Flash Fiction: Ken and Barbie

“I told you it would come to this, Ken. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Mwf mwf mwf–”

“You never listen, do you? Remember last week when the children pinned me to the wall with thumbtacks? You laughed. Thought it was funny. It’s just your hands. They’re plastic, after all. It’s not like it hurts.

“Mwf mwf m–”

“And then when they started jabbing my arms and face with more thumbtacks, you just sat there with that smug smile, like it was painted on or something. Ha! But I was right. I told you you had it coming to you.”

“Mwf mwf–”

“Thought they wouldn’t mess with big bad Ken did you? Thought they wouldn’t dare do anything horrible to you. That’s the problem with you–you think you’re so superior just because you don’t have to stand on tiptoe twenty-four seven.”

“Mwf mwf–”

“Well, I can dance rings around you, even on my toes. Especially now. But did I laugh when they ripped off your legs? No. Did I tell you it wasn’t a big deal? That you shouldn’t mind it because you’re just a crappy piece of plastic? No.”

“Mwf mwf mwf–”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit, Ken. I’ve put up with your heartless, unthinking selfishness for too long. We’re over. Get out of my apartment.”

“Mwf mwfmwf mwf–”

“I don’t care if your legs are scattered across the floor. I want you out. Now.”


“Oh, shut up.”

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