Cadaver Dolls With Stitched Lips- an E-Chap
Blame It On The Stitches
The cadaver dolls could only suck their meat. Their jaws never opened wide enough to take in large steaks and fatty chops. They used the strings draping from their buttocks to spin tiny webs in bedroom corners. Flung underwear stuck to the web centers. Some dolls lived on cramped closet shelves, counting the plastic hangers between liquid meals. The dolls leaned over sleeping children and breathed the lungs up. Newborn organs were mostly fluid which meant that the dolls just had to drink. They had tongues they poked through the stitches but the threads were rough and cut the muscles into pieces. The cadavers swallowed the chunks
but couldn't digest their own proteins. Their flesh sat in their stomachs, unprocessed, wet with acid. Sometimes, the cadaver dolls wanted to sing but the sounds were garbled syllables.
How The Stitches Happened
There were bodies but they were not fleshy. Needles pushed free of the stomachs and twisted around to face the mouths. The points traveled along the sternums and pressed against the lips. The cadaver dolls screamed. They had spent three-quarters of their lifetime eating raw meat right from beefy human ribs and weren't ready to have the meals stripped away from them. But the needles wedged themselves into the mouths and knotted strips of thin muscle around the tongues. The mouths snapped shut. The cadaver dolls slapped their hands against their faces and poked their fingers against the gaps in between the stitches. They could barely get their nails through. The cadaver dolls choked on the threads. They worked their cheeks into thin proboscises with poison thorns on the ends. They jabbed and poked at the meat. It took time to drain the fluids but soon, the dolls were left with desiccated sacks.
Glass Bodies On Down Steps
Cadaver dolls had a mortal fear of steps. Escalators, wooden stairs, folding ladders, spiral staircases: the cadaver dolls could not even touch the railings. But it was impossible for the dolls to stay on one floor for any length of time and so they stuck to the walls and climbed up and rolled down. On each landing, they stood near the stairs and waited for someone to walk past before tripping them. You should always be at the bottom, the cadaver dolls screamed after the falling bodies. Some of the bodies were glass and shattered on the edge of each stair. Others were porcelain and chipped on impact. Even more were just folds of rotten flesh that blackened so much the muscle turned a deep olive green. The cadaver dolls collected all the broken pieces and used them to fill in the many chunks missing from their fatty spinal cords.
Cadaver Dolls Bought Meat
They got the meat at the neighborhood bodega and didn't mind that the light yellow fat had turned a pale green. It still had the proper butter bite that the cadaver dolls wanted when they succumbed to their carnivorous needs. So they boiled the steak until the fat rendered off into a thick sauce they could suck up with fleshy tongues. Their mouths numbed while they cradled small figurines made out of ragged flesh and discolored bones. Mama, the toys whispered into the cadaver dolls' ears and tore the lobes off with their thin front teeth. Ma, they said again and the cadaver dolls twisted the heads off. Twine ropes fell out of the eye sockets and snaked around the cadaver dolls' ankles. The cadaver dolls wrenched their feet off at the ankles and threw the bones in the last of the stew to soak up the congealing broth.
The Saints of Cadaver Dolls
These saints were not good saints, nor were they demon entities. Instead, they were neutral embodiments sitting on a glass stove waiting for the burners to melt off while boiling a pot of spaghetti with meatballs. The cadaver dolls treated the saints like older brothers. They sat on the laps and climbed onto the necks. The saints' shoulders slumped over. Their backs broke. The cadaver dolls reached into the bodies and yanked the spinal columns out. We now have holy meat in our hands, the dolls mumbled and worked the thin spines through the spaces between their stitches. They swallowed the nerves and bones. Enamel plates filled their necks so that the harder parts were crushed into a coarse yellow powder. It was the most solid thing the cadaver dolls had eaten in some time. It made them lust after bologna and more saints
Cadaver Dolls Ate Mothers
They barely remembered being born but still felt the ties to the maternal figures. How we've missed you, the dolls whispered and ate from the mothers' engorged teats. They drank the women's milk and the fluid tasted more like beef than steak ever did. Their stomachs turned inside out so they could reach the gelatinous pork chops clinging to the undersides. The dolls smeared the gelatin over their mouths and pressed their tongues against the stitches. They sucked the fluid down and rolled it around their mouths until it was lukewarm. The matriarchs flipped onto their sides to reveal the roast meat clinging to their exposed ribs. The dolls whimpered. They put their faces to the muscles and licked at the fibers that caught against the stitches. When will our mouths open, the cadaver dolls asked and threw the fish up.
Cadaver Dolls Found Girls
They were bloody girls. They wore nun gowns. They sat on pinging radiators, knitting their pubic hairs until a medieval tapestry formed between their legs. The cadaver dolls rested on the blankets. The woolen fibers scratched their porcelain cheeks and the cadaver dolls could not stop scratching. They tried sticking their hands into their mouths but nothing larger than the pinkie finger would fit. The cadaver dolls sat on their wrists until numb. The girls threw needles at the dolls. They aimed for the wide eyes and laughed whenever points struck the pupils' centers. You are terrible dolls, the girls said and tossed the cadaver dolls into the road. The dolls kicked their legs while the girls waited impatiently for a large semi-truck to roll across the bodies. When you rupture, we will laugh, the girls said, then died from exposure.
The Dolls Were Crucified
Rusted iron nails pushed into their rotten wrists until the meat tore apart and long muscle strings draped across their sides. Is this religious devotion right, the dolls asked. They accepted sponges of wine against their mouths. What we wouldn't give for some poultry, they said. But no one had scissors to cut the stitches. The dolls kept their mouths shut. Their jaws were sore from lack of movement. The toothed palates near the backs of their tongues worked overtime to turn the cheek meat into something that could be processed by the body. The cadaver dolls lost weight. They hung from the wooden beams and their arms lengthened from the weight of their bodies. There must be something for us on the dinner plate, they pleaded and a naked woman rolled old chicken into balls, then pushed them between the yarn string.
Things The Dolls Learned
The world was tilted and the dolls had trouble staying upright as the sidewalks cracked and rose up into columns. The crevices filled up with a thick red magma that was more like blood than volcanic material. The cadaver dolls drank several stomach-fulls of the fluid and left the rest to congeal over the walkways. Blades grew over the bushes and the cadaver dolls ran their mouths over the branches. But the stitches did not snap open. Instead, the cadaver dolls' mouths were sliced around the lips. They poked their tongues out through the holes but could not get the muscles through far enough. Is there nothing that can keep our bronchial tubes in place, the dolls asked. They breathed rocks so the pieces of granite filled their lungs. The dolls knew there were rivers they could swim in and many steaks they could not swallow.
What They Couldn't Realize
Some things dangled from unattached ceilings and others were just strips of 
razor wires. The dolls walked blindly into one forest after the other and kicked at stones, not realizing that they were really stripped skulls. A plate of meat was just beyond their meat and the cadaver dolls still pressed their mouths against the hovering cables. No matter how they moved, the stitches would not snap and the dolls were left with bloodied mouths. They smeared the red over the steak tops, basting the marbled fat. We can liquefy this, the cadaver dolls whispered, pouring their saliva onto the dish. But the steak stayed solid. The cadaver dolls stuck the meat in an oven and cooked it for five thousand days. Opening the oven, they stared at clotted fat surrounding the leathery brown meat. We can eat, they screamed but could not.
Inspired by http://www.seesomethingstrange.com/2010/11/kamila-mlynarczyk.html
dolls pictured by Denver's This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it