Some sham – things that had never been alive. Toys which might, perhaps, almost have lived in their owners’ imaginations. Some all too real. A ginger cat in a coffin. More than one tiny coffin in the room. A white rat, too, nailed to a cork board. Numerous butterflies. And more. There was an old beige teddy bear, lying on its back in a small crib. A soft dog, part still fluffy, part threadbare, paws matted, testimony to small-child love, sucked on. The toy dog had been laid out in the crib, front paws crossed on its chest. Almost like a human corpse. A doll lay nearby – a pretty blonde thing, carried back to Florida once upon a time all the way from FAO Schwartz in New York City by a doting dad and given to a daughter long since grown, with no time left for toys. The doll was on her back too. Her lower half covered with a tiny sheet. Her arms raised, twisted around in their sockets. Her hands covering her eyes, making it impossible to see if they were open or closed. The eyes of every dead thing in the room were covered.
