A paper doll does not have a serrated blade as an accessory in her back. The people of proximity pay attention to the dresses and heels the life-size version wears. They profess they will cut a doll in her image. They want to change the fashion every hour and place her in a box for safekeeping. They carry her around. She crafts her own likeness with glossy pages filled with pancakes, spoons, and water that become collaged outfits. Only paper is permitted. She creates the doll with no face. The life-sized version wore a child-sized dress today and they told her she looked like a doll. If only she were flat she could fold into a paper plane and fly away.
Flash by Tammy L. Evans
Image by Adam Strong
Tammy Evans has been published in Gone Lawn, Cabinets of Heed, Clover and White, Spelk, Five on the Fifth, Fiction Kitchen Berlin, and Elephants Never.
Backwards Trajectory 