I named her Serenity,
since her quasi-gentle presence
lightened my darkest times.
Back then she reigned over the living room
and I shared my pain with her.
She never offered advice, or even replied, yet
it was soothing
to make-believe she empathised.
When my situation improved, I faced the truth:
if I pricked her skin,
it would not bleed.
Her hollow chest was cold, and I
was tired of her indifference.
Yet I wrapped a coat around her shoulders
before showing her the door.
She blanked me, her head
lacking think-matter,
so I consigned her to the bathroom.
These days she belies her name;
guests leap in shock; some even blurt
a strangled scream
to see my mannequin standing guard by my toilet bowl.
She fails to make THEM feel serene.

Written for Godoggocafe’s Tuesday Writing Prompt: SerenityI couldn’t resist it, since I have a mannequin called Serenity. They recommend that the piece should be written in 10-15 minutes, so I haven’t polished it up.

©Jane Paterson Basil

11 thoughts on “Serenity

    1. Nope, no attic. I’d take her to Oxfam, I left her in their window years ago, when I spent that summer in a tent. When I came back she’d formed a friendship with our manager and I didn’t like to separate them. Nobody noticed anything odd about Serenity… maybe her face took on a slightly blank expression, and she seemed to avoid looking directly into our eyes, but we were busy. I blame myself. Then one day she keeled over, drunk. Karen reckoned customers must be sneaking booze in for her, and asked me to take her home, away from temptation. She’s been on the wagon for almost three years now, but I daren’t risk taking her back to Oxfam 😀 😀 😀

      Liked by 2 people

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