Chapter 1: The Doll

Chapter 1: The Dollby Brady Epton, age 11

My life is annoying. My name is Tammy, and you only need to know 3 things about me. 1: I am an orphan. 2: My best friend is a talking cat. 3: I hate Pinocchio. I was only 3 when I became an orphan, and Chatty (my talking cat) is the only reason I survived to 12 (so far). After my parents died, Chatty basically became my foster mom, which means I legally am a cat. (Yes, that does mean I had to survive on cat food and milk for 4 years until I could get my own food.) I lived in a big field in Prospect Park and my home is a tent. So anyway, one day I was walking back home with Chatty when I heard thunder. I hated thunderstorms, and whenever I heard one I ran to the closest store or cafe I could find. Luckily, there was a small run down toy store next to me. I ran inside and was surprised to find it abandoned. I turned around to sit down in a wood chair but was greeted by a wooden Pinocchio doll. Given my experience with Pinocchio I began to say “Hey buddy you goo–” then she saw the doll. She had been there the day my parents died. What had happened was like this: my Mom and Dad had been watching Pinocchio, which was my favorite movie at the time, then the doorbell rang, and my parents went to answer it. After a minute, they hadn’t come back up so I hobbled down the stairs, and saw my parents lying dead on the floor, with a Pinocchio doll next to them, smiling like he had just laughed.

The Changing but Better I woke up at 7:30 sharp, got my uniform on, ate a banana, and walked over to the school. I’m an obedient, awesome, friendly kid. At least that’s what my Dad says. The morning went by in a flash until recess. Then Dave and Jack came over to me. Usually

30 Cartoons for all eternity • Caricaturas por toda la eternidad

at recess I play with my trucks or legos, but Dave and Jack bully me. That’s exactly what happened. “Lookie here!” “Little Rowan’s playing with his baby lego toys!” Now if I were anything like one of those weird memey kids I would have pulled up that clip from the Lego Movie where the guy goes, “It’s a highly sophisticated interlocking brick system,” except . . . I don’t have a phone. My parents say they rot your brain. So instead I responded, “Go away please.” Guess what? The rest of recess they followed me everywhere, teasing me about everything. After that in history, I felt a weird tingling sensation in my armpit. I asked Mrs. Pennington if I could be excused to the bathroom. When I got there, I pulled my shirt off and noticed a stray hair in my armpit. I freaked out. I was only eleven! I wasn’t supposed to turn into a “Big Boy” for at least another year! I awkwardly put my shirt back on and walked back to class. I could feel everyone staring at me, even my teacher. When the final bell rang, I reached home, and snuck into my parents’ pitch black room for a pair of tweezers. Then I heard the scraping of nails on the wooden floor. I turned around but saw nothing. Then I heard creaking behind me, and spun around. Still nothing. Then, I finally saw something. The door. The way out. I ran towards it, opened it and saw a dog (rat looking face). I spin around to see . . . another one! That’s when I fainted. I woke up in bed, praying it was all a dream. Based on my arm it wasn’t. My arm was 100% hairy. My parents walked in and said we needed to have a “talk.” This confused me. I thought we already had “THE talk.” Then the question lingering in my head made sense. So I asked, “Am I becoming . . . a Big Boy?” My parents laughed. Hard. When they were done, I was pissed. I legitimately poured my soul into that question. Then they delivered the shocking news. “Rowan, son, you’re adopted.” “WHAT!” “Just kidding, sheesh, I meant you’re a werewolf.” To be continued.

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