Troubled times in the ToyBox
The Toybox. Once, it was a beaming metropolis in its heyday of childhood wonder. Anybody who was anybody had a hard time getting a table. Yes, it was VIP all the way. Excellent service, great food, and an experience one would relish to this day. That, unfortunately, was during the aforementioned, “Heydays”.
As Marla grew older, the popularity waned. At first, only slightly, but it began a slippery slope that perpetuated. Suddenly, the guest list grew more rigid than ever…even cutthroat at times. It was moved from the main bedroom to the hallway closet. Things only got increasingly worse from there. The final relocation was to the attic; a semi-barren land of dust-covered bleakness, but there it stood. Now, as the last bastion of fallen promises and dwindling dreams, It’s oaken walls rattled with pain, reminiscence, and the foul stench of copious mothballs that populated the west wing. To their bitter memories, no other culture had undergone such a hideous displacement, but none could read the encyclopedia Britannica collection buried under the Hi-Fi records to realize they were just one in a number of "convenient dispositions". Such a thing; to be set there, to be forgotten, then maybe reconstituted. This attic was their oubliette and this world, now, all they had.
Regardless, it was here that the hooded character entered with a sullen brow hidden under the shade of his burlap hood. He made his way through the masses of inebriated playthings, still lapping up the rations in crazed ambition that all would be replenished, renewed, and restored. Their faintly audible stories spoke of all that many would love to hear come to pass, but none most-assuredly will. In fact, the only “Will” that was likely to follow had “Good” behind its title. Slowly, he sauntered his way to the back corner of the Toybox. This table was cut off from the crowd by a Battleship game, the best place to speak of the less-than-favorable.
As he sat, the dark-hooded figure in the corner bellowed, “Bunny…dear, get my guest some juice.” The juice was sat in front of him. His trembling, fuzzy digits grasped the pink teacup, which shakingly made its way to his lips. “AAAAHHHH” he sighed with limited comfort. “So,” The figure continued, “How was your assignment?” The guest's trembling hand descended the cup with fury as to propel half of its contents skyward. “H-H-How was it", he reacted sharply, "It was a nightmare. Not one I see myself waking up from any time soon. Thanks.” “Now, now, calm down.” His host remarked in a very calm manner. “This isn’t your first rodeo. Or should I remind you of the Cabbage Patch job…?”
The guest sat back in his booth. His lopsided grin could be seen by the dim lighting. “That was different and you know it! That charlatan bit off more than his chubby cheeks could chew. He ran up debts all across the attic; claiming he would be the one to lead us to “Reclamation” as he called it. Ohhh No. That was a necessary evil. This is of a different color and YOU KNOW IT!!” The host gurgled and sipped away unaffected.
“Awwww. C’mon Snuggles. You clearly saw this coming. Contracts are few and far between these days, and the nature of said contracts have been less and less poignant. Nowadays, it’s every toy for themselves, and you’re making quite a name for yourself. It’d be a crying shame to have this come back on you, the only person who could’ve pulled off such a scheme. So I ask you again, how was your assignment?”
The guest hung his head low in response for a short while before reaching down to the floor and presenting an attaché case upon the table with a “THUD.” “ I got it….okay? It’s done.” He again buried his head in shame. The host continued, “That’s my puppet. Now recount the incident so I can be clear on my invoice.” The guest took another trembling gulp of juice before he continued.
“It was just like you said: Easy entry, easy extraction, easy rip-job. He was laying there drunk on peppermints. There were two naked Teletubbies to either side of him. They left without a word, pros that they are, and left me to the task. I began to rip the stitches and he woke up partly through.” His voice began to change more dramatically. “H-He pleaded for his life! Said he was a changed doll, told me of the mountain of apologies he owed and swore to deliver!” The host again stoically poised his query. “So what then, my little puppet?”
“I DID IT, MAN?!!? I RIPPED HIS PATCHWORK HEART FROM HIS CHEST!!” the figure yelled as the host’s hand rose up to grab his shoulder. “Easy…easy. It’s what needed to be done. You did well, sir, and will be justly rewarded for the bounty. I’m assuming the proof is in this case?” The figure collected himself slightly and remarked, “Y-yeah, it’s in here. As you asked. But the price has tripled. Y’hear? I need more juice!”
