Choked at The Seams

Delle moved her fingers carefully over the small plushie, its blue fur wrapped around a pipe with sharp and paralyzing flutes embedded in its stomach.

“Oh you poor delicate delight,” she murmured, sliding her hand under the weapon, careful to avoid the sharpness of the slithering blades.

She’d never done this, nor hoped to again. While saving her dolls brought her great joy, she’d be ever more joyful if it never happened at all.

“Stay still,” she whispered, moving her hand over its ears, hoping to soothe it in its paralyzed state.

Cautiously, she pushed the weapon forward, her fingers in right places, slowly releasing her plush from its suffering. If she went just a little too fast she’d rip out its entire chest.

Once the snare finally clattered onto the table, she pulled her hands up and stood very still, interlocking her fingers with each other.

At first there was no movement, and she dreaded the lasting effects. But then its left mitten twitched, then the other, and with an exasperated squeak, it sat straight up,

Delle put her hand to her heart and let out a sigh of relief, grateful for her stroke of luck.

The doll hopped down from the table and wandered into the main room, where its fellow plushies were just as happy for its recovery.

Delle let her hand down from her chest and turned to the tool of death. Now fear had become fury, and a righteous one at that. She knew exactly who was responsible.

Willing fluffy fluid to pool out of her palm, she held her hand over the weapon, the pink liquid dripping onto the whole of the weapon until it was submerged. And in a small pop, it became wool-like, hissing and popping coming from the pipe’s sulfurous covering.

After a few ticks, she ever so firmly tapped it, and it dissipated, leaving behind a smoothly surfaced tube that wouldn’t leave her hand sliced. Grabbing the tube with her hand, she took a gluey treat placed on her counter and strolled out the door.

The air was cool and tasted sweet, but the novelty of it had long run out for her. She’d spent enough times shivering in her house when a candy tas blizzard came about.

So as she walked, Delle gazed overhead at the sky, which she didn’t get to see much of from her windowless home. It was made up of a calm seagreen with maroon lacings, the red-brown color cracks in its peaceful facade.

The young girl squeezed her eyes shut seeing those. She knew what they were from. And she never wanted to see them again.