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Well, my head's over here and my body's over there. This might be a problem.
...
I suppose you're wondering how exactly I got into this mess in the first place. Normally, I'd tell you to keep your bloody nose out of it before I make it bloody for real, but as it looks like I'm going to be here a while... I'm'a treat you to the story.
See, it all started two weeks back when my daughter picked up this doll from the traders that were passing through. It weren't any special thing, like, just some ragged old dolly made from brown sackcloth with most of its hair fallen out. None of the other kids wanted it, so the traders let it go to her in exchange for an honest-to-god mud pie. She was pleased as punch to think her ‘cooking’ was worth anything, but me, I thought they just wanted to get rid of the thing - it was creepy as all get-out.
Course, now I know why it felt so creepy to me, I'm wondering why the fuck I let her keep it in the first place. Little word of advice here: never hold onto something you bought with mud.
...Yeah, I know why I let her keep it. It was that damn cheeky grin she gave me when she spotted its baldness - "Daddy, look, it's a you-doll!" - and the way she plucked the last few hairs out to make it perfect. Went straight to my heart, that did. And hearts make you a damn fool.
It weren't long before shit started going wrong. I almost didn't notice at first - wrote it off as coincidence - but I knew. Deep down. The first time she dropped it on the floor and stood on its leg, and mine gave way right from under me, I knew. Couldn't walk all the rest of that night. The time she set it down in the mud with her and I got just as dirty from yardwork. Tried to chalk that up to my own clumsiness, but I knew. I'd never gotten that muddy doing yardwork before.
I told her to take better care of the thing, treated it like a game. Told her to be very careful with it cause it was her daddy and she didn't want to hurt her daddy - she took the whole thing very seriously. She believed it, see. That was the problem all along. If she'd believed the creepy doll was some other poor bugger I probably wouldn't be in this mess.
See, no matter how serious she took it, she was still just a little girl. She shouldn't be holding onto that kind of responsibility. She tried her best, but it got caught on nails that ripped open its chest before she could unhook it. She was careful to keep the stuffing inside, and I was grateful for that, cause it seems that if that thing don't bleed I don't either. Had a bitch of a painful open wound, but I kept my head - ha! Excuse the pun - and sewed the doll back up again, then checked under my shirt again. Hole had closed right up.
I can only hope someone else can take care of the repair job this time. I'm not sure where the doll is, but the kid's still at school for the rest of the day. I told her not to take the thing in with her, that other kids could be mean about things like that, about things they can see that you love, but she was adamant she could handle it.
...At least she's been careful to keep my stuffing inside. This part at least. I'm grateful for that. My body's been bleeding out the whole time we've been talking. But at least I've kept my head.