[ IP ] It started as just another day at the factory

Steven grabbed the decapitated doll head from the many organised rows of clean cut and perfectly painted plastic plaything carnage. All of his movements were rehearsed and mindless, though at this time in the morning he found himself inspecting the creepy hooded eyes as he twisted the head in the palm of his tiny hand. He related the cranium to that of his younger sister, despite the fact that her head was much larger and heavier than the hollow one he held. His fingers pressed against the pliant material and obscured its features, elongating the docile expression and collapsing its false fat cheeks inward under the pressure of his delicate fingertips. 
 
 
 “ Steven, you ’ ve got ta put it on the body or Mr. Craven will yell at ya, ” Missy whined, as if his dawdling performance was likely to cause her some personal suffering. Her hands pressed into her sides, nearly hidden by the frilly explosion of the bottom of her dress which flounced as she shifted her weight to cock a hip. 
 
 
 Watching the ruffles shift, blue eyes lingering around the spot where her legs were consumed by the material, he scoffed and sighed. His bitter mood, aided by the non stop wailing of his younger sister who he ’ d been imagining as he contorted the plastic head, was only growing worse but he slunk towards the bodies nonetheless. While he took the soft stuffed body from the shelves, the squishy material contrasting the hard plastic he ’ d be marrying it with in the coming moments, he reflected on why he had to work in the first place. He wanted to read. His eyes scanned over the words on posters around the factory and he wished he knew what they meant, but without and definate meaning to assign he created his own. In another life, maybe he would be learning about science and the weather. He might know why it rains or how to solve basic maths problems. 
 
 
 “ That ’ s not my body, ” said a crackling high-pitched squeal, causing Steven to jump and release both body and head to the cold cement floor. As he looked down between his black buckle shoes, the plastic cranium rolled over and faced him, drowsy eyes blinking and lips tugging up into a grotesque grin. “ Give me the correct body, keep me. I can help you, ” it stated, blushing pink lips moving fluidly. 
 
 
 “ What ’ re ya goin ’ to help me with? ” Steven inquired, crouching down and lifting the head in his hand as he rested the knee of his brown trousers against the dusty floor. 
 
 
 “ Give me a body and I will tell you, ” it replied, eyes drifting around the factory. Obliging the request, the young boy stood and pointed the head in the direction of the stuffed bodies, waiting for the toy to claim one as its own. “ There, that one, ” it asserted, hovering over a nondescript beige body, sewn up on the sides at pre-fitted with little plastic arms and legs as well as a nub of a neck where the head was meant to be attached. As he did everyday, Steven grabbed the body and popped the head on, screwing it twice from side to side in order to ensure that it would turn without popping off again. Only this time, the head twisted on the joint twice more on its own. 
 
 
 “ Ok, so what ya goin ’ to help me with? ” He asked, tilting his head with inquisitive and childish innocence. 
 
 
 “ I can teach you to read, ” it responded. 
 
 
 “ Yer a doll. No way you can read when I can ’ t, ” Steven pouted, brows tugging together with frustration as his nose wrinkled. Nearly cutting the boy off, the doll began to read out the statements on the posters, curling its plastic fingers in and pointing to the words as he read. This was enough to convince the child, even though he himself had no idea whether what he was hearing accurately portrayed the words. “ Ok, so how ya goin ’ to teach me? ” He questioned. 
 
 
 “ Steven! Come on, what are ya doin? You only got one done? ” Missy exclaimed, stomping her flat shoe to the pavement with a dull click. “ Give me that, come on! ” 
 
 
 “ No, no. I got it. Sorry, ” he mumbled, heading towards the line as he waited for the bouncing blonde haired girl to go back to attaching heads to bodies. Once she was gone, he looked back to the doll and whispered, “ So, how you goin ’ to do it? Teach me? ” 
 
 
 “ We run away from here, ” it remarked, cocking a painted on brow as if to challenge the boy. 
 
 
 “ I can ’ t do that. ” 
 
 
 “ You can, you burn this place to the ground and run, ” it plotted, grinning again. 
 
 
 It started out as a normal day working at the factory. But twenty-seven children died in a fire, the only suspect being a missing seven year old boy. This was the start of a great motion to tighten up on safety standards for 
 child workers. Steven took the doll and left Chicago. He never did learn to read, but he and the doll were responsible for a number of unfortunate fatal fires, all of which were chalked up to poor safety standards. 

