The Tale of the Living Plushie

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~