The night was still, it’s sky black, and the doll walked down the very middle of the empty one-way street. She kept her eyes fixed on the pavement beyond, which extended out into nothingness. On her back she carried a teddy-bear, it’s arms slung over her shoulders and her hands gripping its stump-like paws.
“No voy a llorar,” she told herself. “No haré.”
The doll, she was the size of a seven or eight year old girl, which anybody would’ve mistaken her for. She was so life-like that the only thing that might’ve betrayed that she actually was a doll was her clothes. Her dress was obviously a doll’s dress and her shoes were obviously a doll’s shoes. But her skin, her hair, and her eyes were lush with life.
Yet there was a smell about her. Odd and foreign, a smell of rusty iron and rotting organic matter. She…
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