I Alone

Jim, Clark, Alex, and myself lined up before the principal like toy soldiers. We'd grumbled the whole way here, lamenting Grace Johnson's unforgivable sin of tattling. I could tell for the others the complaints masked an underlying horror of what punishments might await. They'd never been in real trouble and us regulars liked to tell stories to bolster our bonafides.

Dr. Wilson lectured us for a few minutes before demanding a confession and apology. I don't know what bravado took hold of me, but I stepped forward.

"I alone threw mud at those girls."

The others nearly cried in relief.

The Toy Chest

Brian wasn't sure how it happened, whether it was the Christmas wish just before his father's death, or the aftereffects of some magical spell uttered generations before in his attic, but every night, when his mother wasn't around, his toys came alive.

The stuffed bears and jungle cats. The toy soldiers. The plastic dinosaurs and the racing cars.

His life was now a living hell. He didn't mind the work itself, but the beatings and tongue-lashings were, to his mind, excessive. If only the toys would tell him what they wanted in a calm manner, he'd finish everything without complaint.

Mechanical Soldiers

She built fabricated soldiers made of tin and rubber and whatever at hand materials she found at her disposal. They tinkered about her kitchen and living room and she kept building them one after another until she had her own army.

The mechanical men proved willing to follow her commands, but being willing is not the same thing as possessing a will or consciousness. She’d order them to kill her ex-boyfriend and they would bump into the dresser or break into stilted karaoke.

She would never be alone again, but being alone is not the same thing as being lonely.