Ragdoll

• Marielle Sonido, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2018

I remember him doing things to me that a schoolboy never ought to do to a schoolgirl such as myself. The only problem was that he never thought of me much as a young schoolgirl. I was more of a ragdoll. A ragdoll whose mouth he could use as an ashtray whenever he smoked. A ragdoll whose head he could slam into the lockers until it was raw and bleeding. A ragdoll whose fingers made easily breakable stress relievers. With button eyes that made a good place for his pens to jam into and burlap skin that might as well have been his knife’s sheath. He didn’t have any other dolls. I was the only one.

I remember him doing things with me that a schoolboy would be expected to do with a schoolgirl such as myself. We met at the beginning of high school. He was a boy with exactly eighteen freckles on his cheeks. I knew because I couldn’t stop staring at him. He caught me doing it every so often and gave me an understanding smile each time. When we began talking, he was the kindest person I had ever known. He was an angel. If I asked, he would lay his jacket out onto a puddle so I wouldn’t have to walk over it. Hell, he’d do it without me having to ask. Every day, he waited by my locker so he could walk me home even though my house was in the opposite direction to his from the school. Back then, he saw me as a real person.

I remember him doing something a schoolboy would often do to a schoolgirl he liked. We were alone together early in the morning. When he felt the moment right, he confessed that he had long held feelings for me, feelings I did not reciprocate. I told him so, but before I could finish, he slammed my head onto the desk and left without another word. My head hit the wood so hard that it had broken my nose. That day marked the end of my humanity in his eyes.

I could only handle being tortured the way he tortured me for so long. So I did something a schoolgirl never ought to do to a schoolboy. He had come to me after smoking behind the school for his preferred ashtray. I made sure I was hidden in the trees, but not so much so that he couldn’t find me. Once he did, I opened my mouth obediently, but not long enough for the end of his cigarettes to touch. When he reached for me, I took hold of his arm and then his shoulder. With all of my strength, I swung him round into a tree. I cannot describe how satisfying it was to hear his skull crack against the wood and to see his blood run down his face. For that moment, he was my ragdoll.