My flash piece is up on New South!
Muñeca lived in a doll house with brick-painted walls thin enough to be pierced by bullets or a fist. Hands moved her from corner to chair to bed, but Muñeca never complained. At least she had the night. Nights where she lay with a stitched mouth on sticker tiles watching the Luna dance across her window, waiting for the luz to blind her glass eyes.
She had pillow flesh that gave way to any finger’s touch. Her body did not need a spine because a spine could be crushed, and she found it was easier to heal if she learned to cave beneath weight.
There were boys who would steal her from the dollhouse, place her next to soldiers saying she’s the esposa and her husband is at war and the hole they carved was home. And the boys would bang boom shoot green men against each other, splashing…
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