The sound of big fat raindrops hitting a stormy lake echo through our pretty dollhouse, followed by our little girl running up the stairs.

I rush about.

"Mother, Mother, wake up! Go back to being plastic." She jolts up from her slumber, tucks the flask back into her waist pocket and reapplies her lipstick. Her face hardens and the tearstains that were on her cheeks meld into her skin and disappear. Then she sits straight-up and takes out her pocketbook.

"Brother. Father. Get into your places!" My Father walks into the room, tilts his head to the right and dabs at the bright pink lipprint decorating his neck. Another tear slips from Mother's eye, but it vanishes when she swallows and looks straight ahead. My Brother is nowhere to be seen in this room, having been set up in his "bedroom".

I return to to my bedroom and perch myself on the armchair at my desk. With a sweep of my arms and some cleverly placed rags, the lifeless doll heads on my desk disappear.

My sharp, shiny, pretty-little shiv is tucked carefully into the false bottom of my desk drawer.

I run my fingers through my hair and fall into my pose. Smile for the picture. I feel my eyelids harden as my body goes stiff.

They detach in that way and fall shut onto my cheekbones, bouncing off of my concrete/plastic/blood-coursing exterior.

A clicking sound announces the finality of my eyelid's motion, and the wall swings open.