the darkness of the solid oak shelves my grandfather built. And each night, like clockwork, their eyes follow me as I walk to the rear exit behind the counter. I can always feel their glassy stares grasping at the weight of my sins and pulling me down into Hell.
But tonight will be different.
I pace myself to avoid their suspicion. I step slowly down the center aisle, watching the heads of the dolls glide soundlessly to follow. They do not gaze at the trail dripping down my pant leg, nor the red gas can tucked beneath my jacket. I reek of it by the time I push aside the heavy door, but I'm not concerned. Answering to the police is easier than answering to God.
I lean outside and take a deep hit off the cool night air. The scent of dry maple leaves fills my lungs from beyond the alley, and I nearly change my mind. Decades of the family business will go up in smoke tonight. Is it worth it?
I strike the match and grin, holding it up to my eyes and watching the flame dance and leap from the tips of my fingers. A sudden weight falls upon my shoulder, and, before I can scream, a chill breath slides across my cheek and extinguishes the light.
"Never so easy," whispers a voice.
The door slams shut, smashing my nose and laying me out on the tile. As I claw at the bloody pulp on my face, I barely catch the scrape-scraping of a thousand tiny, porcelain hands scratching at their wooden seats as the Little Ones rise to discipline their servant.
Decades of the family business, and my part goes up in smoke tonight. All because I disobeyed.
I hope my son will know better.
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