I Never Liked Emily

I never liked Emily.

Not that she ever actually did anything to me; she just had that sly, knowing look in her eyes all the time. And that I-know-something-nasty-about-you grin. Like she’d listen to all your secrets, but tell everybody, if she could.

She had a way of turning up when you weren’t expecting her, too. Uninvited. But there she’d be, grinning, knowing that she’d surprised you, and that even though you hadn’t really wanted her around, your Mom would just sigh, and say, “Well, she’s like family; I can’t think why you don’t like her, and she’s never done anything to you, has she? Of course I’m not going to send her away; don’t be silly.”

So I decided to make Emily go away for good. I went with her to the park, and while crossing the bridge over the little lake there, I pushed Emily through the fancy railing and into the cold lake. It was harder than I thought, but I got her through, and watched as she sunk under the surface.

Relieved, I skipped back home, Emily-free forever. My mother didn’t even ask why she wasn’t with me. Probably because when I got up to my room, there was Emily, sitting on my bed, grinning that sly, I-know-a-secret grin.

Still damp from the lake.

God, help me, I’m going to scream.

Who knew dolls could swim?

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Credits to: Queenofscots