The Tale of the Living Plushie
a poem by Braden Aungst (GhijofProphecy)
I lay in bed, beside this boy
the thing I’ve learned is normal for a toy
He doesn't cuddle much, except on sorrow days
when his father’s home and he’s ready to “play”
I’ve witnessed many things behind my rainbow-hued mane
and never were they anything close to mundane
He sneaks into the boy’s room, as quiet as a drunken, burly man can be
and wakes him up quietly, to fool him into being happy
After many attempts, he grabs him by the throat
the boy’s face is breaking, trying not to emote
The screaming is unbearable, loud cursing crashing into his ears
the father throws him on the bed, and angrily beats the boy’s rear
It goes on for minutes, the abuse never stopping
the hand hits his face with a loud popping
The boy fights back, but only for a second
“If I kick him, I could escape; I reckon!”
He sends his foot out into the father’s stomach, just hard enough
he falls to his knees with a grunt and an “unf”
The boy bounds from the bed; grabbing me first
he flies past the father with a cry and a teary burst
He runs out of the front door, in his teddy bear pajamas
to the park he went to when he still had a mama
His bare feet fly with the speed not far from a Pegasus
even faster when he hears the engine of his car approaching us
The car stops with a screech, but he realizes it’s not the one he thought
a strange man steps out, with a caring face and questions about who you fought
“What do you mean?” he says with fake emotion
he asks, “I can see those bruises, what is the commotion?”
“Daddy says I can’t sleep, and starting hurting me…” he says, clutching my leg harder
he tries to continue, but his tongue falters with a shudder
The man frowns and ushers him into his car,
“Come with me, from your father we’ll be far.”
He buckles him in and smiles,
“You don’t have to worry; we’ll be driving for miles.”
~To Be Continued~
