Darla stood over the little sleek purple box. She opened it, trembling.
The miniature looked up at her. Darla smiled.
The Miniature stood up and bowed. “Hello, Master Darla,” it said, professionally.
“Oh mother,” Darla blushed, “call me sweetie would you, like you used to.”
The miniature of Darla’s mother complied. “How might I serve you, Sweetie?”
Darla smiled, they had the same voice, the same plump nose.
“I thought I lost you, mother.”
“I’m here, Sweetie, to serve.”
“Will you read me a story, mother?” Darla asked.
“What story would you like to hear?” The Miniature of Darla’s mother asked.
“Oh, you know…” Darla said, coyly.
The Miniature of Darla’s mother frowned. “I am sorry, Sweetie; I do not know.”
Darla began to cry. The miniature stood and waited, confused.
“You’re not her, you’ll never be her,” Darla moaned, lumpy spit dribbling from the edge of her mouth. “You’ll never be her!” Darla reached down and grabbed the miniature off the table. The Miniature didn’t struggle, at first.
“How could I be so stupid!” She squeezed harder. “Sweetie, you’re hurting me,” The Miniature tried to explain. Darla held tighter.
“I knew it, I knew it. Look at you!” Darla pointed one large soggy eye at the miniature of her mother and it went cold.
“You don’t even look like her!” Darla growled.
The Miniature of Darla’s mother began to choke. The Fuhrer taught to never harm your master. Never. But, The Miniature reacted without thinking. She bit down on Darla’s hand. Darla let go with a roar of pain. The Miniature fell to the floor. Without thinking, she ran. The body of Darla’s mother was not a good one. It moved slow. She found her way into a room beyond the kitchen.
Darla was moving now. She lumbered after. The Miniature ran deeper into the room. It stank. The Miniature looked around for a place to hide and found another human laying in the bed.
“Help!” The Miniature cried. The slumbering human didn’t move. The miniature climbed the sheets and rolled until she was pressed up against the human. It was cold.
Darla was in the room now.
“WHERE ARE YOU MOTHER!” she cried, cleaver held in her left hand. The Miniature crawled up the cold figure using its ear as a foot hold. As it reached the top it perched on the plump nose.
Darla stood over the corpse of her mother and stared at The Miniature, cleaver raised.
“Why don’t you love me mother? Why have you never loved me?”
The cleaver came down on the chest of the corpse, blood exploded. It was cold and purple.
The force of it caused the corpse’s mouth to flop open. The Miniature dove inside. It was still wet. Darla continued to hack away at her mother’s corpse. The Miniature stayed inside the mouth, a cold soggy womb, waiting to die. After a minute the earthquakes stopped. The Miniature had never cried before. She did now.
Through her sobs she heard a thud, then weeping.
The Miniature slid her head past the teeth and looked out. Darla lay slumped against the wall, covered in guts, keening.
The Miniature crawled out over the blue lips and slid down a blood, spit, and tear soaked cheek. She made her way to the floor as Darla continued to weep. She headed for the door.
“I’m sorry mother, I’m so sorry” Darla mumbled through her tears.
The Miniature stopped. She looked over at Darla, then to the door. She sighed.
She sidled over and touched Darla’s leg, softly. Darla looked up.
She reached out and scooped The Miniature up in her hands. She brought the miniature to her bosom and held her.
“I love you mother,” Darla whispered.
“I love you too Sweetie, I love you too.” The Miniature of Darla’s Mother closed her eyes and smiled.
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