She hated being confined. She was more likely to destroy things when she was confined. She’d already popped off her rabbit’s head, taking to carrying around the disembodied face by one floppy, polyester ear. Even so, she fiercely protected the shredded parts, recently unable to sleep unless they were nestled against her pudgy form—for who else wanted to cuddle with the rancid girl other than a broken toy with mismatched button eyes? She’d bury one part beneath the blankets or otherwise hide it away, carrying the other with her close.
One ear clutched tightly between milk-white teeth, she clawed angrily at the bedroom door, leaving growing trenches in the wood of the frame with her blunt nails. A growl had risen in her throat, slowly becoming a snarl, and then something akin to a yowl. She wanted out! Someone would have to hear her eventually and give her attention—whether just to investigate, thus providing distraction from monotony, or to open the door and enable escape.
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