“Come now, friend,” said the host “You act like you’re the only one with fluff on your hands. Lest we forget about the time Elmo came looking for you. Do you remember that? You pleaded me to raise my hand, and that I did. We tickled that bastard to oblivion. And for WHO!?!” The red yarny locks fell out of shadow as her fist hit the table, knocking over her juice. Her raggedy face became illuminated by the night glow. Her eyes, as if painted on, were locked in a dedicated gaze. “For you, my little puppet.
At that moment, the guest threw his hood back in a fury. His fluffy, ears perked up like the day they came off the assembly line. His beady eyes fixed back in retaliation. “You hire me for revenge? Bring my pain upon one for petty jealousy? The price escalates, Anne. You know this. Now pay up, unless your raggedy reputation is still intact.”
Raggedy Anne leaned back in the booth once more. “Well, Andy was a horn-dog: laying stuffing all over the attic for all to see. Including me. He wanted to get caught, if you ask me. He stopped being careful after I caught him shacking up in that “Dream House” with that anatomically-incorrect hussy! I could hear the squeaks of ecstasy from back home. This attic isn’t that big, y’know.” Alright, Ruxpin, your bounty is tripled, but don’t expect the same from me again. It’s everyone for themselves up here. We’re facing extinction. We may all meet our end in that “yard sale” reverend Stretch Armstrong prophesized. Who knows, either way, watch your back.” With that, Anne reluctantly laid the juicebox on the table.
Teddy stood up from the booth, grabbed his bounty, drank his teacup dry and set it gently on the table. “Next time you call upon me, don’t make it personal. There are some Cannibal Corpse tapes in the far corner I’ve been meaning to try out. Hearsay is that they just screeeam for fluff to fly.” With that he bounced out of the Toybox and into the desolate attic to fend for himself once again. Raggedy Anne just remained there at the booth. Throughout the dismal night, she barked orders of juice after juice, cradling the patchwork heart of her once beloved with dreams in her plushy head of a time long-since past
As Marla grew older, the popularity waned. At first, only slightly, but it began a slippery slope that perpetuated. Suddenly, the guest list grew more rigid than ever…even cutthroat at times. It was moved from the main bedroom to the hallway closet. Things only got increasingly worse from there. The final relocation was to the attic; a semi-barren land of dust-covered bleakness, but there it stood. Now, as the last bastion of fallen promises and dwindling dreams, It’s oaken walls rattled with pain, reminiscence, and the foul stench of copious mothballs that populated the west wing. To their bitter memories, no other culture had undergone such a hideous displacement, but none could read the encyclopedia Britannica collection buried under the Hi-Fi records to realize they were just one in a number of "convenient dispositions". Such a thing; to be set there, to be forgotten, then maybe reconstituted. This attic was their oubliette and this world, now, all they had.
Regardless, it was here that the hooded character entered with a sullen brow hidden under the shade of his burlap hood. He made his way through the masses of inebriated playthings, still lapping up the rations in crazed ambition that all would be replenished, renewed, and restored. Their faintly audible stories spoke of all that many would love to hear come to pass, but none most-assuredly will. In fact, the only “Will” that was likely to follow had “Good” behind its title. Slowly, he sauntered his way to the back corner of the Toybox. This table was cut off from the crowd by a Battleship game, the best place to speak of the less-than-favorable.
As he sat, the dark-hooded figure in the corner bellowed, “Bunny…dear, get my guest some juice.” The juice was sat in front of him. His trembling, fuzzy digits grasped the pink teacup, which shakingly made its way to his lips. “AAAAHHHH” he sighed with limited comfort. “So,” The figure continued, “How was your assignment?” The guest's trembling hand descended the cup with fury as to propel half of its contents skyward. “H-H-How was it", he reacted sharply, "It was a nightmare. Not one I see myself waking up from any time soon. Thanks.” “Now, now, calm down.” His host remarked in a very calm manner. “This isn’t your first rodeo. Or should I remind you of the Cabbage Patch job…?”
