I’m not sure exactly when I woke up – or why. Not that it matters. Some things are just mystery. I mean, do you know why you have self-knowledge? Or who gave it to you? Like I said, some things are just mystery.
I know one thing, though. Seems I was born listening to that ceaseless, monotonous tune, always feeling its reverberations inside my box. Like to drive me crazy, you know?
POP GOES THE WEASEL!
That’s when the lid to my box would burst open, and against my will I’d spring out, my body swaying and arms flailing.
It’s also when I’d find myself confronted with him.
His fat, pig-like face and slobbery pink lips would be grinning at me. I hated him, hated the red pimples on his cheeks, the black-framed glasses, the long, greasy hair. He was a mess.
Worse, he was mean. Real mean.
He’d stare at me, putting his face so close to mine that I could feel his mucous-clogged breath. “Your time’s coming, Jackie Boy. You wait and see… your time’s coming…”
“Christ, Wesley, look at this shit!” said the woman, walking into the bedroom. She looked around, shaking her head. Feathers and stuffing floated about the room.
“You’re ten years old. Don’tcha think that’s a little old to be playing with stuffed toys and jack-in-the-boxes? What the hell did you do to these toys? Jesus, stuffing’s all over the place. You’re just like your father! He was a psycho, too. Like father, like son. You wanna wind up in prison, too? Mr. Psycho, Jr.? Now clean up this crap and get to bed.”
Wesley and I watched her leave the room.
“Bitch,” whispered Wesley, repeatedly plunging his small penknife into the smiling panda next to me. “Bitch, bitch, bitch!”
His rage spent, he left the knife buried in the shredded remains of the panda.
Suddenly, he looked up at me. “What the hell are you staring at? Huh? I got news for you, Jackie Boy… your time’s coming.” He shoved me, causing me to tip over into the soft down of the panda’s stuffing. He laughed. “Your time’s coming!”
The bear’s smile seemed sad to me. His empty black eyes stared upward. I thought I heard a whisper.
Wesley’s fury had exhausted him, and he fell across the bed. Within minutes I heard the snuffling sounds he always made when sleeping.
That’s when I decided I had a newsflash for him. Just this week I’d discovered I had the ability to move my arms, make my mitts do whatever was necessary.
I looked at the panda apologetically, then reached into his guts and withdrew the small, sharp knife.
I secreted the knife within my folds, and grabbed the lid of my box, carefully pulling it down as I gathered myself deep inside.
I’m going to be ready for you next time, Wesley. Your time’s coming. Yeah, your time’s coming, Wesley Boy.
POP GOES THE WEASEL!
Word Count: 500
Author’s Note: This week’s tale is written in response to a challenge to write a 500-words or less story in which the protagonist is an inanimate object granted sentience by a higher power. You can check out these weekly flash fiction challenges hosted by ThainInVain here.