Hey deathtodickens , here’s some more life for you… let’s see if some people can get some traction, shall we? Before the next round of narrative difficulty ensues, that is. Incidentally, grumpyyetamusing , I have not forgotten what was discussed over on Twitter regarding this story—though I regret to inform that it is not yet time for the envisioned scenarios. (Have patience, though.) I appreciate everybody’s patience throughout part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, and part 9.
On Saturday morning, Steve and Christina are preparing to go museuming, as they do regularly. It is LACMA today; there is an exhibition of, in Christina’s words, “creepy pictures of dolls,” and she is very excited to see them. Her enthusiasm is quite odd, the adults have agreed, given that Christina in general hates dolls and won’t have them in the house. Stuffed and plastic animals are fine, but not human figures. Helena asks her if she will be able to sleep through the night after she sees these creepy pictures, and Christina rolls her eyes: “It’s not really dolls. It’s art, Mom.”
“You woke up screaming for three nights straight after you watched that strange animated Barbie-doll movie with your friends. And that was not really dolls, either.”
“It wasn’t art,” Christina tells her.
Steve says, “I’ll pull the plug if it gets too weird.”
“You just mean if it gets too weird for you,” Christina accuses.
“You bet that’s what I mean.”
Read More →