The guest sat back in his booth. His lopsided grin could be seen by the dim lighting. “That was different and you know it! That charlatan bit off more than his chubby cheeks could chew. He ran up debts all across the attic; claiming he would be the one to lead us to “Reclamation” as he called it. Ohhh No. That was a necessary evil. This is of a different color and YOU KNOW IT!!” The host gurgled and sipped away unaffected.
“Awwww. C’mon Snuggles. You clearly saw this coming. Contracts are few and far between these days, and the nature of said contracts have been less and less poignant. Nowadays, it’s every toy for themselves, and you’re making quite a name for yourself. It’d be a crying shame to have this come back on you, the only person who could’ve pulled off such a scheme. So I ask you again, how was your assignment?”
The guest hung his head low in response for a short while before reaching down to the floor and presenting an attaché case upon the table with a “THUD.” “ I got it….okay? It’s done.” He again buried his head in shame. The host continued, “That’s my puppet. Now recount the incident so I can be clear on my invoice.” The guest took another trembling gulp of juice before he continued.
“It was just like you said: Easy entry, easy extraction, easy rip-job. He was laying there drunk on peppermints. There were two naked Teletubbies to either side of him. They left without a word, pros that they are, and left me to the task. I began to rip the stitches and he woke up partly through.” His voice began to change more dramatically. “H-He pleaded for his life! Said he was a changed doll, told me of the mountain of apologies he owed and swore to deliver!” The host again stoically poised his query. “So what then, my little puppet?”
“I DID IT, MAN?!!? I RIPPED HIS PATCHWORK HEART FROM HIS CHEST!!” the figure yelled as the host’s hand rose up to grab his shoulder. “Easy…easy. It’s what needed to be done. You did well, sir, and will be justly rewarded for the bounty. I’m assuming the proof is in this case?” The figure collected himself slightly and remarked, “Y-yeah, it’s in here. As you asked. But the price has tripled. Y’hear? I need more juice!”
“Come now, friend,” said the host “You act like you’re the only one with fluff on your hands. Lest we forget about the time Elmo came looking for you. Do you remember that? You pleaded me to raise my hand, and that I did. We tickled that bastard to oblivion. And for WHO!?!” The red yarny locks fell out of shadow as her fist hit the table, knocking over her juice. Her raggedy face became illuminated by the night glow. Her eyes, as if painted on, were locked in a dedicated gaze. “For you, my little puppet.
At that moment, the guest threw his hood back in a fury. His fluffy, ears perked up like the day they came off the assembly line. His beady eyes fixed back in retaliation. “You hire me for revenge? Bring my pain upon one for petty jealousy? The price escalates, Anne. You know this. Now pay up, unless your raggedy reputation is still intact.”
Raggedy Anne leaned back in the booth once more. “Well, Andy was a horn-dog: laying stuffing all over the attic for all to see. Including me. He wanted to get caught, if you ask me. He stopped being careful after I caught him shacking up in that “Dream House” with that anatomically-incorrect hussy! I could hear the squeaks of ecstasy from back home. This attic isn’t that big, y’know.” Alright, Ruxpin, your bounty is tripled, but don’t expect the same from me again. It’s everyone for themselves up here. We’re facing extinction. We may all meet our end in that “yard sale” reverend Stretch Armstrong prophesized. Who knows, either way, watch your back.” With that, Anne reluctantly laid the juicebox on the table.
Teddy stood up from the booth, grabbed his bounty, drank his teacup dry and set it gently on the table. “Next time you call upon me, don’t make it personal. There are some Cannibal Corpse tapes in the far corner I’ve been meaning to try out. Hearsay is that they just screeeam for fluff to fly.” With that he bounced out of the Toybox and into the desolate attic to fend for himself once again. Raggedy Anne just remained there at the booth. Throughout the dismal night, she barked orders of juice after juice, cradling the patchwork heart of her once beloved with dreams in her plushy head of a time long-since past